Fergus was frustrated by the time the rider appeared.

Leila had continued to be subdued and Fergus could not doubt that there was a new reserve between them. He had tried to talk to her several times, but she said only that she needed to rest. He sensed her concern but could not persuade her to share it with him. If ever she had been mysterious, now she was more so. He felt that all was at stake, though that made little sense, and he disliked that the easy camaraderie that had once been between them was gone.

What had Stewart said to her? She would not speak of it.

Fergus was sleeping each night in the hall, a courtesy to his lady wife that made him keenly aware of how much he missed her company. It was more than the tales she had shared with him. His sense of doom lingered, though he could not explain it. Killairic was safe. His father was well. There was no peril he could discern. Gavin appeared to be happy to be helping the miller’s son, and Fergus hoped there would be word of a relation who would take the boy when Murdoch returned from Iona.

Leila had told him of her home in Jerusalem, at his request, but he sensed that the tale was thin, as if she did not wish to confide in him. He felt that he was told the version any stranger might hear. He offered to help her to learn more Gaelic and her acceptance was less than enthused. She was certain he had more important matters to attend. He asked her to teach him Arabic and she demurred.

Murdoch had gone to Iona in his stead, as planned, and Fergus thought he had made the right choice in that, at least. He knew that Leila had ceased her lessons with the priest, though she still went to the smithy every day. He had no desire to force her to convert, though he did wonder why she had abandoned the plan when she had been so intent upon it.

It must mean that she reconsidered her plan to stay.

The birds had arrived from Carlisle and the dovecote had been completed. Leila took them beneath her care and gave them much attention, but said naught about them being her nuptial gift. He had visited the dovecote at her invitation and tried to share her pleasure that they had laid eggs.

He could not, for her smile did not reach her eyes.

Fergus was pacing in frustration when he was summoned by the guard on watch. He studied the approaching figure, wondering at his arrival. The horse had the slender grace of the horses bred by the Arabs, which troubled Fergus. Such beasts were uncommon even in Paris and virtually unknown in Scotland. Something about the rider’s trap and his garb made Fergus recall the dust and sun of Outremer, and he wondered that this arrival wore no insignia.

He could not think of any incident that would prompt a man to pursue him all the way from Palestine.

Surely Leila had not expected to be pursued? Was this man’s arrival what she awaited?

Fergus could not wait for the man to reach the gates. He strode out to meet him on the road, well beyond the gates. The wind was up and Fergus knew there would be rain by the evening. He supposed this man would be their guest, though he balked at that.

The arrival was dressed in the Frankish fashion, but his garb did not look quite right, as if he mimicked a style he had seen but was himself accustomed to dressing otherwise. His skin was tanned and his eyes were green, his features lined, and his gaze sharp.

The man eyed him warily, then dismounted, his gaze falling to the signet ring on Fergus’ finger. “I seek Fergus of Killairic,” he said, his French slow and accented.

“And you have found him,” Fergus replied, propping his hands on his hips. He supposed he did not look very welcoming, and he did not care. “Why do you seek me?”

The man raised his hands. “I bring a missive. It was read first by Gaston de Châmont-sur-Maine, for he was the one to direct me here.”

Fergus frowned in his surprise. Gaston had sent the man here? “Where is it?”

“In a pouch beneath my tabard.”

“Where are you from?”

“Jerusalem.”

Fergus nodded understanding, even though he was mystified. He could not imagine why Gaston would have granted directions to anyone, and thought of the safety of the reliquary. He pulled his knife from its sheath, thinking it made sense to be wary, even though he sensed no threat from the visitor. “Move slowly. If you deceive me in this, it will be your last living deed.”

The man nodded. He eased one hand beneath his tabard then removed a leather pouch from beneath his clothing. He opened it slowly to reveal a furled scroll. When he freed it from the pouch, Fergus saw that its original seal had been broken. Fergus did not recognize that mark, but there was a new one of red wax with Gaston’s insignia alongside it.

He told no lie about Gaston, at least.

Fergus frowned at the script, which was familiar to him but also illegible. “This cannot be intended for me. I do not read Arabic.”

“It is addressed to Leila binte Qadir lufti al-Ramm and is a message from her uncle. Lord Gaston implied that you might know her location. I am charged to deliver this to her with my own hand so would appreciate your assistance.”

Fergus hesitated. Was this from the uncle who had arranged Leila’s marriage? He doubted any other relative would have troubled to send a message so far. Could it be good tidings? Or was it a threat? Could it be a deception, meant to lure her back against her own better judgment?

What should he do? He wanted to protect Leila, but accepting the missive would reveal that he knew her location—or even indicate that she was hidden here at Killairic. On the other hand, he did not want to deny her any contact with her family.

“Karayan,” Leila said from behind him, and Fergus realized that she had not only followed him but recognized the visitor. He spun around to see her approaching quickly, then turned back to find the messenger had dropped to one knee.

“How is it that you are here, so far from home?” she asked the man in French, then switched to Arabic. Fergus assumed she said the same thing and watched the messenger’s hardened features melt into an affectionate smile.

He replied to her and she hesitated only for a moment before plucking the scroll from his rough hands. She frowned at Gaston’s seal, then met Fergus’ gaze. “Lord Gaston gave him directions?”

“Apparently so.” He watched her think about this for a moment, her gaze lingering on the broken seal.

Then she nodded briskly and Fergus was pleased at even this short glimpse of her former manner. “Might I request that Karayan be shown hospitality?” she asked. “I will read this message. He is charged to wait for a reply and I will give him one by the morning. He will be a guest at Killairic for only one night and only if you find that acceptable.”

Karayan looked between the two of them, clearly attempting to guess her meaning.

Fergus eyed her, unable to guess her thoughts when she spoke with such purpose. Had she expected the message or the messenger? Did she know the contents of the missive? He had the sense that she had already chosen her reply, which made no sense.

He also understood that she was not inclined to confide in him.

“He is known to you, so, of course, he is welcome in our home,” Fergus said, noting how her gaze flicked to his when he said ‘our.’ “I must ask, though, that he surrender his horse and all of his weapons.” He could not even think about Leila departing with this man, but also could not imagine why else he had come so far.

But if it was her heart’s desire to return to Outremer, he would not stop her.

No matter what the cost to himself.

Leila spoke quickly to the messenger, who nodded. At the gates, he began to divest himself of his weapons. Fergus beckoned to a pair of guards, one of whom took custody of the horse while the other accepted the messenger’s weapons.

“She will be cold,” Leila called after the one who led the horse away. “Please put her in the stall at the left end, for it is warmer, and find a blanket for her.”

“Aye, my lady.”

She spoke again rapidly and the messenger shook his head. She glanced up at Fergus, her grip tight on the scroll. “Neither of them have any illnesses, but I suspect both are more hungry than they prefer to admit.”

“They will both have our best hospitality.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “You are lady here, after all.”

She smiled then, tears shining in her eyes as she closed both hands around the scroll. “Thank you, Fergus,” she said quietly, then turned and strode to the gardens with purpose, her head down.

She looked so unhappy that Fergus’ heart clenched tightly.

And it was in that moment, as he watched her walk away, that Fergus truly realized the threat he had sensed for so long. The peril before him was the risk of losing Leila. She could depart with this messenger, because of whatever word he had brought her or despite it, and Fergus would never see her again.

He could not bear the thought.

Yet at the same time, if leaving Scotland would restore her smile, he would not obstruct her departure. He loved Leila, but he loved her sufficiently to want her happiness more than anything else. Her sadness of late had been almost too much to bear. If she wanted to return home that badly, he would not stand in her way.

“Leila binte Qadir lufti al-Ramm,” Karayan said with satisfaction and nodded once.

“The choice will be hers to make,” Fergus informed the other man in French. “And I will defend it with all the power I can muster.”

He held the messenger’s gaze, waiting until that man nodded understanding and agreement. Then he indicated the hall. “Come. Our fare is simple but it is plentiful. You are welcome at Killairic, Karayan. I hope our hospitality suits you well.”

The older man bowed. “It cannot fail to do so.” He raised a fist to his chest. “It lifts my heart to see Leila well. All else is simply more blessings.”

---

It was against all expectation.

A missive from her uncle.

Leila sat on the stone bench beside the dovecote and listened to the cooing of the birds. She stroked the parchment and failed to swallow the lump in her throat. She recognized her uncle’s script and there could be no disputing the little flower he always drew after her name. She ran her fingertip over the ink, smiling a little in memory of his protectiveness. The arranged marriage aside, he had always been kind to her.

Hakim had not needed to take her in. He had not been required to raise her alongside his own daughter. He had been a good father.

She hesitated to open the missive, to break that seal, for she feared its contents. Was Aziza well? What of little Kamal? Surely her flight had not caused repercussions for her family? Leila was not certain what tidings Karayan brought, and she did not want to be surprised if they made her weep. She took a breath, then broke Gaston’s seal, knowing that knight must have been convinced of the merit of both message and messenger to have confessed her location.

Leila swallowed then unfurled the scroll. There was a dark stain on one side, about the size of her uncle’s thumbprint, and she bent to smell it, smiling a little at the familiar scent of ash. She could close her eyes and see the smithy again, the hot sun on the roof, the smell of steel and fire and leather.

Leila tried to read the missive slowly, wanting to savor this unexpected gift, but her gaze danced over the message. When she was relieved that it brought no bad news, she read it again.

---

My dear Leila, beloved flower and blessing of our house—

This missive carries both an apology and an entreaty, and I hope it finds you well. In fact, I am greedy with my wishes. I would not only have my message delivered into your hands, but I would have you sufficiently well to read it. I would have your heart still open to my words despite our disagreement. I would have Karayan find you promptly, and also return to me with a message from you—if not with you yourself by his side. I wish for much, more than perhaps is my due, but I cannot stop the wishing all the same.

I fear for your fate and for my own part in driving you from the safety of my home. I cannot blame you for making your choice, given my refusal to consider your view of Ahmed. I can only hope that the price you have been compelled to pay for fleeing with the Franj has not been too high. I know much of these men, more than I would wish to know, though truly, few men will show themselves to be honorable when a young beauty begs for their aid. I fear that you may have paid for your escape in the oldest of ways.

And so I write to you, not only to apologize, but to remind you that you are as my own daughter. You are welcome in my home now, as ever you were, and you are welcome regardless of what you have done or what has been done to you. You think, perhaps, that I will be shamed if you were to return unmarried and with a child fathered by a Franj. You might not believe any protest I might make in my own defense, so I will tell you this, a story that proves the intention of my heart.

Many years ago, your mother came to me when she knew she carried a child fathered by a Franj. He was a warrior, defending the claim of the Franj to our village, al-Ramm. He took far more than was his right, though I did not know of his wickedness in time. Indeed, I thought him to be a man of honor. It was the blue of his eyes, so steadfast, that tricked me into trusting when I should not have done. This man abandoned your mother after taking her innocence and planting his seed. She argued always to his merit, but he seized what he should not have touched and he left no provision for my sister or her child.

For you.

That is not the choice of the man of honor I had believed him to be.

I welcomed my sister into my home and I refused to see her as shamed. She bore you and died in the delivery of you, leaving you alone in the world. I believe her heart was broken, for she faded during her pregnancy when she should have blossomed. After her death, we contrived a story that her husband had been killed in battle and that she had been a widow. This was the true reason why we left al-Ramm and came to Jerusalem, so that few would question the tale. It was true that there were raids and that the village was less safe than once it had been, but we began again to give you a life. I saw you raised in my house as if you were my own child, and the secret was kept between your aunt and me. We were determined to make right from wrong and to give you the upbringing you deserved. I bought a new shop, I found new clients and established my name again, and we made a new life in Jerusalem. It was not easily done but I do not regret it.

Now your aunt is gone, her wisdom lost to me, and I am the sole keeper of the secret. I owe it to you, Leila, to tell you the truth of your parentage before there is no one left who knows it. You are half-Franj, and though I know the name of your father, I swore before your birth that it would never cross my lips again. I hope he is dead, denied by his own family, in justice for what he did to the mother of his own child. I pray he did not know of you, for then his heart would be darker and he would still be your father.

Then you fled, and I feared that my scheme to keep the past secret had led you into peril. You could only have escaped with the Franj, and I hope that my error has not put you in peril. I hope you have not paid too high a price.

And so I send Karayan in pursuit of you, though I would have preferred to go myself. As a Rūm, if not a Franj, he is more likely to pass without notice than I ever could. I pray daily that he finds you, and thank Allah that a man of such valor and dedication serves our family.

If your mother’s fate has been your own, please do not fear my wrath. You are my sister’s daughter, the blood of my heart, as dear to me as if you were my own child. I would hear your laughter again. I would see your smile. I would know you to be safe and well. Aziza believes that you can do any deed and perhaps her faith is justified. I know too much of men, though, little flower, and I am afraid that you are alone, impoverished, and with child. I fear a repetition of the past.

Let me help you.

Let me offer her a haven.

Please send word with Karayan that you forgive me for believing in the match I arranged. Please send word that you are well—or better yet, return home under Karayan’s protection. You know he can be relied upon. Aziza misses you. We all miss you, but mostly, we want you to be well and happy. Please let me know that you are so.

---

Leila blinked back her tears and clutched the missive. She stared unseeingly at the garden she had come to love so well. The bees were working in the flowers and the pigeons cooed over their nests. The hills rolled before her to the firth, which shone in the late afternoon light. The sky was streaked with gold and red as the sun dipped low, and some clouds were gathering overhead. The first raindrops began to fall, making the air look as if it was filled with silver. Leila did not move, merely tucked the missive into her sleeve to protect it. She loved it at Killairic, and if Fergus had been inclined to surrender his heart to her, she might have happily stayed.

As it was, her uncle’s offer was not without appeal. Leila could go back to everything she knew and everyone she loved. She could play with Aziza’s baby and maybe find a husband to give her children of her own. It was tempting to slip back into the life she had known—although Leila knew that she had changed and that there might always be a yearning in her heart for what she left behind.

Or whom.

Her father had been Franj. She wished she knew more about him, then wished his nature had not been as her uncle described. She supposed she had been of two places even before she left Jerusalem.

Half Franj.

Half Christian.

Was that why this land appealed to her so powerfully? Was that why she had had a sense from the outset that she could make a home here, with the right impetus?

But she did not have that impetus. Fergus had said he did not love Isobel, yet Isobel’s son was at home in this hall. Would Gavin be named heir of Killairic because his lineage was pure?

Still she was torn. She had not bled but it was too soon to know if she would miss her courses a second time.

If she carried a child, would it be born hale after Stewart’s blow?

Is she carried a child, would life be better for her child in Jerusalem than here?

Was it important that Fergus had decided they would not travel to Iona together, when they had resolved she would be baptized there?

Leila did not know and she hated this new indecisiveness in herself. She read the missive again, shielding it from the rain, then rolled it carefully and tucked it into her sleeve again. Her heart in her throat, she stood and turned to return to the hall. She would find out what was happening in Palestine from Karayan. It would not make a difference to her choice, but the gathering of information could only be sensible.

Leila realized that Fergus was watching her from the doorway to the kitchens. She lowered her own gaze, feeling as if she had been caught, and felt herself flush. How long had he watched her? Her innards clenched and she wondered what he was thinking.

She made to step past him, her heart thumping, but Fergus laid a hand upon her arm. “Is it bad news?”

Leila shook her head. “My uncle apologizes and invites me home.”

She felt Fergus stiffen. “Home,” he echoed and Leila nodded.

She had no words and it appeared Fergus had none either. She eased from beneath the weight of his hand, and swallowed the lump in her throat. She would not make this difficult for him. He had been kind. “I would speak to Karayan and learn what has changed,” she said, and continued to the hall.

Fergus did not pursue her, though she felt his gaze upon her.

Well aware that Fergus’ father was watching her progress, she went to sit beside Karayan.

He smiled at her, his gaze searching. “The news is good?”

“You did not read it?”

“It was forbidden for me to do so. I gave my pledge.”

Leila placed her hand over his and smiled. “You are a good man, Karayan. Thank you for undertaking this journey. It must have been long and difficult.”

He shrugged. “You are here yourself, so you know how long it is.” Again, he surveyed her and she knew he would ask her a question.

“It is almost a year since I left Jerusalem,” Leila said, speaking before Karayan could. “Tell me what has happened there.”

He exhaled and sat back, drumming his fingers on the board as he thought. “So much,” he murmured. “I am not certain where to begin.”

“Jerusalem was besieged,” Leila suggested and that proved to be all the encouragement Karayan needed.

---

Fergus did not know what to do.

He did not want to interfere, but he itched to know what message had been brought to Leila from Outremer. He was fiercely jealous that she sat with Karayan and spoke with him, that they were apparently oblivious to everyone else in the hall. Her laughter and the quick sound of her Arabic made him realize how much she had left behind, how much she had surrendered in handfasting to him.

Too much? Fergus suspected it might be so.

He sat with his father, but did not hear his father’s words. He ate, but did not taste his meal. He consulted with those who came to seek his advice—about the harvest, about the pasturage, about the courts, about the next day’s meal—but could not have told anyone what matters had been discussed by the time they were all gone. He sipped his ale, but did not taste it, and watched Leila with a hunger he had not realized he possessed.

“Tell her,” his father advised softly, when Leila took her leave of the messenger. She stood and the messenger dropped to one knee, and Fergus loved how delicate and beautiful she was. “He leaves in the morning,” Calum continued. “Should you not ensure that you have made every possible argument in your own favor?”

“I would have her make the choice that will guarantee her own happiness.”

Calum lifted a brow. “I think what you have not yet told her might affect the outcome.”

“How do you know what I have not yet told her?”

His father smiled. “She hesitates, though I would wager that she is by nature decisive. This indicates that she hopes rather than knows, and there is only one detail that might change all if she knew.” He nodded. “I wonder if she is with child.”

Fergus knew his surprise showed.

“It changes much,” Calum said sagely. “Your mother was more inclined to weep when she was with child than was otherwise her nature. Perhaps Leila is more inclined to doubt than is her usual manner.”

“Doubt? But what can she doubt?”

“What she does not know, of course. The future.” Calum gave Fergus a fierce look. “Tell her, while you can.”

“And if you are wrong?”

“She will leave anyway, and you will never see her again. If I am wrong, you will have risked very little in the end.” He nodded. “If I am right and you do not take my advice, you will have lost all when you could have claimed it.”

Fergus rose at that warning and strode to Leila’s side, touching her elbow with his fingertips. She looked up at him, her dark eyes full of questions, and he smiled despite the turmoil inside himself. “I know you make a choice,” he said, his voice husky. “And I would not impede that.” He swallowed. “But there is one detail I would tell you before you choose.”

“Only one?” she asked and he nodded.

“There is only one detail of import that I have not confessed to you.” He gestured. “Will you walk in the garden with me?”

Leila nodded and preceded him, her quick pace making him wonder if she wanted to see his impulse set to rest and forgotten. They reached the garden and the air was sweet with the scent of ripening fruit. The rain was more like a mist, though Leila did not seem to mind. They walked toward the finished dovecote, and the cooing of the birds within could be heard.

She did not prompt him, which Fergus refused to take as a bad sign. “You said your uncle invited you back to Jerusalem,” he said.

“Aye.”

“And you called it home.”

She glanced up at him, then averted her gaze.

“I had hoped that Killairic might become your home.”

“Did you?” her voice was as soft as a whisper, but he heard the tremor in her words.

“If returning to Jerusalem is your desire, I will not impede your departure, not with the escort of this man you clearly know.” Fergus lowered his voice. “Though I offered before to take you there.”

“You could not truly have meant it, though it was kindly offered,” she said. “You were betrothed to Isobel then.”

“Who showed the worth of her pledge clearly enough.” Fergus pushed a hand through his hair and frowned. “You trust this man?”

“Karayan is a Rūm who has served my uncle for as long as I can remember. He is a servant but has lived with the family so long that he might be part of it.”

“Ah! The one who Iain reminded you of,” Fergus guessed and she nodded.

“He is a good man, a loyal man, and if I journeyed with him, he would defend me with his life.”

“And will you?”

“I am not certain.”

“You must miss your cousin.”

“I do.” Leila smiled sadly. “I would like to eat olives and figs again. I would like to see my cousin’s son. I would love to sit with Aziza and talk, about everything and nothing.” She fell silent and frowned.

“But?”

“But once there, I will miss here. I love the bounty of Scotland, and the beauty of Killairic. I like the mist in the wind and the brilliant green of the hills. I would miss the view from the solar window if I could not open a shutter and see it again.” She raised a hand. “I would miss this garden, and the smithy, and the chance to see my pigeons raise their chicks.”

“But you cannot have both.”

She shook her head and a tear loosed itself. It fell sparkling and was lost on the ground. “Nay. And in the absence of the one thing that would make either place a home, I am compelled to choose, though neither place will suffice.”

“What one thing?”

She looked up at him, her eyes glowing. “There is only one thing that makes any place a home, Fergus. Killairic is your home because you love it so, because you love your father, because it has claimed a piece of your heart.”

“And Jerusalem is not thus for you?”

She shook her head. “It does not hold my heart.” She swallowed. “No one there does, and I know that no one there ever will.”

“How can you know such a thing? Can you see the future?”

Leila laughed a little, making a sound beneath her breath. “I do not need to see the future to know that my heart is already claimed, that it has been claimed for a long time. The question is what do I do since my regard is not returned? Do I stay in one place, with the person who holds my heart but does not love me? Or do I return to another place, only to be denied even a glimpse of him? Which is kinder? Which is crueler?”

Who was the person? Fergus wanted to know but could not bring himself to ask. Surely not Murdoch? “Which will make you happy?” he asked instead.

“Neither,” she said with finality. “And so I wonder if it matters where I am. I might as well be useful if I cannot be happy. My cousin is married and has a son. My uncle is a widower, with no one to keep his house. My cousin does this now, but if she has more children, perhaps I would be of more assistance there.”

She wandered away from him, sadness in the droop of her shoulders, and he could not bear to see her so unhappy. “Perhaps we have more in common than I had realized, Fergus. Perhaps you, too, are denied the company of your beloved.”

“I will be, if you return to Outremer,” he dared to say.

Leila spun to face him, her eyes wide. He saw a welcome spark of hope in her eyes and dared to be encouraged. “How so? You love Isobel. She has died with your heart in her possession as surely as Duncan’s wife died with his.”

Fergus shook his head. “I thought I loved Isobel. I was convinced of it for four years, but in truth, I loved the notion of Isobel. In my dreams, she changed to become a woman I admired much more in memory than in truth.”

“But you cried out her name in your sleep.”

“When I dreamed that she cost me Killairic.”

Leila folded her arms across her chest. “You shelter her son as if he is your own. She said he was your own.”

Fergus shook his head. “And I told you that it could not be so. The boy must be raised by someone and there is no one at Dunnisbrae any more. I have asked Murdoch to seek out Isobel and Stewart’s kin at Iona. When he returns, I hope he brings news that one of them will take the boy.”

“You did not tell me this.”

Fergus arched a brow. “You have not been conferring with me.”

Leila blushed and dropped her gaze.

“And when I tried to speak with you, you kept our conversations short and formal.” Fergus took a step toward her. “I feared these past weeks that Isobel had cost me something of greater import than Killairic.” He took a deep breath when Leila did not reply. “I feared that Isobel had destroyed any chance of you loving me.”

“Impossible!” Leila said, her eyes flashing with welcome and familiar vigor. “She could never have done as much, no matter how many lies she told me.”

Fergus smiled in his relief, then took Leila’s hand within his own. “I love you, Leila. Will you stay at Killairic and exchange wedding vows with me before a priest? I would have you be my legal wife, for what God has put together, no man shall put asunder.”

Her features lit with a joy he could not mistake. “Fergus!” Leila cried and he caught her in a tight embrace. She stretched up and kissed him with the passion he had missed.

“You have not given a reply,” he teased and she laughed at him. “Is it because you do not wish to be baptized?”

“I will be baptized and I will wed you,” she said with resolve. “I will gladly be your wife, Fergus. If you love me, that is all the reason I need to stay. Killairic will be my home in truth.”

He kissed her with satisfaction, loving how she surrendered to his touch with such enthusiasm. It began to rain with greater vigor, though Fergus chose to ignore it for the pleasure of his lady’s kiss. When they parted, breathless, he sheltered her from the rain as they returned to the keep, then stared down into her shining eyes.

“I thought when you decided not to go to Iona, that you did not want me to be baptized,” she said.

“I did not want you to be compelled to take a long journey after Stewart’s abuse. I thought you needed to rest.”

Her answering smile was glorious. “It is too bad, though, as your father said Iona was a good place to be baptized.”

“But it would be more fitting for you to be baptized here,” Fergus replied. “What of the morrow? We can visit the reliquary and have the blessing of Saint Euphemia upon our match.”

“You would reveal it?”

“Nay, I would not invite attention. Perhaps we shall have a blessing of the grain on the morrow.”

Leila laughed.

“But the fact is that Karayan followed me to Gaston’s abode and thence to here,” Fergus noted. “That means any other soul might do the same. We will undertake the blessing of the reliquary, then a more secure home must be found for it.”

“But where?”

Fergus smiled. “If the reliquary is to be hidden longer than it has been thus far, I have an idea. I will send a missive to Gaston with Karayan and seek his counsel.”

“What idea is this?”

“Do you recall how Lady Ysmaine hid the relic on our journey?”

“Of course!”

“I have not yet had word from Duncan, but it seems that if Radegunde is to join him on the anniversary of their handfast, she might do the same.”

Leila’s eyes lit. “She would be glad to do as much. I know it well.”

“And it would be safe wherever they make their abode, for none spoke of Duncan as a member of the party.”

“That is most clever,” Leila said and granted him another kiss. “You mean to teach me the price of having no discussion with you,” she teased. “You tell me so many interesting things this day.”

Fergus put a fingertip on her lips. “Aye, and there is more.”

Leila laughed. “What else do you scheme?”

“Solely to ensure the happiness of my lady wife.”

“I believe you have done as much.”

“Not to my own satisfaction. I have a suggestion for you, one that Karayan can take back to the east.”

Leila regarded him, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What manner of suggestion?”

“What if we were to make an arrangement with your cousin and her husband, to meet them at a designated time and place?”

“When and where?”

“Some city where Franj and Saracen can meet, between here and Jerusalem.”

“Venice, perhaps, or Constantinople,” Leila suggested, her excitement clear. “But she has a young son. She cannot leave him, and she will not.”

“I hope that soon we will have a young son, as well.”

Leila flushed in a most becoming way. “I am not sure,” she confessed softly and Fergus wanted to lift her in his arms and protect her from every breath of wind.

“Truly?”

“I missed my courses once,” she whispered. “But then Stewart struck me in the belly.” Anger thrummed through Fergus at the import of the other man’s choice. Leila’s brow puckered. “I know so little of these matters and have no one to ask...”

“Then I shall add to that missive to Gaston and ensure that Radegunde visits here with all haste.”

Leila smiled at him. “Thank you.” She ran her hand over his chest. “I hope there will be more than one son, Fergus.”

“As do I. We could choose a date, perhaps ten years from now, and we agree that we shall be at the selected city, all of us. You could see Aziza and talk to her to your heart’s content and share your tidings.”

“Fergus! I would be so glad of such a chance!” Leila bit her lip. “Do you truly think it could be done?”

“Any deed can be done if people have sufficient desire to do it.” Fergus watched her, knowing he would move the stars and the moon to see her happy. A journey to the east was a small effort in comparison. He had only to look at the resolve she had shown in making a new life for herself.

“And you would make this journey for me?”

“I could do no less,” he said, smiling down at her. “I told you before that I would take you east at your request.”

“And so you did. I like this scheme better, to travel together and both return to Killairic.”

“You have surrendered all that you know to be with me, Leila. I will surrender anything to see you happy.” He caught her close once more. “I would even have let you ride away with Karayan, never to see you again, if it would have given you joy.”

“Fergus! I can only truly be happy with you.”

He found her in his embrace again, a situation that suited him very well. “And I can only be happy with you, though it need not be at Killairic.”

“Of course, we must be here,” Leila chided, her eyes dancing. “I cannot imagine a place more perfect.”

“And I cannot imagine a wife more perfect,” Fergus concluding, capturing her lips beneath his own once more. His heart thundered when she rose to her toes and returned his kiss with the enticing heat he had long associated with her.

He had nearly lost the prize of his heart, but Fergus would never put it at risk again.