“Ye are sure this will work?” Fergus muttered.
“Aye,” Evan replied. “It lies close to the southern track. Folk will think the neighboring laird’s trying to choke off supplies. Especially after we sabotaged their wagons yesterday.”
He had chosen this place deliberately. There had been strife between these two neighboring landowners for years, always simmering below the surface. It wouldn’t take much to inflame it, and with their sprawling clan ties and obligations, that strife would soon spread.
“All right,” Evan breathed. “Let’s go.”
They rose as one, three shadows peeling themselves from the grass. They crossed the yard quickly, boots silent on the packed dirt. Tam slipped to the rear of the barn, Key to the side nearest the hedgerow. Evan approached the main doors. He could smell the hay now—dry, sweet, waiting.
It would go up quickly.
He pulled the small flask of oil from inside his coat and splashed it along the base of the wood, careful and deliberate. Not too much, but enough to catch. Enough to look intentional.
He crouched and struck flint to steel. The spark caught. A thin tongue of flame licked upward, tentative, tasting the oil. It spread along the board, creeping like a living thing. Within seconds it had found the hay stacked just inside the door.
Heat bloomed against Evan’s face. He stepped back. Key was already circling to join him, Tam emerging from the shadowsas smoke began to curl thick and black into the night. Flames crackled, low and hungry.
Evan reached into his tunic and withdrew the scrap of cloth he had prepared earlier—a bit of material in the clan colors of the neighboring estate. He dropped it near the hedgerow, where it caught on a branch.
Evidence. Obvious enough to be found. Subtle enough to seem like a mistake.
God help him, he despised how good he was at this.
The fire roared higher, flames licking up the timber frame. Sparks spiraled into the sky. Shouts erupted from the settlement. Somewhere a lantern flared to life.
“Time to go,” Evan muttered.
They melted back into the darkness, skirting the edge of the fields as the first bell began to clang—a frantic, uneven sound. Behind them, the barn blazed. Evan didn’t look back.
“That’ll stir things,” Tam said with satisfaction.
“Aye,” Key agreed. “MacInnes will be pleased.”
Evan said nothing.
Ahead, his manor house loomed out of the night, dark and silent. His neck prickled. The third of his minders—Angus Gowan—should have been stationed near the outer wall, keeping watch. But there was no sign of him.
Key had also noticed the man’s absence. “Where is that stupid bastard?”
Evan scanned the shadows. The door to the manor stood closed. No lantern light showed through the windows.
“He wouldn’t leave his post,” Tam said, though doubt crept into his tone.
Evan growled under his breath. “Check the back.”
Tam peeled off into the darkness. Key and Evan moved toward the door. Evan had just reached for the latch when heheard a sound—raised voices approaching from the road. Boots scuffing dirt. A low murmur of anger.
He turned as a small group of men emerged from the gloom, lantern light swinging wildly. At their center, half-dragged, half-shoved, was Angus Gowan. He sported a split lip and a swollen eye.
Hamish strode at the front of the group, carrying a stout staff. The group stopped a few paces in front of Evan and shoved Gowan forward. The man stumbled, barely catching himself.
Gowan spat blood into the dirt. “Bunch of oversensitive—”
Key stepped in fast, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him upright. “Shut yer mouth.”
Hamish’s gaze flicked to Evan, but Evan glanced away, unable to meet the headman’s eyes. Shame roiled through him. What must Hamish think of him? These were the same men who had attacked him, and now he was working with them? He wished he could tell Hamish the truth, but knew he could not.
“This man came into the village drunk,” Hamish said. “Loud. Cornered Myra’s daughter and tried putting his hands where they weren’t wanted.”
