"As I mentioned, m'lady," he said, keeping his voice calm, "we were hunting stag at the edge of the wood, along the border. Gavin, his friends, and their massive army charged us with bows and swords. We fought hard, but they outnumbered us four to one."
"Why? What reason did he have to attack Silas?" Her voice screeched and grated.
"Gavin needs no reason. He is vile and vicious."
"I will have my revenge against that devil and his allies." Her words emerged through clenched teeth.
"Are you going to have them killed?" Alpin tried to hide his eagerness.
"I would love to." She narrowed her eyes. "But killing them would be too quick. I'll make sure they suffer for many years, just as I will suffer without my son. Who are his friends?"
"Torr MacElrath and Chief Brodie MacCain."
She nodded, her gaze calculating. "I will deal with them all." She strode away, mumbling to herself. At the desk, she dipped her quill and scribbled on a paper.
Alpin followed a few steps. How could he soon become chief of his clan? His uncle had to be removed first.
"Gavin's father, Lunn, the chief… he will retaliate."
"I have nay fear of him or anyone in the doomed MacTavish clan." She glared around at him. "Including you, Alpin MacTavish. How do I ken you're nay loyal to them?"
Uncertainty prickling through him, Alpin cleared his throat. "Gavin and Lunn are mine enemies. They expelled me from the clan. But once those two are dead, I will be a good chief to the MacTavishes."
"Think of someone besides yourself for once!" she scolded.
Annoyance twisted his gut, but he held his tongue. "Aye, m'lady."
"Once I have my revenge, you may do whatever you wish with the clan… if any of them are left."
Hope lit within Alpin. "I can at least gain possession of the castle."
"If you wish." She shrugged. "It matters naught to me."
He needed to spur things into motion. "Silas was like a brother to me. I will help you exact revenge for his death. What can I do?"
"Naught, but remain patient. I intend to take everything from them, little by little, day by day. They will rue the day they crossed me."
Chapter 2
Lady Wilona MacRae yanked on the bridle, signaling her horse to stop outside the ancient stone cottage. Soot covered the worn thatched roof. The bitter-scented peat smoke from the fire within rose skyward to mingle with the low-hanging mist.
This journey deeper into the Highlands had taken several hours, far longer than she cared to ride in the damp chill. Grief for her son, along with intense hatred for Gavin MacTavish, had turned her heart into an icy, dark stone. She would not rest until he suffered as she did.
A sennight had passed since Silas's death, and she'd made detailed plans.
"M'lady." Malcolm, her brawny guard, spoke, pulling her from her ponderings. "Are you ready to dismount?"
Glancing down at him, she nodded.
He gently lifted her to the ground. As she strode toward the cottage, she raised her skirt-tail a few inches off her brown leather boots so as not to sully it on the muddy, wet ground.
Malcolm followed.
At the portal, she glanced at him. "Knock." She didn't want to stain her new doeskin gloves on the grimy wood.
Malcolm lifted his giant fist and pounded on the old scarred door that rattled in its frame.
After an extended moment, the door opened a crack, and a dark, rheumy eye peered out at them. A bit of hoary hair poked from the front of her pale blue head kertch.
