Skye obeyed, scrambling off the bed and thrusting her bare feet into her boots. She didn’t bother with a cloak and immediately regretted it when she stepped outside her warm bedroom. Cold drafts blew down the corridors, making the tapestries shiver. Goosebumps rose up on her limbs. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
Helena scuttled ahead of her, leaning heavily on her walking stick and moving faster than she ought to.
“Slow down, Maither,” Skye called. “Think of yer leg!”
Helena didn’t answer. She led her down endless hallways and then through the large Great Hall where they ate their meals. Or rather, where the rest of them ate their meals and Skye stared at her plate and wondered how much she could force herself to swallow.
The Great Hall was especially cold. Skye could see the open front door approaching, a white rectangle of sky glimmering warningly.
The storm was no surprise to anyone. It had been coming for weeks, and now the air pressure had dropped so abruptly that even a blind, deaf man would guess that something was about to break.
Helena reached the stone landing just outside the door. Hurrying over to the low wall, she leaned on it, panting.
“There. Look,” she groaned. “Yer braither is about to do something he will sorely regret.”
Skye glanced in the direction her mother was pointing. Her blood ran cold.
A large crowd had gathered in the courtyard, oblivious to the oncoming storm and the rain. Fat, cold raindrops fell all around her, pattering on her head and beginning to soak her hem.
She scarcely noticed them.
There, at the center of the crowd, stood Hunter.
HunterandEvander.
They were face to face, the length of a glimmering, viciously sharp sword between them. Hunter was holding the sword, the point digging into Evander’s chest.
The sword had already pierced his skin. Blood trickled down his chest beneath the point, staining his thin linen shirt. The rain had made it look worse than it was, diluting the blood. Both men were soaked, hair plastered to their heads.
Something heavy surged up in Skye’s throat, a lump as hard and heavy as stone forming there. Evander had his hands hanging loosely by his sides, making no attempt to push the blade away. In fact, she could see hissword lying in a puddle a few feet away.
A strangled scream tore out of her throat.
“Hunter, nay! Wait!”
Both men flinched, glancing up.
Hunter’s eyes were dark with panic, wide enough for her to see the whites all the way around. Was it her imagination, or was his hand shaking on the hilt?
Neither man moved, and Skye threw herself down the stairs, slipping on rainwater. She plunged into the crowd, who immediately dispersed to let her through.
“What are ye doing?” she gasped breathlessly, seizing Hunter’s wrist. “Put down the sword.”
“He willnae fight me,” Hunter shot back, a little plaintively. “I told him to pick up his sword. I told him to leave, or else I’d kill him, but he willnae go. He willnaego, Skye!”
She tightened her grip on his wrist and glanced over at Evander. He was already watching her, his eyes cool and almost serene. Up close, she could see that the blood trail reached almost to his waist, and that a few droplets had landed on the tip of his sword. The lump in her throat thickened, and she swallowed several times in an attempt to push it down.
The trouble with panic is that it could paralyze a person. With something terrible just on the horizon, the easiest choice was to do nothing. To sit on the ground, bury one’s head in one’s hands, and cry. Or perhaps wait for someone else to intervene.
Why didnae Maither stop this? She could have stopped it. But she came to fetch me.
Her gaze darted to the entrance of the keep. Helena stood still, watching them evenly and placidly. Her face gave away nothing.
Swallowing, Skye tore her gaze away from her mother and turned back to her brother.
“Think about what ye are doing,” she said shortly. “Ye are about to kill a fellow laird in cold blood while he is unarmed, in yer courtyard, in front of half the clan. Do ye think that’s a good idea?”
Hunter bit the inside of his cheek. “He insulted ye.”
