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"That my lord would kill him?" Lady Alyson finished, and Deirdre nodded helplessly, for now the tears she had wished for earlier had risen to her throat, choking off all speech.

"Well, he did not. For good or ill," she added quietly, as though speaking to herself, "he did not." She looked at Deirdre and her expression softened. "I see that pleases you, Lady Maxwell."

"Yes. Sir Alistair has been—very kind to us. And earlier, if you had but seen him, the way he faced the Maxwells all alone—"

"Donal told me something of it," Lady Alyson said. "No one has ever doubted Sir Alistair's courage."

"'Tis his loyalty you question? But that's the very thing has been his undoing! Misguided loyalty, maybe, to a man who's dead and past all caring, but still loyalty for all that. Mayhap he isn't a fine English knight," she continued in a burst of reckless anger, "and he speaks too blunt for a lady like yourself. But he does not lie—"

Lady Alyson's face was working—with anger, Deirdre thought—but then she realized the other woman was trying not to laugh.

"I don't see what you find amusing about this!" she cried indignantly. "'Tis a man's life we speak of!"

"Oh, I know," Lady Alyson said, struggling to compose herself. "It isn't funny—not really—and you're right, of course. I've often thought how terrible it must have been for him last year, knowing what he did and no one listening to him—save for me, that is, and I wasn't about to admit I credited him at all—"

Deirdre watched, too surprised to speak, as Lady Alyson's laughter took on an edge that sounded dangerously close to tears. She sat down beside Deirdre and drew a shaking breath.

"'Tis a long tale, Lady Maxwell, and I see Sir Alistair hasn't told you the whole of it."

"Nay, he never did say much, and though we heard some at Cranston Keep, 'twas all a terrible muddle."

"That about describes it," Lady Alyson said wryly.

"Yet now that I know Sir Alistair, I'm sure he could not have been so much at fault as rumor has it."

"In some ways he was wronged, but he brought much of it upon himself. And when it came to the point, he defied an order from his laird, though he knew full well what the consequence would be. He was bent on vengeance and no one could make him see it differently—"

"I think he does see it differently now," Deirdre said. "'Twas his pride that kept him wandering. Foolish, aye, but men are foolish creatures when it comes to pride."

"They are that," Lady Alyson said with feeling. "Great fools, every one of them. I suppose that's why God sends them women to watch over them." She glanced at Deirdre sideways and smiled.

"Nay, my lady," Deirdre said gravely. "'Tis not as you might think. Sir Alistair is but a—a friend to me and Maeve. Indeed," she added, looking at her sleeping child, "I think 'tis for Maeve's sake he agreed to help us. The child loves him well."

"Aye, he does have a way with bairns." Lady Alyson sighed.

"Why did they bring him back here?" Deirdre asked. "What will happen to him now?"

"The laird is very ill. He wanted to see Alistair once more before the end. After that..." She shrugged. "We shall have to see."

"My lady, if you could speak to your lord—"

"On Alistair's behalf?" Lady Alyson stood and smoothed her skirt, then added quietly, "That I cannot do. Ah, don't glare at me like that, Lady Maxwell. Even if I would speak to Jemmy, 'twould do no good. There are many things you do not know. And if I do not take Alistair's part as you would have me, there is reason for it. For him to come back now, with things as they are—"

She was frightened, Deirdre realized, frightened of what Alistair's return would bring. On impulse she reached out and took the lady's hand.

"It will be all right," she said. "I see there is much here that I do not understand, but I think—I believe—that whatever drove Alistair away has changed—that he has changed."

"God send that you are right, lady."

"Deirdre."

Lady Alyson squeezed her hand and smiled. "And I am Alyson."

"I have not thanked you, Alyson. Forgive me. I am grateful for what you've done for us."

Alyson gave her a mischievous smile that lit her blue-green eyes, and for the first time Deirdre realized how young she was, perhaps younger than Deirdre was herself. "I was glad to do it—and I'm very glad you're here," she added with an impulsive warmth that left Deirdre in no doubt of her sincerity.

"Now, I promised myself that I'd not trouble you with questions...but I'll tell you truly, Deirdre, I can hardly wait to hear your tale. You mustn't speak until you're ready, of course, and not to me at all if you'd rather not. And yet...if there are some things easier said to me than Jemmy..."