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And God be thanked that was the truth, or there would be more on his conscience than he could bear.

"'Tis the quickest way." Calder shrugged, and Alistair felt a slow chill run down his back.

"And then the council will choose Malcolm," he said.

"Why, I've got the council right here." Calder laughed, holding out his hand. "Ye might say I am the council, Alistair, and ye wouldna be far off from the truth. But 'twould be better for us all if Jemmy...well, if he didna survive his wound. Quick and clean and then Malcolm is the heir with the council to guide him."

"I see ye have been busy!" Alistair said admiringly.

"I have. But what of you, Alistair? What game are ye playing here? I thought I knew, but now...well, now I'm not so sure. Ye seem different, somehow."

"I've been away a long time."

Calder gave him a long, considering look. "Mayhap that's all there is to it. Mayhap not. But know this, Alistair: with ye or without ye, the council will rule until Malcolm is of age. And by that time," he added, his teeth gleaming in a smile. "He'll know who his friends are."

"And if he's doesn't?"

"That's no concern of yours. We'll handle the lad."

Calder stood and looked down at Alistair. "You're either in or out. Ye canna have it both ways."

"Aye. Well, you've given me much to think about."

"Think all ye like. But do it quick. Time is running out—and not only for the laird."

"Calder!" Alistair called and the knight turned back. "Who gave Jemmy that wound?"

"'Twas a bit hard to tell exactly what was happening that day—ye ken how it is in the heat of battle. Could have been one man, could have been another."

"Or it could have been your blade."

"Aye, it could have," Calder agreed blandly. "But if it was, I wouldn't be admitting it, now, would I?"

"Lie down, my lady," Maggie ordered firmly, straightening from the bed where Jemmy lay. "I can tend to this well enough."

Deirdre put a hand on Alyson's arm. "She's right. Come and rest—" She could feel Alyson shaking beneath her hand, and added very quietly, "'tis not only yourself you have to care for now."

Alyson gave in without further protest and allowed Deirdre to lead her to the tower chamber, where Maeve played happily on the floor with the sweet-faced lady who had been set to tend her. "Mam," the child cried. "Look!"

"Come, bairn, let's go see the garden," the lady said, taking one look at Alyson's face and scooping Maeve into her arms.

"Go on, love," Deirdre said, kissing the child's upturned face. "I'll be down soon."

Alyson lay down upon the bed. "How did you know?" she asked.

"I can't say I did know," Deirdre answered with a shrug. "From time to time I make a lucky guess. Do you have any pains here—or here—"

Alyson put one hand on her belly and shook her head. "No, I think all is well." She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillow. "We've wanted this," she murmured. "But now—" her eyes flew open and she struggled to sit upright. "Deirdre, you mustn't tell anyone! Promise me!"

"I promise," Deirdre said, puzzled. "But whisht, lie back, you must rest now. I'll send for someone—who would you like?"

"No one."

Deirdre's puzzlement deepened. "Surely there is some woman—a friend?"

"No," Alyson said in a small voice. "They all—oh, Deirdre, you don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"