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"About how I came here."

"Well," Deirdre said cautiously. "There was some talk. They said your father tried some trick and it all went wrong."

Alyson's pale lips curved in a smile. "That's what they're still saying here. But I think it all went right—at least for me. And Jemmy. Though lately I've wondered...I've brought him nothing but trouble from the first..."

Deirdre took Alyson's cold hand in hers. "Tell me," she said. "If you want to."

"Yes. I do want to. Better you hear it from me..."

Deirdre listened with astonishment as Alyson's tale came out, of the deception she'd been forced to undertake, her growing love for Jemmy and his for her. When Alyson reached the part where Jemmy had defied his clan and father to wed her, Deirdre wiped her eyes and laughed.

"I knew from the first he was mad with love for you," she said. "Oh, Alyson, if you could have heard the way he spoke of you—he doesn't regret it. Don't ever think it."

"He should regret it. It turned the clan against him—and he had enough to overcome as it was. We could have won them over, though, I'm sure of it, if not for—"

"For Alistair?"

"Aye. Once he was gone, they all started to talk of him as if he was a holy martyr. The laird could have stopped it, but he didn't. It was the guilt," she said quietly. "He looked at Alistair like his own son, the only one he had once Ian was gone. He and Jemmy—they never got on well. That was why Jemmy left in the first place. Once Jemmy came back again, things began to get better between them. Until Jemmy married me instead of Maude."

"But I don't understand," Deirdre said. "What difference did it make by then? The laird had the peace he wanted."

"He had it at the price of losing Alistair. The laird always thought that if Jemmy had only married Maude, Alistair would have accepted it—that the clan would have accepted it. But there's a great difference between having Maude, Darnley's true-born daughter, as their lady, and the baseborn kitchen slut Darnley foisted off on Jemmy. They hate me, Deirdre—"

"Oh, Alyson," Deirdre cried, "Surely that can't be so! They can't all hate you!"

"Maybe not," Alyson agreed listlessly. "But the ones who don't, don't dare quite offer friendship. They're standing back, waiting, watching to see which way things will go. Now that Alistair's back again, the waverers will be sidling over to his camp if it seems he's winning."

"Winning what?"

"Power," Alyson said flatly. "Isn't that what all this is about?"

"Mayhap Alistair was bitter when he left," Deirdre said slowly. "Who could blame him if he was? But he has changed. He didn't mean to come back here at all, he was just guiding us through your lands—"

"Are you sure of that, Deirdre? Really, really sure?"

Deirdre thought back over everything that had happened since she met Alistair on Beltane Eve.

"Yes," she said at last. "I am sure."

I am, I must be, she thought. Because if I am wrong, then Alistair is not only a liar, but the most accomplished liar I've ever met. And that she could not accept.

"He is coming with me to Donegal," she said. "I see now we should leave as quickly as we can."

"Oh, Deirdre—I hate to say this, but I hope you will."

"Now rest," Deirdre said firmly. "Whatever is to happen, you must have a care for yourself—and the babe."

She sat by the bed, stroking the bright hair back from Alyson's pale face until her breathing slowed and Deirdre knew she slept.

When someone knocked softly on the door, she was up and across the floor in an instant.

"Hush," she said, pulling open the door, surprised to find herself face to face with Alistair.

"How is she?" he asked, looking past her into the room.

"Resting," Deirdre said briefly.

"Poor Deirdre," he said, "You look worn out yourself. Will ye come and get some air?"