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Alistair repressed the protest he wanted to make and simply nodded. He had known this moment must come. He just hadn't expected it to come this soon.

Malcolm walked into the room and stood hesitating, his bright eyes moving quickly across the men and settling on Alistair with relief.

"Where is Uncle Jemmy?"

"He's not needed," Calder answered before Alistair could speak. "This is between us, my boy."

Malcolm drew himself up. "I am not your boy, Sir Calder. What have you to say to me?"

Alistair kept his face carefully expressionless. "Malcolm, I saw the laird last night. He told me his will. You are to follow him, not Jemmy."

"But Alistair, he didn't really mean that! He's been angry with Uncle Jemmy, and since his last illness he has been—"

"Hold your tongue," Calder ordered. "No one gave ye leave to speak."

Malcolm's eyes flashed. "I shall speak when and how I please, Sir Calder. I take orders from my grandfather and uncle, not from you."

"And from me?" Alistair asked quietly.

"Of course," Malcolm said quickly. "I didn't mean—but Uncle Jemmy is my guardian. He already named me his heir, even over the children of his own body. Did ye not know, Alistair?"

Alistair hadn't known. It was a clever move on Jemmy's part, one he hadn't expected. But it wouldn't help him now.

Calder laughed. "And ye actually believe that?"

"Of course I believe him. Why shouldn't I? He doesn't lie," he added pointedly, glaring at Sir Calder.

He is so damn much like Ian, Alistair thought. The same reckless pride and hasty tongue. The same disregard for danger.

"Watch yourself, boy," Calder growled. "I'll stand only so much from ye."

"And then what?" Malcolm challenged.

Before Calder could answer, Alistair spoke sharply. "That's enough, Malcolm. You'll hold your tongue and do as ye are bidden."

"By him?" Malcolm said, pointing to Calder.

"By your council," Alistair said firmly.

Oh, this was hard, much worse than Alistair had expected, seeing the shocked hurt spreading across the boy's open face.

"My council? These men? Do ye not know what they are? Traitors, every one of them. But you—" for the first time Malcolm looked like the young and frightened boy he was. "Alistair, you're not like them—ye canna be—"

"Be quiet," Alistair snapped. "Do ye no' ken I'm acting in your interests? Now run along. We've work to do."

Malcolm stared at him in disbelief, but Alistair kept his own face carefully expressionless as the boy walked out of the chamber, his shoulders stiff. But in the moment before he turned, Alistair had seen the tears shining in his eyes. He clenched his hands tightly together and looked at the men remaining.

"He'll come around."

"He'd better," Calder said. "But whether or no, we have five years before he's of an age to act. By then, he'll be with us, or..."

"Or what?"

Calder shrugged.

"Dinna even think of hurting him, Calder," Alistair warned. "I won't stand for it."

"Oh, you won't stand for it? Well, Alistair, 'tis time ye learned there's no room here for a man who can't pull with the rest. If ye should decide to leave with the Maxwell wench, we'll carry on. D'ye understand me?"