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"Nay." Alistair stood, frowning at the chains around his ankles. "Stay out of it. Remember, ye are meant to be champing at the bit to hang me. Why would ye start questioning others now?"

"Then what?"

"Let me talk to him alone. I can get the truth from him. Two hours, no more, and I'll be back. Will ye trust me for that?"

"Yes," Jemmy said. "I will and I do. Come on, then. We'll go to the chapel—we can say you're paying your final respects to the laird. I'll wait for you there."

As he went to the door to call the guard, Alistair put a hand on his wrist.

"Thank you, Jemmy."

"No need for thanks," Jemmy said gruffly. "'Tis little enough to ask. You're the only family I have left to me now that Father... I need you with me. Alive. So see you get the truth from that Irishman."

"Oh, I'll have the truth of this," Alistair promised grimly. "One way or another, I'll find young Fitzgerald and make him talk."

CHAPTER 38

"Ready to talk, Fitzgerald?"

Ronan kicked backward with all his strength and twisted in his assailant's grip. But the arms around him were strong and the blade against his throat was very keen.

"Why else are ye here at this hour?" Calder added, driving his knee more firmly into the small of Ronan's back. "Running to Jemmy to spill your guts, were ye? Well, we canna have that. D'ye think I'll let a wee fool like you undo all I've done?"

"You never said—" Ronan gasped. "Never—not murder—"

Calder laughed. "Nay, I don't suppose I did. But what's done is done."

The courtyard was nearly dark, but Alistair, crouched in the shadow of a wheelbarrow, had no trouble making out the two men. Careful not to make a sound, he drew his sword. He had followed Ronan this far expecting to hear something very different. But now he understood. It had not been Deirdre, nor had it been the young harper—now so dangerously close to death—who had killed Brodie. Jemmy had been right. It was Calder all along.

He stepped out from the shadows and raised his sword. To his right, he heard the scrape of a booted foot on cobbles and realized a man stood concealed in the corner of the wall. Alistair spun to face him, but he was too late. Before he could speak a word, the world exploded into pain and darkness.

"Hist! Calder, 'tis Alistair—"

"What?"

Calder's head whipped toward the figure lying face down on the cobbles. The moment his attention was diverted, Ronan drove an elbow into his belly. When Calder's grasp loosened, the Irishman twisted, struck out once more, and disappeared into the darkness.

"After him!" Calder grunted, wheezing. "Find him, slit his throat—damn ye, man, what d'ye mean by crying out that way?"

"I'm sorry—'twas the shock—"

"Go on!" Calder ordered curtly. "He must be silenced."

When Calder was alone, he bent and laid a hand against Alistair's neck. "Still alive," he muttered. "Worse luck."

He drew his dagger, then stiffened at the sound of footsteps and glanced nervously about the darkened courtyard. With sudden decision he righted the wheelbarrow, tossed Alistair within, and with an armful of hay scraped hastily from the ground, he covered the prone figure. Just as the guard rounded the corner, Calder seized the handles and started for the stable.

Ronan flattened himself against the wall and drew a gasping breath, casting a longing glance toward the lighted window of the tower room. There was no time to reach Deirdre now. He had to find Jemmy Kirallen and tell him what should have been told this afternoon. If only he had spoken up at once! But he had not, and now there was no time to berate himself for his own credulous folly. If he lived, there would be plenty of time to confess his part in this afternoon's tragedy. And if not... well, then there was no point in worrying about it.

Keeping to the shadows, he made his way around the walled courtyard to the doorway. There he stopped, listening hard, hearing nothing but the pounding of his heart.

At last the door opened and a man walked outside, yawning and looking at the stars. Ronan darted inside the doorway and glanced to either side. The hall was just before him and a corridor stretched to his right. As he hesitated, the guard walked back inside and Ronan dove for the nearest patch of shadow.

Sweat ran into his eyes and he blinked hard, cursing steadily beneath his breath as the guardsman took up his station just inside the door. His eyes trained on the guardsman, Ronan drew a coin from the purse at his belt and threw it past him, into the doorway of the hall. It landed with a muffled clink and the guard turned in that direction. The moment the man moved, Ronan ran headlong up the stairs toward Jemmy's chamber.

"Sir Calder!" the stable lad said, staring at the wheelbarrow. "What are ye doing here? Here, let me take that for ye."

"No!" Calder stretched his lips into a smile as he loosened the dagger in his belt. "I have it, lad. No need to trouble yourself."