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“Sheona,” Angus said, his high voice ringing clear and dead serious in the quiet stairwell. He didn’t run to her, nor did he drop his wooden blade. He lifted one small hand, pointing his toy sword up the narrow, twisting stairs into the dark. “Ye cannae follow me right now. I am on duty.”

Sheona stopped three paces away, resting her hand against the cold stone archway. A gentle, fond smile touched her lips, though she kept her voice low and measured. “Is that so, Sir Guard? The feast is still underway in the yard. I thought we were to sit by the hearth.”

Angus shook his head fiercely, his dark curls bouncing against his forehead. He took two steps down the stairs, bringing himself closer, though his gaze kept darting back up into the shadow of the tower.

“There is nay time for stories,” Angus declared, his little chest heaving as he drew himself up as tall as his small frame allowed. “Master Douglas’s scout came from the ridge. The watchman said there is danger up at the old watchtower, a fire signal or men in the dark glens. I saw the rider’s horse sweatin’ in the yard!”

Sheona’s hand tightened against the stone. The faint, bitter smell of pine smoke she had caught out in the courtyard suddenly felt sharp and heavy in her nostrils.

“Angus…” she began, her tone shifting, the warmth giving way to a quiet, firm authority.

“I have to go help!” Angus interrupted, his small jaw setting into stubborn granite. He clutched his wooden sword until his knuckles turned pale in the torchlight. “Father said a laird protects what is his. The watchman needs someone to hold the post at the door while he checks the iron grate! I am fast, and I ken where the keys are kept!”

He did not wait for her answer. He turned on his heel, his small leather boots slapping the stone as he bounded back up the spiral stairs, his wooden blade clattering against the wall as he vanished into the tower’s shadows.

“Angus!” Sheona called, her heart taking a hard, violent leap against her ribs.

She gathered the heavy folds of her pale wool dress in one hand and darted up the winding stairs after him, the cold draft sweeping down from the open tower door, whipping her dark braids across her face as the quiet peace of the evening shattered into the icy reality of the rising wind.

The stone stairs were rough and uneven beneath her boots, cold seeping through the leather soles as she climbed after the boy. Her breath came in quiet, steady hitches, and the sharp draft from the high tower’s slit windows rustled the hem of her cream wool dress.

“Angus, halt yer boots,” Sheona called out, her voice calm and smooth, cutting through the heavy clatter of his small footsteps ahead.

She caught up to him on the narrow landing where the stone spiral curved sharply toward the high watchman’s loft. Angus was leaning against the damp masonry, breathing hard, his small fingers white where he gripped his wooden sword. He looked up at her with fierce, dark eyes, his tiny shoulders squared to fight off the whole world if he had to.

Amused, a warm smile softened Sheona’s lips. She reached out, her fingers gently sweeping a stray curl of dark hair from his flushed forehead.

“If there truly is danger lurkin’ up in the rafters, me brave Laird,” Sheona said softly, her blue eyes bright with quiet affection, “then a proper commander does nae charge into the dark alone. Ye need the real steel.”

Angus blinked, his jaw tightening as he considered her words. “The watchman⁠—”

“The watchman has his duty, but if the keep is threatened, yer father must ken,” she reasoned, her tone light yet firm enough to give him a purpose. “Run back down to the hall. Find Brodie. Tell him where I am and what ye saw. I will go up to the tower door and make certain everythin’ is well until ye return with him.”

Angus hesitated, his small leather shoes shifting on the cold granite. He looked up the dark stairwell toward the tower, then back at Sheona. The pride of being given a real task cleared the stubbornness from his small face.

“Aye,” Angus breathed, nodding hard. “I’ll fetch him. Daenae let anyone pass!”

“Nae a soul,” Sheona promised.

He turned on his heel and scrambled back down the winding stairs, his wooden sword clattering against the stone walls, his hurried footsteps echoing until they faded into the low, distant rumble of the feast below.

Smiling to herself, Sheona turned back to the stairs. She gathered the heavy folds of her skirt in one hand and began the final ascent. She had promised the boy she would check, and she meant to keep her word—if only to give him a full report when he returned with a thoroughly bewildered Brodie in tow.

The air grew steadily colder as she climbed, tasting sharp of winter frost and the distant, bitter tang of wood smoke. The thick stone walls here were ancient, built long before the main keep, heavily worn by centuries of Highland gales. The low thrum of the bagpipes from the courtyard below was completely lost now, swallowed by the rising whistle of the northern wind howling through the upper arrow slits.

She reached the top of the stairwell and stepped out onto the wide, circular floor of the old watchtower.

“Is anyone here?” Sheona called out, her voice carrying across the empty chamber.

No one answered.

She stood near the doorway, her gaze sweeping over the low-ceilinged room. Torchlight flickered weakly from a single iron sconce mounted beside the heavy oak door that led out to the open ramparts. The broad-shouldered watchman Angus had been trailing was nowhere to be seen; he must have already passed through to the outer wall walk to complete his rounds.

The watchtower was empty.

Near the far wall, a heavy wooden shutter hung loose on a single rusted hinge, banging rhythmically against the stone sill as the gale whipped through the opening. Puddles of old rainwater glistened on the flagstones beneath the broken window, reflecting the pale, watery moonlight filtering through the heavy storm clouds outside. Drafts sliced through the room, whistling through the cracks in the masonry and sending loose bits of straw swirling across the floor.

Sheona shook her head, a quiet, amused breath escaping her lips.