Page 3

Reina nodded, sitting on a wooden chair as Joan lit more candles. “Aye.”

“You wish to speak to them.”

“Him,” she clarified. “I tried already and the guard let slip there is but one.”

The healer’s grey brows furrowed. “One. Hmm.”

“He is Scots,” Reina said. “They say he is a companion to Wallace.”

“I heard the same.” Joan, now sitting across from her, folded her hands into her arms. Reina knew that look. She was thinking. And would help her. Of that, she never had any doubt. The few nuggets of information she did have had been supplied by Joan. And though she moved more slowly, especially since the fall, there was naught slow about the woman’s mind. She was as sharp as any Reina knew. She’d have come here first if not for the hour.

“If Father left immediately, he could be back by tomorrow eve. Haste in the matter is warranted.”

Joan said nothing. Unlike Reina, she was deliberate. Careful. It made Reina want to jump out of her seat, waiting for a response. But since it was unlikely to help her cause, she did not, remaining as patient as she could instead.

Finally, a sparkle in Joan’s clear hazel eyes told Reina she had a plan. It was likely a similar one to her own, but Reina was afraid of the dosage and had no desire to poison the poor guard just to get past him to see the prisoner.

“You will have but one chance,” Joan said. “And I have no thoughts on how not to implicate you, my dear. Are you prepared for the consequences?”

“Aye.” She nodded vigorously. “I must speak to him.”

“He will know naught. And even if he did. . .”

“He is unlikely to tell me.” She’d thought of that as well. And agreed with Joan that the mere fact that the man hailed from Scotland meant little. Still, she must try. “I will do it,” Reina said. “We will use henbane?”

Joan sighed. “You were wise to come to me and not attempt it yourself.”

Reina knew some plants were much too dangerous to use without Joan’s guidance, and this was one of them. “I’d not have attempted it,” she reassured her.

Joan stood, her movements slow. “I know you would not. Come. As you said, you will need to get it done soon. Before morn would be wisest.”

Reina began to follow her when Joan abruptly stopped and put her hand on Reina’s shoulder. “Do not get too close to him. He is an enemy to your father and to England. Do not forget that.”

Ignoring the voice inside her telling Reina to forget this plan, she nodded her agreement and indicated to Joan she was ready. For whatever this meeting would bring.

3

It was another dream.

This one was of his sister. She was crying, and since he wasn’t the one to have teased her into such a state, Galien’s anger was immediate. As she ran toward him in the great hall, he could feel her anguish. This wasn’t the delicate cry of someone whose kitten had been dyed blue, one of many pranks of which she was the recipient at his hands. It was from deep within her soul, and as his arms had opened, Galien stood firm when Oriana slammed against him, burying her head in his chest.

He could get nothing from her. Indeed, it was not until his parents finally followed his sister into the hall that he’d learned the reason for her anguish. His sister’s intended, the son of a neighboring clan chief, had been killed in a raid. Friends since childhood, they were to be married the following month. Oriana loved him, even if Galien thought their love was more akin to that of theirs, as siblings. No matter, his sister’s heart had been broken, and Galien vowed to kill those responsible.

As he woke and the pain returned, Galien forced himself to stand. Ignoring the food that had been left earlier, he made his way to the hole in the ground that the guard had shown him when they first arrived. Relieving himself, he rubbed his wrists where the chains had chafed his skin and straightened his back. Though it was of no use, he tried again to open the door of the small cell but it, of course, did not budge. With no light to speak of, he could see nothing. Hear nothing. Were his companions taken? He knew little of Anbarth Castle and even less of its lord, aside from the fact that John de Rochinger was an ally of Edward’s.

He froze, the sound faint at first and then louder. Footsteps. Lighter than the previous guard’s had been. A flicker of light confirmed it as a swishing sound reached his ears. A gown? The lady of Anbarth, perhaps? Would his mother visit a prisoner, if they had one? Galien had no occasion to know for certain as Brockburg’s prison cells had remained empty for as long as he could remember. Enemies to Clan Kerr rarely lived long enough to make use of them.

Curious, Galien ignored the pulsing of both temples; his headache would be of little concern when he was tortured in truth for his involvement with Wallace. The light grew closer and closer until a face formed behind it. If this was the lady of Anbarth, she was much younger than he’d have expected. More beautiful, too. Auburn hair, not much longer than her shoulders. And a face that stared at him now as if Galien were a wild animal. Her eyes could not possibly open any wider. He could not see their color as she shoved the lantern toward the bars of his cell. Unflinching, he did not move under her obviously curious gaze. Lifting it upwards, the light now shining on his face, she finally stood back, clearly scared.

But also, appreciative. Something to which he was accustomed, though not under such conditions, normally. “Like what you see, my lady?”

Relishing her surprise at his words, Galien decided she was unlikely to be the lady of Anbarth. A daughter or ward, perhaps.

“You sound. . . different.”

Her voice flitted through the cell, so out of place for this dark, foul-smelling prison. By her English accent and lilting speech, his suspicions were confirmed. And since it was unlikely any ward of Anbarth’s would be given access to him, he assumed this must be the man’s daughter. It was curious the baron himself had not been to question him, and even more curious he’d allow his daughter to do so.

“Never met a Scotsman before?” he shot back, surprised at her expression. It was as if his words had found their mark, an unlikely prospect given Anbarth’s proximity to the border. He didn’t wait for her answer. “Does your father know you are down here?”