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Amy couldn’t believe her ears. Should she say something? She wasn’t their enemy. She wasn’t who they thought she was—the Amy they talked about was probably safe at home. The dangerous alliance of the MacDougalls and the Earl of Ross was still taking place.

But if she told them she wasn’t the Amy they thought she was, what would she say? That she thought she had slipped through time? That she was from the future?

They’d never believe her. They’d think she was insane. Or worse, they’d become violent and imprison her somewhere in the darkness, where no one would come for her. A shiver ran through her, her whole body spasming.

“Well, we have her now,” Craig said. “I will keep her here, dinna fash, Yer Grace. She will be useful. We can negotiate with the MacDougalls and the Earl of Ross for them to hold their attacks.”

The king nodded thoughtfully, studying her.

“Aye. I will give it more thought. But it is a very good thing she is here. For now, lock her up. We have a victory to celebrate tonight and a feast to enjoy.”

Chapter 5

“Slàinte mhath,” Craig said.

“Good health,” his half brother Owen echoed.

Craig clunked his cup of uisge with Owen, then his other half brother Domhnall.

Across the table from Craig, Hamish MacKinnon and Lachlan Cambel sat. Hamish, a tall, strong man with black hair and battle scars on his face, had come to Bruce’s army recently with the MacKinnon clan. Lachlan was a distant cousin from Cambel lands. He had the Cambels’ dark hair, but unlike most Cambels, he had brown eyes.

The great hall still smelled like smoke and coals. Rain drizzled through the holes in the roof where fire had taken the wood and thatch, but it was rain that had made sure the fire didn’t take the whole building.

The atmosphere was cheerful. Someone at another side of the hall played a lyre and sang, although not as well as a bard. But in the times of war, this would do. The feast consisted of whatever Bruce’s cooks found in the kitchens—which was plenty more than the food they’d had while marching through the freezing Highlands.

“Tell me ye will throw better feasts, brother,” Owen said as he eyed a spoonful of the vegetable stew. His eyes sparkled with humor. They were green like almost everyone else’s in the family, but he had blond hair like his mother. “Isna a king’s feast supposed to have roasted boars, rabbits, and mayhap a grouse?”

Craig shook his head and hid a smile. Owen always said and did what he wanted.

“Dinna be a ninny, Owen,” Domhnall, Owen’s older brother, grumbled. Craig winced—Domhnall was usually the first to berate Owen. “’Tis war.”

“Aye, ’tis, brother,” Owen said. “But if Bruce hadn’t let go all the servants and kitchen maids, we’d have roasted meat, fresh bread, and fruit. Aren’t ye tired of oatcakes as hard as stones and dried meat? Of falling asleep alone at night?”

“Ye shall sleep alone for a long time, brother.” Craig chuckled through a mouthful of stew.

“There’s more chance of his farts smelling like roses than him sleeping alone.” Lachlan laughed and the whole table echoed him.

Lachlan was as tall as Craig, and looked enough like him that people sometimes mixed them up when they saw them from afar. It was probably the blood of their common ancestor—Craig’s great-grandfather, Gilleasbaig of Menstrie, the first Cambel.

“I wilna hire any female servants as long as Owen’s in the castle,” Craig said.

The men at the table guffawed. Domhnall clapped Owen on the shoulder. “See, Owen. Even Craig wilna help ye.”

Owen threw his uisge down his throat. “Aye, aye, laugh, everyone. But dinna crawl to me on yer knees in a month or so, asking for me to introduce ye to a nice village lass.”

“Take me with ye, Owen,” Hamish said.

The warrior was easy to spot, always at least a head taller than anyone. Something about him made Craig glad to have Hamish on his side of the battle. Mayhap, the heavy glance of his dark eyes, like the man had already gone through hell.

“Keep yer cocks in yer trousers,” Craig said. “We let go of all castle servants to avoid treachery. Local villagers may spy for information for their previous masters—or other enemies.”

Owen shook his head. “I might go north with Bruce after all. Plenty of maidens there.”

“Dinna go, brother,” Craig said. “I need one of ye here, with me.” Someone I can trust, he thought. “And look at all this excellent Comyn uisge.”

“Aye, ye should stay, Owen,” Domhnall said. “I am to go north with father and Bruce.”

Owen held Domhnall’s gaze, then looked down and nodded, but Craig caught a glimpse of bitterness in his eyes, though it passed quickly.