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She shot him a sideways glance and raised her chin. “I dropped it.”

“Why didn’t you pick it up?”

She bent forward just a tad to correct the position of his arm over her shoulder and then sped up a little.

“None of yer concern.”

Hmm. Mysterious all right.

“Is it like a hobby?” he asked. “I mean, archery? I don’t know anyone who does it.”

“A what?” she said. “Hobby? Dinna ken what that is, but I hunt to feed my people.”

She was so serious. Was she in some sort of closed community, like the Amish, but in Scotland?

“Well, that’s very noble of you,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Marjorie. Yours?”

Marjorie… A shiver went through him. That was the name Sìneag had said.

“Konnor…” he said automatically. Was this some kind of a joke? A setup?

She stopped behind a bush large enough to hide them both and carefully glanced through the branches. Ahead of them, the trees tapered off, and the small brook that flowed down the length of the ravine went into the loch. A castle stood on the shore, not a big one, though it was hard to see from this distance. Sheep grazed in the meadow before it, and the smell of dung reached Konnor’s nose.

The surprising thing was that the castle wasn’t a ruin. Actually, it looked quite new. Smoke rose from the chimneys in the towers and from somewhere behind the wall. Scotland was full of castles. He’d seen a couple of ruins during his trip with Andy. But this one… It could be Glenkeld, the closest castle he’d seen on the map. But that was marked as a ruin, so on second thought, this must be something else.

“Let us go,” Marjorie said. “The way is clear.”

Clear? Was she afraid of someone? Konnor scanned their surroundings, looking for any sudden movements, for armed men, for a shadow lurking behind the trees, for guards or snipers in the castle, for any patch of light reflected off a weapon.

Nothing.

“Are you in danger?” he said when she tugged him to continue walking.

“Aye,” she said, and his gut tightened. “I think we mayhap be. I just saw MacDougall spies talking about a siege.”

He blinked. Was he hallucinating again? “A siege? What siege?”

“The siege of Glenkeld, of course,” she said.

Who would besiege a castle these days, unless they were role-playing? There were groups of people who liked medieval fairs and playing elf and dwarf battles and such… Maybe she was part of something like that?

All that reminded him of his childhood. As a boy, he’d read Lord of the Rings and other fantasy and sci-fi novels. Feeling helpless against his stepfather, Jerry, Konnor had admired the characters who rose against evil and violence. Perhaps he’d been looking for strength for himself. But in real life, evil won. Jerry had mocked him for what he liked to read, and when Konnor didn’t stop, his stepfather beat it out of him.

They walked towards the castle now, and he looked at it with astonishment as they approached. It was a simple construction, four walls connected by four towers on the corners. One of them was round and looked bigger and older than the others. The rest were smaller and square. Two smaller towers surrounded a massive wooden gate that stood closed.

“I thought Glenkeld was a ruin. Do you live here?”

“Aye. ’Tis my clan’s seat. Ever since the bloody MacDougalls took Innis Chonnel after Alasdair MacDougall—” Her voice shook as she said the name, and she cut herself off. Something dark crossed her face, and he saw a bottomless pain dwelling in the depths of her eyes. He looked away. He knew that kind of pain all too well. But it wasn’t his business. He wouldn’t want anyone asking him about his. He shouldn’t meddle in her affairs, and he’d be gone soon anyway.

Konnor looked back to the castle as they approached it. Now that they were a few feet away, he could see through the slit windows that someone was moving on the timber gallery built on top of the rampart. He’d learned that was what they were called when he and the guys had visited an old castle.

The gate opened slowly. A white-haired man in a heavy, quilted coat stood in the opening. A sword was sheathed on his belt. Konnor cocked his head, studying the man’s costume. Something about the posture of the man said he wasn’t kidding, and the Marine in Konnor tensed.

“Mistress, why are ye without Tamhas and Muir?” the man asked, one hand on his sword. “And who is this?”

“’Tis Konnor, Moire’s cousin. He needs Isbeil. He’s hurt his leg. Aren’t Tamhas and Muir back?”