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And as she was falling apart around him, feeling like she was no longer a separate person but had become one with him, her heart was full.

Right after sunrise, an urgent knock on the door woke Rogene up. Angus grunted, his heavy, warm arm bringing her tighter to him.

“Go away,” he croaked.

But the knock repeated.

“My lord Angus,” someone said from behind the door. “’Tis me, Iòna. Come quick. Lord Raghnall is back. He’s hurt, and he brought another wounded man with him. He asked me to fetch ye…”

Angus rose immediately, blinking sleep away, worry on his face. He reached for a tunic that lay on the chest by the bed.

“I’m coming,” he said, and footsteps sounded from behind the door, growing quieter.

Rogene reached for her dress, fighting a new wave of nausea.

“Stay,” Angus said, fastening the belt on his trousers. “’Tis early.”

“No, I want to help.”

When they were dressed, they hurried down the curved stairs.

They walked into the fresh air of an early morning, rich with the scent of lake water, wet grass, and flowers. Birds sang, roosters crowed, and sheep bleated from the pastures on the mainland. The inner bailey was empty, except for Iòna and another guard. A still sleepy Laomann and a pale Catrìona arrived right after Rogene and Angus.

Raghnall pressed his hand against his side, the tunic under his palm brown with blood. A tall stranger who stood on one leg had his arm around the guard’s shoulder. His head was bandaged, covering one eye.

“Raghnall, what happened?” Angus said.

“And who is this?” Laomann asked.

The wounded man looked up at them, and Rogene distinguished a handsome face. His ear-long hair and beard were the color of dirty gold. The tan of someone who’d been outside most of his life colored his high cheekbones. His intelligent green eyes were clouded with pain and exhaustion.

One moment, Rogene was studying him, the next, Catrìona gasped and fell. On instinct, Rogene turned and caught her sister-in-law, supporting her by the elbows.

Catrìona clenched her dress over her heart and whispered, “Good Lord…” She crossed herself hastily and pressed her wooden cross to her lips.

“Catrìona, I wish you ate more,” Rogene whispered to her. “Stop starving yourself—”

“’Tis nae that,” Catrìona replied in a hot whisper.

Raghnall frowned, his dark eyes on Catrìona. “Are ye all right, sister? ’Tis only Tadhg. Ye remember him, right?”

Tadhg’s eyes were on Catrìona, and he was clearly as astounded to see her as she was to see him.

“Tadhg,” she said. “I didna ken ye were alive…or would ever be back.”

“Who is he?” Rogene whispered.

“The only man I’ve ever loved,” Catrìona said. “My betrothed…”

“Yer who?” growled Angus quietly.

But she didn’t reply. She let go of Rogene, rushed to Tadhg, and supported him from the other side.

Raghnall looked at Laomann. “Is it all right with ye, brother, if Tadhg stays here until he gets better? Ross men attacked on my way back from clan Ruaidhrí and he saved my life. Euphemia isna going to leave us alone.”

Rogene’s skin chilled. Laomann nodded and gestured to the keep. “Of course. Stay, Tadhg. Ye need help, too, Raghnall.”

“I’ll help ye get better,” Catrìona said.