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David clenched the gunwale, the wood smooth and wet under his fingers. Twenty-six men, thirteen on each side, worked the long oars, and the boat slid through River Clyde into the Firth of Clyde like a hot knife through butter. Cold droplets splattered David’s face from the oars and the waves.

The birlinn looked like a Viking ship. It had a long, low body with a single mast and a square sail with a red armored hand fisting a cross.

At the end of that long ship—close enough, but impossibly far—was the love of his life. Hugged by Laoghaire, Anna kept her hand to her mouth and another hand to her stomach. She probably had seasickness, perhaps even combined with morning sickness. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her; she’d been kept away from him in the women’s pavilion in Bruce’s camp, and later when they’d traveled down the River Clyde to board the ships, she’d been in a carriage together with Laoghaire and their maidservants.

He ached to talk to her, to ask her how she felt and if she really wanted to marry him. He didn’t want to force her into anything, but he also wanted to take care of her and, if she was pregnant, the baby. He wanted her to know he was there.

In the middle of the boat, down in the opening in the hull were sacks and crates and boxes as well as weapons and armor that the MacDonalds were bringing home to Islay. A few horses were there, too, including Daisy.

The Scottish coast passed by quickly—the rugged hills and cliffs, brown and reddish rocks, green moss, occasional bushes and low trees. His stomach dropped with awe every time he looked at the rough, rugged country, often barren and unyielding to humans, but so beautiful it was hard to believe it was real. Part of him knew it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to live here, to see this wonder of nature every day, to be part of it. What were skyscrapers and brownstones compared to this?

Colum came to stand by David’s side and leaned over Tagradh’s gunwale with his elbows. “I have to say, man, ye disappointed me. Ye were supposed to take yer payment in gold, nae in pleasure.”

David sighed. “Yeah. Well. It was never just about pleasure. I am in love with her.”

Colum shook his head and squeezed David’s shoulder. “Love is nothing before duty.”

“If you had found us back in that cave by Carlisle, nothing would have happened. We waited for you. With sunrise, the English camped near the cave. We managed to escape, though we had to go on foot because they got Daisy. And why was the clan not in Ayr?”

“From what I heard, the MacDowells chased them away and they had to move higher up the loch.”

Colum retrieved his horn flask of uisge, opened the cork, and handed it to David. The sharp scent of alcohol tickled his nostrils, and a part of him rejoiced and wanted to take it and make himself feel light and careless again. Happy.

But he didn’t truly want it anymore. The void he’d been trying to fill with alcohol was not there. There was something else instead, something he didn’t understand yet himself.

Colum clapped David on the shoulder. “Ye’ll be part of the clan when ye marry. After my uncle and I give ye a good thrashing for dishonoring Anna.”

“Fair enough, man,” David said. “If you want to hit me, I won’t mind. I deserve it.”

Colum gave a long sigh. “Ye make it verra difficult to nae like ye. Despite what ye did, I ken ye’re a good man. Ye helped us save her. Without ye, she may have died there. So I’ll be happy to have ye as my brother and clansman. But ye must promise ye will never break Anna’s heart.”

David nodded. The sky was gray and cloudy, but David was warm. “Thanks. I don’t ever want to break her heart.”

“Good.” Colum took a large sip of uisge. “And people will be wary of ye at first. But they’re still wary of me, too. I understand what ’tis like to make an impossible choice and then work yer whole life to atone for it. So it will be the two of us in the clan. Two outcasts. Two men who were wrong but want to make it right.”

David frowned. “What happened to you? What did you do?”

Colum took another large gulp of uisge, his eyes darkening as he watched the coast passing by. “The English kidnapped me. At the Battle of Methven in 1306, when Bruce lost everything and had to run. I was hit on the head with a shield and blacked out. When I woke up, I found myself tied up and being carried somewhere in a cart with two dozen more of Bruce’s most important knights and warriors. My head hurt so much I thought a blacksmith was hitting it with a hammer. I kept emptying the insides of my stomach, and everything was fuzzy, but I kent I was with the enemy. After a long journey, we arrived at Berwick Castle.”

He was silent for a while, watching the passing land, his jaw working under the short beard.

“Chivalric law guides us to treat war hostages well, allow them a chance of being ransomed…”

“Yeah…” David said, his heart sinking. He didn’t like where this was going.

“But Edward I, who was the king back then, was so furious at Bruce that he abandoned the chivalric law.”

David’s heart sank.

“He ordered all the hostages to be drawn, quartered, and beheaded without a trial. I was among them. I watched my sword brothers, the knights and warriors I’d fought beside, being killed in the worst possible manner.” His voice shook, down to a whisper. “There were nae burials. Nae honoring the lives of those men. And I was next.”

David swallowed a hard knot watching the man.

“But ’twas Philip Mowbray who saved me.”

David frowned. “Philip?”

“Aye. I had protected his fifteen-year-old nephew, barely a pup, at Methven. The lad should have never been there, at the battle. Sir Philip told me he’d owe me a life. And then, just before Edward gave the order to execute me, Philip had begged him not to.”