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“We should kill ye right here and now, ye traitor,” spat Brohain, pulling his sword from the sheath.
“Nay! Put him in the dungeon only. I will see to his execution in the mornin’,” commanded Alastair. “Now, take him away.”
“Nay!” cried Fia. “Dinna accuse Niven. I am sure he didna steal the crown.”
Alastair lookedover to Fia thinking that now he would have his answer. His little plan was working beautifully.
“How can ye be sure?” asked Alastair. “Unless ye ken who took it. If no’, I would say Niven is the only other one who could have stolen it. After all, I left him to attend to ye in the Iron Eagle.”
“Perhaps it was stolen by someone when we werena watchin’, but I ken Niven would never do somethin’ like that.” Fia’s worried gaze shot over to Niven and then back to Alastair. “Please, Alastair, dinna kill Niven. He is innocent.”
“I have no idea where the crown could be!” shouted Niven.
“The bag has been chewed on by the dog,” she said, pointing at the travel bag. “Mayhap the hound stole it and – and buried it somewhere.”
“Really,” he said in a low voice. “I hardly think anyone would miss a huge mutt walkin’ through the courtyard with a jeweled crown in its mouth.”
“M-mayhap Cerberus did it when it was dark,” she stammered.
“I dinna think so. Take him away.” With a wave of his hand, Alastair sat down on his chair. He hoped to hell Brohain and Rhodric wouldn’t take the matter into their own hands and kill Niven. After all, this was only a setup to corner Fia into telling him what she did with the crown. “Fearchar, come here,” he said, calling over one of his loyal men.
“Aye, my laird?” The man approached the edge of the dais.
Alastair leaned over and whispered to him. “Take two men with ye and go to the dungeon. Then, stay there and watch over Niven until I tell ye otherwise. Make certain Brohain and Rhodric dinna harm him.”
“Aye, my laird,” said Fearchar, hurrying away to do as instructed.
“What did ye tell him?” asked Fia, looking very worried.
“I told him to guard the prisoner since he is dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Niven isna any more dangerous than yer hound!”
“Hah!” he snorted. “That doesna say much considerin’ Cerberus tore apart my solar and caused a lot of damage.”
“Alastair, ye canna mean to tell me that ye think Niven is a thief.”
“I can unless ye tell me otherwise. Can ye?”
Her eyes fell to the table, and she wrung her hands. “I – dinna ken.”
“That’s what I thought.” He raised his hand in the air. “Servers, bring the food. I am hungry.”
“How can ye eat at a time like this?” she asked. “Ye have just sentenced yer best and loyal friend to death without even havin’ evidence of the crime that ye accused him of commitin’.”
“I am laird and have to do the right thing, no matter if Niven is my friend or no’. Now, sit down and eat,” he said, pulling her into the chair. He figured it wouldn’t be long now until she caved and told him everything he wanted to know.
* * *
Fia finally hada moment to herself when she took Cerberus for a walk in the castle orchard later that day. She still wasn’t outside the castle walls, but now she couldn’t even think of escaping before she did something to help set Niven free. How could this have gotten so out of hand? She didn’t think Alastair was such an ogre that he’d condemn his friend to death. She wondered why he would do such a thing over a stupid crown that wasn’t even his to begin with.
“Come here, Cerberus,” she said, calling the dog over, but it wasn’t listening. The hound seemed to have a squirrel or something cornered behind the apple tree. Cerberus kept barking and running in circles. “How am I goin’ to think of a plan when ye keep actin’ like that?” She went over to the dog, thinking she’d find a squirrel or rabbit, but was instead surprised when she found a young woman hunkered down behind the tree, crying.
“Down, Cerberus,” she said, pulling the dog away from the girl. “Go on,” she said, throwing a stick. The hound tore out of the garden to fetch the stick. But instead of retrieving it, it lay down and gnawed on the wood.
“Please, dinna hurt me,” said the girl, looking up with tears in her eyes. She seemed to be a few years younger than Fia. She had long black hair, gray eyes, and was dressed in the MacPherson plaid.
“I willna hurt ye,” said Fia, sitting down on the ground next to her. “Who are ye, lass, and why are ye cryin’?”
