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that she heard her father
address Ian.
    “We heard there was some strife in the clan upon the death of your
father."
    Sabrina’s gaze slid to Ian. She was stunned when Ian’s expression underwent a
lightning transformation. All traces of pleasantness vanished as if it had never
been. He was sober and stern and unyielding. She sensed a hardness in him she'd
never have suspected… or perhaps she was not surprised at all. Indeed, after the
mean-spirited trick he'd pulled on her as a child… It wasn't so much that he’d
made her kiss Robert that long ago day in the stables. That she could have
accepted. But he'd told Papa…
    His voice was like ice, so cold it made her shiver. "Indeed. And precisely
what did you hear?"
    Duncan balked. Sabrina's chin nearly dropped. Not once in her life had she
seen a man who could make her father ill-at-ease—yet she had the unfamiliar
sensation Ian was doing exactly that!
    "Only that… things were not as they were before. Duncan hesitated, spreading
his hands. "It’s only to be expected—the petty squabbles and such over who will
succeed as chieftain. It is the Scots way."
    There was a slight edge to Ian's smile. "I hope you do not doubt my place as
chieftain."
    "Nay… nay, not a whit!" Duncan was quick to reassure him. "You’re known
across the land as the fiercest of Highland warriors. And by God, I'd not let my
Margaret marry a weakling."
    For the longest moment Ian said nothing. His expression was like the face of
a stone: impassive, revealing nothing of his thoughts. His head bowed ever so
slightly. He brought the tips of his fingers together on the table, tapping them
lightly together. Yet when he raised his head, whatever troubled him seemed to
have vanished.
    He addressed her father. "I've heard rumors that there are supporters of the
Red Comyn who live near Dunlevy."
    Her father's mouth turned down. "No doubt you mean the MacDougalls. They're
kin to the MacDougalls in the Hebrides. They live in the next valley. There's
one in particular who forever stirs the pot  to boiling…"
    Sabrina held her breath. Sweet heaven, surely he did not 
know
…
?
    "Jamie… that's who he is… aye, his name is Jamie!”
    She very nearly choked on her wine.
    Praise the saints, she recovered quickly and no one seemed to notice. By now
Papa had warmed to his subject. "For months now the young rascal seeks to rally
others to his cause."
    Ian tipped his head to the side. "And what is his cause?”
    Papa snorted. "To restore the Baliol line to the throne!"
    Sabrina's heart sank like a weighted stone.
    Across from her, Margaret pursed her lips. "How so?” she murmured. "Baliol
fled to Normandy when  he surrendered the crown, did he not?"
    “Aye,”  Papa agreed. "But John, lord of Badenoch, the Black Comyn, was
once a contender for the throne. He married Baliol's sister and had a son— John,
the Red Comyn. As Baliol's nephew, his son John had a double claim to the
throne."
    Sabrina listened intently to the discussion. Before her birth, Alexander,
King of Scots, had died in a fall one stormy spring night. His successor was his
three-year-old granddaughter Margaret, Maid of Norway. But when the Maid had
died en route to Scotland, Scotland was left with no clear heir to the
throne.
    Shortly after Alexander's death, several guardians of Scotland were appointed
to govern the realm until such time as Margaret ascended her rightful place as
queen. But when the child died, various contenders soon appeared to lay claim to
the throne. The strongest of these were Robert the Bruce and John de Baliol;
both claimed by right of descent from David, Earl of Huntingdon, younger brother
of Malcolm IV. King Edward of England was called upon to settle the matter.
    He decided in favor of Baliol, who promptly swore fealty to the English king.
After a time, when Edward demanded Baliol—and Scotland—join his invasion of
France, Baliol resisted. Instead he formed an alliance