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when she stepped out from behind the youngest of the men. She was shorter than the willowy Rowan, with dark hair and eyes snapping with distrust.
    “I am Nicholas, chief of the MacAlpins of Dunlairig,” the dark-haired man who had been holding Rowan’s hand said, that same hand now resting on his dirk.
    Before he could continue, Jeanette spoke. “We encountered an English soldier on the trail to the wellspring, just at the big boulder. I do not think he is dead and we are not certain if there are more, but Malcolm heard voices and it seems unlikely one would be here alone.”
    To his credit, the chief did not question any part of Jeanette’s statement. “Duncan, take a few men with you and see if you can pick up their tracks.” The youngest of the two men standing just behind the chief nodded, then headed for the rubble pile again, shouting names as he went.
    “You said you do not think he was dead?” Nicholas asked Jeanette. “Did you find him that way, or were you responsible for his injuries?”
    “ We are responsible for his injuries,” she said. “Malcolm engaged him and I hit him on the head.”
    “She knocked him out cold,” Malcolm said. “You should have seen her.”
    “You should have killed him,” the dark-haired woman said, her words like a snake’s hiss. “If he is English, he deserved to die.”
    “She could not kill him, Scotia,” Rowan said to the lass. “Jeanette could never do that.”
    “I could,” Scotia said.
    “I doubt it not,” the chief said, shaking his head. “Perhaps one day soon you’ll have no choice but to prove you are so bloodthirsty.” He turned his attention back to Malcolm. “My wife says you are a warrior in King Robert’s army.”
    “I was until I was injured.” He shrugged his right shoulder to indicate where. “I will be again when Mistress Jeanette has healed me.”
    “As you can see,” Nicholas said, raising his hands to indicate their ruined surroundings, “there is little we can offer you for hospitality, but you are welcome to stay here and partake of what little we have in exchange for any information or insight you can give us about the English and their tactics.”
    “I thank you,” Malcolm said formally, though he thought it odd that a chief would not be well versed in such things. “I will share what I can, though why they would return here when they have already done so much damage, I cannot fathom.”
    There was a look that ran through all the people gathered around him but he could not tell what it meant.
    “Suffice it to say that we are certain they intend to return and soon, given your meeting with one of their soldiers this day so close to the castle. Defending the clan is paramount.”
    Malcolm felt his eyebrows rise. “Defend?” Was the man daft? Was the entire clan daft? “If what you believe is true, and the English are returning here soon, there is no defending this place.”
    “If we were to defend this castle,” Nicholas said, “I would ask your opinion of how that might be done.”
    “There is no defending. The curtain wall will trap you in an attack by anyone coming over the broken part of the wall. You have only the tower to retreat to, and it does not look big enough to keep many safe within.” He shook his head. “There is only one thing you can do if you wish your clan to survive another English attack.” He paused, knowing what he was about to say would not sit well with these proud Highlanders.
    “If you stay here, you will all be caught like birds in a cage, easy prey for your hunters. I can see no other outcome. You must abandon this castle.”

    E VEN THOUGH THEY had been preparing for the need to abandon their home for almost a fortnight, Jeanette knew she was not the only one who had been holding out hope that their efforts would not be necessary. But the English were back and the MacAlpins could not defend the castle without the curtain wall being repaired unless Rowan could call upon her gift to