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lass is quick,” Cam observed.
    “I would nae have struck her,” Gahan said gruffly.
    His half brother didn’t respond, but Gahan saw the reprimand in his expression. That was something his father had taught him to take notice of. Just because he was in command, it didn’t mean the men following his orders agreed with him. Scotland had a young king because his father had been too arrogant to notice that those around him were growing resentful of his personal excesses.
    “I deserved it,” he admitted.
    “Aye, ye did at that. Ye won’t be getting any argument from me.” Cam spoke softly to keep their words between them. “Are ye going to take her advice?”
    “And leave?” Gahan shook his head. “Maybe Bari will make enough of a mistake and give me the opportunity to break his neck right here.”
    “That would save a bit of trouble for the rest of us. But I think the earl is going to be displeased about ye looking to start a fight under a vassal laird’s roof.”
    “Publicly, he will be.” Gahan flashed his sibling a grin. “But I am a bastard, after all.”
    He was planning on using the stain of his birth to right the wrong Bari Fraser had done to his family. Some might accuse him of dishonorable conduct, but as far as he was concerned, poison was even lower.
    And Moira Fraser knew the truth of the matter. She’d almost spilled the facts. His suspicions were confirmed. Bari had known full well what his sister was planning to do to Lytge, and it seemed that Moira knew too.
    For some reason, that knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t have time to wonder why. She was kin to Sandra and Bari. No doubt she’d learned to use her blue eyes to beguile men the same way Sandra had. Her impending marriage was a fine example of using the union of matrimony for gain. He shouldn’t be surprised or even overly interested in the matter.
    But the bitterness remained.
    ***
    “The laird’s last wife used this chamber.”
    The maid froze two steps into the room when she looked at the bed. A bundle of rosemary, withered and brown, still decorated the headboard. Someone had brought it to Matheson’s last wife in the hope it would cleanse the chamber and help her have a safe delivery. The dry leaves had fallen onto the pillow now, a blunt reminder of how dangerous childbirth was. No one had cleared it away, because no one wanted bad luck plaguing them.
    “We should try another place.”
    The girl made the sign of the cross over herself as she hurried from the room. Moira lingered, looking around the chamber for clues as to what her new life would be like. It was a modest room, the furniture sturdy but not lavish. A thick comforter was kicked to the foot of the bed, and there was a fireplace. A half-burned candle sat on the bedside table, and a long table had been pushed near the bed. Several pitchers and a large urn were abandoned there along with a stack of towels intended for the birth. Dust had settled over all of it.
    “Come away, there are bad humors here. We should get a sin-eater to sleep here before anyone else enters the chamber and gets shackled with bad luck.”
    “Why hasn’t the head of house already hired one?” Moira asked.
    “We have no head of house,” she explained. “The laird will expect ye to manage the duties. The cook runs the kitchens well enough. Ye’ll be deciding who has a place.”
    Because she would be the laird’s wife. It was slightly appealing until she recalled the way Gahan Sutherland had looked at her. Like a high-priced whore. She preferred to focus on the good her union might do for ensuring peace. But she’d have to try her hand at making Achaius think she liked his touch.
    A shudder shook her, and she hurried after the maid.
    The maid was leading her down a narrow passageway. The stones were older here, many of them pitted. There was only a single tin lantern to provide light. She pushed open a door and held it for Moira. The chamber was as dark as a cave. A