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hospitality then,’ Euan said through clenched jaws. ‘We came under truce. We came in good faith. And yet my son lies dead at the hand of your nephew.’
    His uncle crossed his arms over his massive chest and shook his head.
    ‘We will sort this out back at the keep, Euan. Bring your son and meet us there.’ Lachlan nodded at him. ‘Bring Brodie.’
    Two of his uncle’s guards took hold of him, dragging and guiding him along the trail that led back to the keep. He turned back to look as the Cameron wrapped his son’s body in a length of plaid.
    ‘Caelan. Rob. I would have a word with you two.’
    His uncle would want to know the truth before it was spoken in his hall, before their kith and kin.
    Before he was branded a murderer.
    The worst part was he could not even defend himself, for his dagger lay embedded in Malcolm’s chest and the man’s blood covered him.
    * * *
    Arabella heard the commotion below in the hall. The sun had not been up for long so it was not even time to break their fast yet. Her aunt came into the chamber with a haunted expression in her eyes.
    ‘Dress. Now.’
    ‘What has happened?’ Arabella asked, as she pulled a shift over her head and a loud roar sounded below. ‘Is it my father?’
    With Ailean’s help, she had her tunic and gown in place and her hair pulled into a hasty braid. It would do. Her stockings and shoes were next and then she turned to face her aunt. ‘What is happening?’ she asked once more.
    ‘Lass,’ her aunt began. Taking Arabella’s hand in hers, she patted it gently. ‘Nay, not your father. Your brother is dead.’
    The room spun before her, with tiny sparkles of light dancing in her vision. If her aunt had not wrapped her arm around her shoulders, Arabella would have fallen.
    ‘Malcolm is dead? How? When?’
    It could not be true. Malcolm was her twin, flesh of her flesh, her first protector and friend. They’d just spoken last evening before he went off with the other young men. At her behest. She shuddered against this news, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.
    ‘I know not the details. We will learn it below,’ her aunt said quietly. ‘Are you ready now? You must be strong. You are the only daughter, only child, of Euan Cameron and must be strong.’
    Arabella could only nod, for no words would come.
    ‘Take a deep breath and we will go.’
    She did as directed and soon found herself entering the hall, so lost in her thoughts and memories of Malcolm that she remembered nothing of their path there. Glancing across the large chamber, she noticed the divide immediately. Her kin stood to one side, the Mackintoshes the other. And in the middle, on a table, lay her brother.
    Arabella pulled free of her aunt’s hold and ran to him. Only his face could be seen from the shroud of plaid that cocooned him. She touched his cheek and whispered his name.
    He could not be dead. He was not old enough to die. He could not. She stroked his face and said his name, willing him to open his eyes and bring this farce to an end. When he did not, she lost any shred of control she thought she had.
    ‘Arabella,’ her father whispered to her, softer than he had ever spoken to her. ‘Child, come away,’ he said, pulling her by her shoulders from her brother’s side towards a chair in front of the dais. She did not want to leave his side, but her father’s strength forced her away. He placed her in the chair and stood in front of her, blocking her from the sight.
    ‘Father, how did he die?’ she pleaded for an answer.
    ‘Murder.’
    Chaos ensued his claim, shouting and yelling, men surging and being held back, insults delivered across the ever-shrinking chasm dividing the two clans there.
    ‘Who would murder Malcolm?’ she asked aloud, but no one was listening. The crowd shifted then and she noticed Brodie Mackintosh standing near the dais, covered in blood.
    No. It could not be him.
    Not him. He knew his duty. He was known for his honour.
    She was