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lad. He would have to discover his bride’s secrets for himself.
    "Start Merlin slow. If he gets his way, he’ll have you run half way across the highlands by eventide."
    Douglas’ face brightened at the prospect. "Aye, sir."
    Ian watched the pair trot out of the bailey, knowing full well that they’d be at a gallop by the time they reached an open field. He smiled, remembering that fleeting feeling of freedom that left a man breathless and awestruck, and for a moment wished he could just as easily flee his own nuptials.
    "You treat Douglas well," a voice murmured from the shadows inside the stable. Ian spun around to see a lad, only a few years older than Douglas, step from the darkness and extend a hand to him. "Archibald Campbell, Earl of Argyll."
    Ian guessed he was probably fourteen or fifteen summers, caught in that awkward stage between being in the body of a man and yet not comfortable in it. He was tall and lean, but would fill out well with age. A light breeze blew his straw-colored hair about playfully, at odds with the seriousness of the lad’s expression.
    "My, lord." He bowed his head in greeting. "What brings you to Ballochyle?"
    "The death of my father. The MacIver is my ward," the young earl responded simply, unfazed by the question. "And you?"
    "A marriage."
    The young man cocked his head to one side, his hazel eyes full of speculation. "You must be Hunter then."
    Ian nodded.
    "I’ve heard much about you," the young earl stated, stroking his hairless chin. "They call you the immortal mercenary."
    Ian lifted his chin, the scar across his throat tightening. He hated when they called him that. Blood and death. Fighting and fear. What kind of legacy was that? He shrugged off the black curling feeling it caused in his gut. "It is merely a token title, my lord. We all take the hand of death at some time."
    The lad walked past Ian, indicating with a tilt of his blonde head that he would like Ian to walk with him. Ian fell into step beside the Argyll.
    "Know you much of the Campbells, Hunter?"
    "Only what I’ve heard, my lord."
    "And what have you heard?" the Earl of Argyll asked, clasping his hands behind his back as they walked.
    "That for the most part the clan remains loyal to King James, but there is dissension, especially since your father’s death."
    "Aye, that would be the surface of it." He nodded. "There are many who would as soon kill me as hold the clan through me."
    Ian glanced at the Earl, surprised by the statement. The lad’s mouth was set in a grim line, his expression still and serious. They crossed the bailey, and Ian took note of the lad’s caution not to be overheard.
    "Is it as bad as that, my lord?"
    Argyll halted his steps and squinted up at the sun, then turned to look at Ian, his gaze piercing and direct.
    "Aye. ‘Tis why MacIver fosters me and serves as both my guardian and protector. He’s an honorable man, but he holds a two edged-sword in his hands. While he serves as my ward, he dare not use the powers to his own advantage knowing the Campbells might retaliate if he did. My clan is far too close to the crown. Whoever holds Clan Campbell, holds the ear of the king himself." He paused, taking a moment to look around at the people who passed by. "I believe that my kinsmen, Magnus and Harold, died in my stead when they wed the MacIver’s niece."
    The weight of his observation struck Ian deeply and suspicion prickled his skin. It was one thing for a clan to disagree and quite another for blood to turn against blood, as his brother had done to him. Ian stared into the earl’s young face. The pain hidden in the hazel eyes was a deep reflection of his own secret torment. In that moment, Ian recognized a kindred soul. One who had no family to rely on. But why was the earl so trusting of him? Had the MacIver told the Earl of Argyll to place faith in him?
    They reached the edge of the bailey and could walk no further. Argyll turned away and clasped his hands behind his back. A light