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ye’re Isabelle’s kinsman?” asked Gwyn.
    “Yes. Isabelle is my cousin, though I only met her once. I was very young.”
    “Ye still look a wee lad,” said Gwyn.
    “I certainly act the green ’un,” muttered Lockton. “I am twenty, but my uncles all still think of me in leading strings.”
    “I am seventeen and one o’ the youngest o’ many siblings, so I have no hope of ever being treated like an adult. I’ll be treated like a babe my whole life.”
    “I’ll be lucky to have much of a life. My uncles see me as an obstacle to get the inheritance of my father—ow! Including this castle.” Lockton took a shaky breath.
    “Bad blood wi’ yer uncles?” Gwyn tried to be as gentle as possible, but she knew what must be done pained him.
    “I inherited many lands, including this one, after my father died last year. I have no other brothers, so if something happened to me…”
    “Ye mean yer uncles are trying to kill ye?” gasped Gwyn.
    Lockton shrugged. “If they wanted to kill me, they would have done it by now. I doubt they want my blood on their hands, but they are not beyond putting me into the jaws of danger and watching to see if I am bit.”
    “That’s horrible!”
    “If I had brothers, I would not make such a tempting target, but I fear I have naught but sisters. Five of them,” Lockton said gloomily.
    “I am one o’ seven sisters.”
    “My sympathies to your brother.”
    “He also has seven brothers.”
    The knight’s eyebrows lifted. “That is a lot of siblings.”
    Gwyn smiled. She always enjoyed her large family, except for the times when they were a trial to her. “There are a lot o’ Campbells to be sure. We are different in ways, but we do support one another. I canna believe, Sir John, that yer own kin would be so consumed wi’ greed as to wish ye dead.”
    He shrugged. “Call me Jack,” said the knight with a lopsided smile and a gasp.
    “I ken this pains ye…Jack.” To call him by his familiar name was too intimate for her enemy and prisoner, yet it felt right on her lips. “Would ye no’ like a draught o’ whiskey?”
    “No. I am well, thank you.” His words and the tremulous tone of his voice were not in concert, but Gwyn was impressed by his stoicism. She knew what she was doing to clean the gory wound must hurt him something terrible, but he pretended to be only mildly affected.
    She finally applied a salve that was Isabelle’s own creation. It burned like fire, but it was renowned for healing wounds. “This may sting a bit.”
    “Is it quite necessary to set my foot ablaze?” he gasped.
    “It will heal faster.” She wrapped the foot in a generous amount of linen.
    “I thank thee.” He drew his foot back through the gate and breathed a sigh of relief that her ministrations were complete. “So you have a large family?”
    “Aye, there are a lot of us Campbells. My mother died several years ago, so my brother and Isabelle are like parents to me, though everyone says I’ve grown up verra wild.”
    “Wild? As in wearing a man’s costume and riding out to the parlay or sneaking out the side gate to pick flowers?”
    “I was trying to save a life!”
    “And endangered many others. You should not have done it,” he criticized.
    “Och! This is the thanks I get for helping ye. If I wanted to be chastised, I would go to my brother.” She was particularly irritated because she knew he was right, but she thought it most uncharitable for him to mention it.
    “Did you go to your brother and tell him about me?” His eyes were suspicious.
    “Aye, o’ course I did. They will come when they have the time. Ye are no’ that important.”
    “You told nobody.” He was confident in the answer.
    “I will leave ye then.” Gwyn busied herself collecting her bandages and salves. She would go right now and tell David.
    “Forgive me,” he said quickly. “’Tis the pain making me uncharitable. I thank thee for your assistance. I did not expect such kindness.” He