"Aye, me laird," Bjorn said, already rising.
"Wait." Magnus held up a hand. "Finn, did ye get a look at any of them? Anythin' that might tell us who they were?"
The scout hesitated. "One thing, me laird. One of them—the leader, I think—he wore somethin' on his shoulder. I couldnae see it clear in the dark, but it looked like... like purple heather."
The room went silent.
Purple heather. The marker of Clan MacTavish.
Ada's father.
Magnus's hands curled into fists on the table. "Ye're certain?"
"As certain as I can be in the dark, me laird. But aye. I'd stake me life on it."
Torvald leaned forward. "If MacTavish is sendin' men tae scout our defenses, it means he's plannin' somethin'. And soon."
"Aye." Magnus's jaw clenched so hard it ached. "The question is what. And how much time we have before?—"
The door burst open.
A guard stumbled in, his face white as salt, his chest heaving. "Me laird—the northern wall—I was goin' fer me shift and I found—" He stopped, gasping for air. "The guards. All three of them. They're dead."
Magnus was on his feet before the guard finished speaking. His chair clattered backward, forgotten. "Where?"
"The postern gate. Someone cut their throats. Just—just left them there."
Three guards. Dead. While Magnus sat in this chamber discussing theoretical threats.
While Ada was alone in their chamber, with only a locked door between her and whoever had killed three trained warriors without raising an alarm.
Magnus didn't remember moving. Didn't remember running. One moment he was in the war room, the next he was tearing through the corridors, his heart slamming against his ribs with a terror he hadn't felt since the night Freydis died.
Nae Ada. God, please, nae Ada.
Behind him, Torvald and the others were shouting, their boots pounding stone as they followed. But Magnus didn't slow. Didn't stop. Couldn't stop until he reached their chamber and confirmed with his own eyes that she was safe.
That he hadn't failed to protect her.
That he hadn't lost another wife to violence and betrayal while he sat in meetings discussing security measures that had already been breached.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ada sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers worrying at the fabric of her nightdress.
Magnus had been gone for nearly an hour now. She'd heard his boots fade down the corridor, heard the low murmur of voices as he and Torvald moved toward the war room. Then silence.
She'd tried to sleep. Had lain down, pulled the blankets up, closed her eyes. But her mind wouldn't settle. The worry in Magnus's face when he'd left kept replaying in her thoughts. The way he'd kissed her forehead, so tender and careful, as though she were something precious he feared losing.
Something was wrong. Something bad enough that he still had not returned to their chamber despite the late hour.
"Emergency meetin'," she whispered to herself, standing and pacing to the window. "In the middle of the night. That's never good."
The keep was quiet below, no signs of disturbance. Just torches burning in their sconces, guards making their usual rounds. Everything looked normal. Peaceful even.
But Ada's instincts—honed by years of reading her father's moods, of sensing danger before it struck—told her otherwise.
She turned from the window, hugging her arms around herself. The chamber felt too large with Magnus gone. Too empty. She'd grown accustomed to his presence those past weeks. The sound of his breathing in the darkness. The warmth of him beside her, even when he stubbornly slept on top of the covers.
