“Ye will stay,” Angus said, his eyes flashing.
He dismounted his horse and handed the reins off to his stable hand. Duncan did the same, not looking Malcolm in the eye. Since he didn’t seem to have a choice, he followed. The last thing he wanted was to witness Sinclair’s fury over the death of his people and the burning of their village.
When they arrived in the great hall, they found Lady Fiona Sinclair distraught, having already heard the news from a messenger who had arrived before them. She clutched the rolled parchment in her hand until it crinkled. Her bright emerald eyes were shiny with unshed tears and her thick auburn hair was plaited in a single braid that rested over one shoulder.
“They had no warning,” she said. “Thankfully, most of them made it out.”
Angus swiped a hand down his face, a look of exhaustion replacing his fury. He lowered himself into one of the chairs at the great hall table.
“Who would have done such a thing?” she asked.
Angus heaved a sigh, his gaze flickering to Malcolm, his expression grim. He understood in silent communication that they both knew who was responsible for such an atrocity. It was in retaliation for the battle they had lost at Dundale, the battle in which the Sinclair clan had lent their aid.
“There is only one clan who is responsible,” Angus said. “Do ye agree, laddie?”
The question was directed to Malcolm. Lady Fiona looked at him, her tawny brows drawn together as she waited for the answer.
“MacDonald, no doubt,” he finally said.
Her shoulders drooped as if in defeat. “Then I take it things did no go well for him.”
She referred to the battle they had endured to keep Evie and the keystone safe, though Lady Fiona didn’t know that. Angus said nothing. When she gave him another questioning glance, he nodded.
“Aye, to be sure. Rory MacDonald and his men were defeated at Dundale,” Malcolm said. “But it appears they dinnae rest for long.”
A range of emotions creased her face—worry, guilt, fear. She was the one who had encouraged them to fight against them. She tossed the parchment on the table and then took the seat next to her husband. She placed her hands into her lap as she sat straight, her face a map of regret.
“I shouldna have insisted ye go,” she said.
Angus’s bright gaze flickered back to her. His features softened as he reached a hand to her. She placed her fingers in his hand.
“Dinnae blame yerself, wife. Fighting with the MacLeods was the right thing to do. I dinnae regret it.” He squeezed her hand. “Ye would have been proud of the lass.”
A tingling of surprise went through Malcolm as he realized what Angus was about to say.
“Oh?” She tipped her head to one side.
“I’d no seen anything like it. She saved us all,” Duncan said before his father replied. Lady Fiona glanced his way, question lingering in her eyes. “She used the fabled keystone. Her hand lit up with the power of it.”
“Och, laddie, that’s no what she used.” Angus’s tone was full of disbelief.
“How can ye say that, Da, when ye saw it with yer own eyes. She was there with the keystone. I dinnae ken what else it would be,” Duncan said.
The lady’s gaze turned to Malcolm then, as though she were waiting for him to confirm or deny the story. He cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to another.
“Is the story true, then? Does the lass possess this keystone?”
Malcolm glanced at Angus, who still appeared as though he didn’t believe. “She does.”
“’Tis nothing more than a story.” Angus huffed and released his wife’s hand and pushed up from the table. He stalked off, leaving the great hall, the muffled steps of his boots on the rushes.
Silence descended. Lady Fiona slowly got to her feet and turned toward the two of them. She clasped her hands in front of her.
“Well,” she said at last, her voice quiet. “He doesna believe the story is true. But I do.”
Malcolm did his best to hide the shock rolling through him as he stared at the woman. “Ye ken the tale?”
“Of course I do. We’ve all heard the story. Even Duncan.” She nodded to her son. “We’ve heard the tale about the fabled keystone that can control time as well as the intertwining of the two bloodlines. Why do ye think I sent my husband to fight with ye?”
