It was a game he’d played since he was a boy whenever he needed to get away, to see how many tracks he could find or details he could pick up. In the stable, he liked to see if he could match the tracks with the horses.
“What do you see?”
He turned, surprised to see Sir James in the doorway. The sky was dark behind him, casting him in the shadows. Tall and lean, his dark red hair starting to streak with gray, the hereditary High Steward of Scotland exuded nobility and authority. He was a knight, and as all knights he was good with a sword, but Stewart’s true brilliance was as a leader. He was a man whom other men would willingly follow into war—and, if necessary death.
Immediately, Ewen jumped to his feet. How long had he been in here? “I’m sorry, my lord. Were you looking for me? Is the meeting over? What has been decided?”
The older man shook his head and sat on the bale, motioning for him to sit beside him. “Nothing, I’m afraid. I grew tired of the squabbling and decided I needed a breath of fresh air. I assume you needed the same?”
Ewen bowed his head and concentrated on a long piece of dried grass, not wanting him to see his shame.
“You’re looking at the tracks?” Sir James asked.
Ewen nodded, pointing to the hoofprints in the dirt. “I’m trying to find distinguishing marks.”
“I hear you bested all my knights at a tracking challenge yesterday. Good work, lad. Keep this up, and you’ll be the best tracker in the Highlands.”
Sir James’s praise meant everything to him, and Ewen was pretty sure it showed. He swelled with pride, not knowing what to say. Unlike Fynlay, words didn’t come easily for him.
The silence stretched for a few moments.
“You are not your father, son,” Sir James said.
Son. If only it were true! Sir James was everything Fynlay was not: honorable, disciplined, controlled, and thoughtful.
“I hate him,” Ewen blurted fiercely, instantly ashamed of the childish sentiment and yet unable to take it back.
One of the best things about Sir James was that he didn’t condescend to any of his men—no matter how young. He considered what Ewen said. “I wish you could have known him when he was young. He was different then. Before your mother died and the drink took over.”
Ewen’s jaw clenched belligerently. “You mean when he abducted my mother from his chief?”
Sir James frowned. “Who told you that?”
He shrugged. “Everyone. My father. It’s well known.”
“Whatever your father’s sins, do not lay that one at his feet. Your mother went with him willingly.”
Ewen stared at the other man in shock, but if there was anyone who would know, it was Sir James. Ewen’s mother had been his favorite cousin, and he was the man they’d gone to for help when the reprisal for his father’s rash actions had come from Malcolm Lamont.
“That is why you helped them,” Ewen said. Suddenly it made sense. Ewen had never understood why Sir James had come to his father’s rescue and prevented his ruin after he’d started a war by stealing his chief’s bride.
“Among other reasons,” Sir James said. “Your father’s sword, for one. He was—still is—one of the best warriors in the Highlands. You will be like him in that respect, I think. But aye, I wanted your mother to be happy.”
Bride abduction was perhaps one less sin to lay at his father’s feet, but Fynlay still had plenty of them left. It didn’t change the reckless, disloyal act that had broken him from his clan and nearly seen the destruction of the Lamonts of Ardlamont. Nor did it change everything that had come after.
“You shouldn’t have allowed him to come,” Ewen said. “Not with Malcolm here.”
Malcolm Lamont wasn’t his chief anymore. His father’s actions had caused the Ardlamont Lamonts to break from their chief. They were Stewart’s men now.
“There was no choice. Malcolm is my cousin Menteith’s man, as your father is mine. Your father has given me his oath he will not break the truce, no matter how hard Malcolm presses him. God knows there is enough disagreement among my kinsmen without the old feud between your father and Malcolm getting in the way.”
It was hardly right for Ewen to be questioning his lord, but he asked anyway. “And you trust him?”
Sir James nodded. “I do.” He stood. “But come, we should get back. The feast should be dying down by now.”
It was, but not for the reason they’d anticipated. They stepped out into the dark rain and heard a loud ruckus coming from the opposite side of thebarmkin. It was the sound of cheering, followed by a gasp, and then an eerie dead silence.
“I wonder what that is all about?” Sir James asked.
