Logen eyed the other guard. “Do ye ken?”
The man shook his head. “Whoever it is, they’re adept at staying in the background, laird. Pulling strings. I think he’s been studying ye, waiting, looking for weaknesses.”
“This is the second attempt on my life,” Logen answered. “Whoever is behind this has decided they’ve waited long enough.”
“I’ll be at yer back, laird. So will Darach. And a few others we’re sure of.”
“I’m glad of that. But how many does this puppet master have? Enough to divide the clan’s loyalties again?”
“I canna say...”
“No one can!”
Logen’s shout of frustration startled Coira into stepping back. The outburst, out of character for him, released some of his pent-up frustration. Given the circumstances, she couldn’t blame him, even though Elizabeth had flinched. The healer studied him through narrowed eyes.
“This clan is calm on the surface but deep currents run beneath it,” Logen continued quietly. “Rip tides. Much more and they’ll tear the clan apart. We must put a stop to this.”
“How, laird?”
“By rounding up the men this poor soul named. And their close kin and associates. Someone must be found to answer for what they’ve done to the clan.” He gave the dead man one more glance before gathering them with a gesture. “Come on, we’ve work to do.”
****
Coira studied the men lined up below where Logen stood at the high table. The men Logen had detained. Darach and the remaining guard from their escort into the woods, Ross, along with a few other trustworthy men, stood on either side of the accused men with weapons drawn, eyeing the suspects.
The rest of the clan listened to Logen relate what the guard who’d attacked him in the woods had revealed before killing himself on Logen’s blade.
The entire scene was a mummery intended to give Coira the opportunity to use her gift against each man. She could not walk past them in the dungeon without raising questions about her presence she did not wish to answer. Nor did Logen want her ability revealed, not before all this ended, and preferably never. So she stood to the side near the front of the crowd, struggling to sift the impressions she received while she protected herself as best she could from the uproar of emotions behind her.
Were these men the ones Logen sought? Her impressions might give Logen the leverage he needed. He hoped pressure applied to the weakest among them might result in confessions that implicated the others in their conspiracy and identified the leader. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know whom to trust, whom to believe, or how widely the conspiracy had infected the men of the clan.
One woman’s cries distracted her from the general sense of shock and anger piling up like a wall of storm clouds. She couldn’t be sure unless she heard the woman speak, but she got the sense it was the soft-voiced one she’d overheard in the garden. The one who seemed to know something. If she wept for one of the men now facing the clan, she had indeed known more than she had revealed to her shrill friend.
Coira shrugged off the distraction and rebuilt her dunes at her back, blocking the storm of emotions coming from the people behind her. Then she imagined a narrow beach between her and the surging sea of emotions coming from the men Logen accused, giving her some distance from their pain. She allowed their feelings to wash over her, one by one. A few were fearful, watching their guards and expecting, she supposed, to meet death at the hands of their outraged laird. Several were red-faced, their angry glances darting around the room. Angry at Logen? At being held captive before the entire clan? At being accused, though they were innocent? She couldn’t tell. A few more, whose eyes remained downcast, radiated shame. Some of those might be redeemable, if Logen chose to give them a second chance.
Only one man stood out. In appearance, he seemed little different from the others. He waited calmly, quietly, eyes cast down, but Coira sensed amusement bubbling within him. Beneath his passive surface, he hid arrogance, irritation, and condescension…and a cold calculation.
He had to be the leader. If he was accustomed to ordering assassinations and causing chaos, Coira imagined he would be confident of his men’s loyalty—or their fear of him—to protect his identity.
Coira caught Logen’s gaze as it passed over her and nodded minutely at that man.
Suddenly, one of the other prisoners crumpled. The distraction was all the man Coira suspected of being the leader needed. He shoved the men beside him toward the guards moving to aid the fallen man, then before anyone could react, he pulled the dirk from the nearest guard’s belt and dodged around a table, grabbing the lass nearest at hand out of the crowd.
Terror pierced Coira like the blade the man held to the lass’s throat, freezing Coira where she stood. The horror of seeing her own actions played out before her nearly sent her to her knees, but she forced herself to stay on her feet, wary, as the guards sorted out the other prisoners.
Logen jumped down from the high table’s platform and slowly approached the grim-faced leader. “MacMakon, what do ye think ye’re doing? Let the lass go!”
Logen’s voice cut through Coira’s shock. She took a breath.
Some women slowly pulled the remaining children away from the confrontation as the men in the crowd moved toward it. To Coira, it felt like a tide, surging and receding. Logen waved them to stillness.
“Keep back!” MacMakon glared at the men near him, most of whom were fingering their weapons. Then he turned his attention back to Logen, who still stood too far away to reach him. “Dinna try it. I’ll cut her throat if any of ye takes another step.”
Coira closed her eyes to the scene before her and focused on MacMakon’s voice. What she sensed chilled her. He wasn’t afraid! He kept his excitement hidden, but it churned like turbulence deep below the surface. He was enjoying the confrontation with Logen and the rapt attention of the clan. Coira opened her eyes and studied the hand that held the dirk. Aye, she could see a fine tremor, evidence of his exhilaration.
“If ye dinna wish to die right here,” Logen told him, “ye’ll let the lass go.”
“I’ll let her go when I’m outside the gates.”
