“But, Dros—”
“He’sseenus, Ternan. Ye know what that means.”
Ternan did, indeed. As Drostan charged off again, taking several men with him, Ternan remained with only a few, including the one that Nikolaus had originally assaulted.
Perhaps Ternan knew what needed to be done, but he wasn’t heartless like Drostan was. He had some limitations. Murdering a man who only wanted to defend his village, a man Ternan had known many years, was one of those limitations. But he knew Drostan was right—Nikolaus had witnessed the identity of the raiders of Netherton.
They couldn’t leave him alive.
But Ternan couldn’t do it. Call it weakness, or conscience, he couldn’t give the command. Waving his arm at the men around him, he gave the only order he was capable of giving.
“Take him,” he commanded quietly. “Take him tae Kirkburn and put him in the vault. Lock him up and tell no one, not even Dros. If ye do, we’re all as good as dead.”
His men did his bidding, taking the kicking, biting old man and dragging him off. At one point, Nikolaus put up such a fight that they had to bind and gag him, and it was bound and gagged that Nikolaus was taken to the seat of the Lindsay stronghold, Kirkburn Castle, and placed in a dark, musty hole.
That night, Netherton burned to the ground.
CHAPTER SIX
Auchnacree
That’s why Cam never returned to Took’s Water.
That thought was heavy on Isadora’s mind as she watched the glow of a massive fire off to the east. The inhabitants of Auchnacree had a bird’s-eye view of what was happening down in the village of Netherton. Fingering the copper bracelet on her arm that Cam had given her, it was all Isadora could do not to panic.
Please, God, don’t let it be true!
The chieftain of Auchnacree had sent scouts to discover what was happening, though it was clear something very bad was afoot. Isadora watched her father as he stared at the burning of Netherton in the distance.
“Da,” she breathed, trying not to give a hint of the horror she was truly feeling. “What do ye think has happened?”
Niall Keith’s gaze was riveted to the scene below, the distant fires reflecting in his dark eyes. “I’m not certain, Issie,” he said. “We shall know soon enough. Yer brothers will return soon from scouting the village.”
The women of the village had already headed into the mountains to hide, but Isadora wouldn’t go with them. Her father should have made her, but he didn’t have the heart. Shewas a better warrior than most of his men, strong and true and brave.
He needed her.
But Isadora’s thoughts were not on the defense of her village. She was being torn to shreds by the thought of Cam down in the burning village, perhaps helping fight the fires or helping the villagers seek safety. He was strong and intelligent; surely he was a man of action, doing what needed to be done.
She didn’t want to face the probability that he was already among the dead.
But as the night wore on and the scouts returned, Isadora was ripped from her crushing grief by the reports that were coming back. Those from Clan Keith began to understand something that would affect their lives from this moment on—an enemy clan wanted to destroy them. Clan Lindsay, with whom hostilities had forever been long and painful, had raided into Netherton clad in woolen that was identified with Clan Keith.
Everyone would believe the Keith were responsible.
Just like that, a village was gone. People were gone. In one brief night, the stakes of Lindsay against Keith had been raised to deadly proportions and, no longer unable to ignore the fact that Cam could very well part of that collateral damage, it was all Isadora could do to stave off the sobs of grief.
Finally, she stopped trying.
The tears came in rivers down her pale face. When Niall asked her why she wept, she couldn’t explain it to him. She couldn’t verbalize why she felt so bad.
All she knew was that she felt… empty.
Dead.
Her dream, that joyful dream of a noble young man, was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
