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Ronan glanced to one side. "I am. What do you want?"

"To talk a bit."

Calder pulled himself up onto the wall and looked down at Ronan with a grin.

"Just look at yourself, man! Mopin' about while Sir Alistair carries your lady off right from under your nose!"

"What is that to you?" Ronan asked shortly.

"Weel, lad, 'twould seem we have a common cause here. Alistair is no friend to me or to any o' the Kirallens. He's out for all he can get and doesna care too much how he gets it, either. Why, ye saw it for yourself before! There was no wedding yesterday, I ken that well enough. 'Twas a clever trick—but then, Alistair was never above bending the truth to have his way."

"What's your point, Sir...?"

"Calder. Just a word in your ear, laddie. I've seen it happen a hundred times before. There isn't a lass who can say him nay, but when he's done with them, he's done. Off to the next one, that's Alistair, not caring what he leaves behind. Many a fine lassie has he ruined and never once looked back."

A flush of anger rose to the boy's fair cheeks. "He won't do that to Deirdre. I'll talk to her—warn her—"

"And what good will that do?" Calder said derisively. "When I say there's no lass who can deny him, I mean just that. He's uncanny, lad, fey as hell. Why, he spent the last few months up in the hills with an old sorcerer, learning all his tricks and charms. He'll put a glamour on your lady—if he hasna done so already—and she'll be clay in his hands."

Ronan's flush faded and he shivered. "That can't be true," he said, though his words lacked conviction.

"But it is. 'Tis no secret that Alistair and I aren't the best of friends just now. 'Twould please me no end to do him a mischief over this. Then you could take your lady back to Ireland where she'll be safe."

Calder looked down at him kindly, an older man advising a younger one with only the lad's good at heart. "She's a fine lady, Ronan. Far too good for his tricks and games."

"Yes," Ronan agreed fervently. "Far too good for him."

"Then let's do us both a favor. I know a woman in the hills can break his spell, but I need something of his to bring to her."

"Like what?"

Calder bit back a smile. "Weel, there's a dagger he carries always. 'Tis a pretty thing, shaped like a stag's head and set with two green stones for the eyes. Green stones, lad. Mark that. 'Tis part of a set the laird had made long ago. Lord Jemmy carries one set with rubies, young Malcolm's has his father's with chips of diamonds. Ye want Alistair's."

"With the green stones."

"Aye. And I need it today. Tomorrow will be too late."

Ronan bit his lip. "I don't know..."

"Suit yourself, lad," Calder said with a shrug as he jumped down from the wall. "If ye want to take Sir Alistair's leavings, ye need only wait until he's done with her. Shouldn't take too long. It never does. Once he beds them, he tires of them quickly."

Three paces. Five. He was just losing hope when Ronan's voice halted him.

"Wait!"

"Aye?"

"Where can I find you? Later."

"I'll be in the hall. But don't leave it too late."

Through the window of the tower room Deirdre could hear the men-at-arms drilling in the practice yard. She wondered if Alistair was out there, but didn't have the will to rise from the bed and walk to the window.

Instead she stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. It was very lonely in the small room since Maeve had gone. Should Alistair lose tomorrow, she would never see her child again. But on the other hand, if Brodie was the victor, she would not have much time to grieve.

She looked up as a light knock sounded on the door, then set her shoulders and called, "Come in, Ronan."

He entered and stood before her. "You knew that it was me?"