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“Did it hurt?” he asked, looking down and moving to a small wooden washing stand. He dipped the waiting cloth into the bowl of water and wrung it out, the splash of water echoing in an otherwise quiet room.

“Not for long,” she said, watching as he sat next to her on the bed. Gillian assumed he’d use the cloth on himself, but instead he brought it to her.

“I apologize; the water is cold.”

He was right. But the cold didn’t bother her. Gillian stared, fascinated that such a large man, a clan chief and renowned warrior, could manage such a gentle touch.

He washed her, and then himself.

“You said we needed to talk,” she reminded him as he began to dress. This time, when she covered herself, he did not protest. Instead, he sat beside her on the bed and looked at her as if he were about to offer news she’d prefer not to hear.

“Well?” she prodded.

Graeme frowned. “I’m going to kill your father.”

Surely she had not heard him correctly.

He heaved a sigh. “I should say instead, I’d very much like to kill your father.”

“What happened?”

He’d said he needed to speak to her, but Gillian had been so concerned for Allie that she’d nearly forgotten about the Day of Truce. And then . . . well . . . they had not spoken much about either topic.

Though she knew he would never hurt her, the expression on his face was frightening. He looked nothing like the lover who’d ministered to her every need moments earlier.

“They set him free.”

She didn’t understand. “My father?”

“Blackburn was declared innocent of all charges.”

“Nay! ’Tis not possible. There were witnesses—”

“He evoked trial by local visnet,” he said simply, waiting to see if she understood.

She did.

Trial by combat had been the customary approach for accused murderers since the inception of the Day of Truce. But in Blackburn’s case, she’d assumed trial by hue and cry with witnesses to the crime would easily convict him. He’d been pursued and eventually turned in to the local sheriff, Graeme had said, which should have meant his conviction would be automatic.

But by invoking trial by local visnet, Blackburn had put the decision of his guilt or innocence in the hands of twelve men who would first hear a witness speak in his defense. And only if that witness was more respected and well received than the original accusers would the defendant be set free.

Which meant the man who defended Blackburn had to be—

“No.” It could not have been.

“Aye,” Graeme said, confirming her fear.

“But why?”

Her father held no affection for Blackburn. Would never have even associated with such a man before. And yet, this was the same person who’d promised her hand, and now her sister’s, to another equally nefarious man.

“No one was sure,” he said, looking at her for answers. As if she had any.

“Was it because of me?”

That unwelcome thought refused to budge once it entered her mind.

“Perhaps.”