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He was furious.

Their father did not get red in the face over a delay. This had naught to do with them, a fact he confirmed as both Kieran and Niall approached him.

“When have you last seen him this angry?” Kieran whispered.

Niall did not answer. Could not, as they were now within earshot of him. But the answer, had he given it, would have been, “Not in a long, long time.”

“MacKinlay.”

’Twas just one word. But enough to understand at least part of his anger. They feuded with many clans, but none as fiercely as Clan MacKinlay. The king of Scotland himself had been forced to intervene some fifteen years ago. Back then, thirty of Duncraig’s men had fought thirty of MacKinlay’s, and though Duncraig saw losses, the fight had not ended until every one of MacKinley’s warriors, including their chief, lay dead, effectively ending a decades-long feud. Since the Battle of The Black Friars, the word “MacKinlay” was all but banned in these halls.

“What have they done?” Kieran asked. Even Dougal looked surprised. Clearly he did not know why they’d been fetched. If any of them had, they’d not have wasted time coming to the hall.

“Their cattle were found grazing on our land along the northern border.”

Shite.

Fifteen years. And now this. ’Twas enough to bring another war between their clans, as every man in this hall well knew.

“You will go to their chief and put a stop to it,” their father said, though not clarifying which of them would do so.

“Should you not go as chief?” Niall asked the obvious question.

Their father’s grimace was his answer. For a moment, Niall thought ’twould be the only one. But then he ground out, “If I go there, I will kill him. And we will be at war once again.”

Chapter Two

“Again.”

“You’ve hit every mark, my lady.”

“Nay,” Avelina said to her brother’s squire. She, of course, as a woman, had no squire. But neither that, nor the fact that she was, indeed, a woman, stopped her from training with the bow she’d learned to use many years ago. “That second one missed its mark.”

“Most men cannae come close to the bullseye line, my lady. That you’ve hit it with your worst shot, and that the meal is surely nearly finished by now—”

“Again,” Avelina said more firmly. And then added, “If you please.”

She was no tyrant, and as Callum fetched her arrows, she realized he was likely hungry, having been with her much of the afternoon. The training yard had emptied long ago, and so when he returned, Avelina took the arrows and told him to leave.

“Go to the meal. I will be along,” she said.

He looked hesitant. For good reason. Avelina’s brother, the chief, had given the boy of ten and five a most ridiculous task. Not to leave her side during training.

Helpful at times? Aye. But since the training yard was located within the outer walls of the castle, there was no reason for such a precaution. Did Ewan believe their castle walls would be breached at any moment, putting her in danger? She’d asked him that question many times, always to be given the same answer.

“The training yard, alone, is no place for a woman.”

Which made little sense. In fact, as she landed all four arrows directly in the center this time, gathered her bows, and made her way back to the keep, Avelina decided to speak with Ewan. Without changing gowns, she did precisely that, sitting next to him on the dais.

“I’ve saved you a pear tart,” he said, the meal having been presented already. When one of the servants asked what she wished for him to bring, Avelina moved the pear tart toward her.

“This shall be all,” she said.

The servant looked at her oddly, and Ewan asked what the maid would not. “You will eat a pear tart as your meal?”

With more than thirty men, and some women, eating in the hall with them, Ewan had been forced to raise his voice to be heard. The weather had improved of late, making for a rowdier bunch than usual.

’Twas the opening she needed.