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Fergus glared at Douglas as he left to meet with Laird Wallace. Douglas was in his place, and Douglas knew it. All through their lives, Douglas had always been there to overshadow him. Fergus had excelled in everything he had ever attempted, but Douglas was always there to go one better—to steal the attention of Laird Wallace away from Fergus—and Fergus was getting tired of it. Something big was happening, something that was going to change the very fabric of the world, and Fergus was not going to settle for being left as second best. Laird Wallace’s ambitions were lofty, and anyone who was caught in the wake would be lifted up and ascend to a higher station in life, and Fergus was not going to be left behind.

It was time for him to strike, time for him to make a name for himself and prove to everyone that he could be the future of the Wallace clan.

Yes, his name may not have been Wallace, and his blood may not have been tied to the laird, but in spirit, he knew he could inherit all of Laird Wallace’s cunning and bravery, and he would prove it by dispatching his greatest rival.

All his life, Fergus had been striving for a place where he could belong. He had been orphaned since he was a baby and had never known his parents. Of course, then Douglas had to go and get his parents killed to steal Fergus’s tragedy. It had been the first in a long line of situations where Douglas had tried to steal Fergus’s thunder. Laird Wallace had brought them up like brothers, but they had always been butting heads with each other. Soon enough, it would be over, though. Fergus’s heart still stung from the insult of having been overlooked for the leadership of this mission. He should have been in control of a raid, but Laird Wallace had made a mistake. It was rare for the laird to make a mistake, and Fergus was determined to show him exactly how devastating the mistake could be.

He laughed and joked with his cadre of friends, with his trusted companions who knew his feelings toward Douglas and shared his disdain for the man. They had made a pact, and Fergus had promised them that when he ascended to a position of power, he would make life very easy for them indeed. The Highlands would be theirs, and they would take everything they wanted from them.

Fergus walked around the perimeter of the house after he had his fill of breakfast and found a man leaning over the well, reaching in and groaning.

“What are ye daeing?” Fergus asked.

The man’s face was peppered with sweat. “Douglas asked me tae fetch the head out. He said we may be drinking from this.”

Fergus scoffed and shook his head. “If he thinks he’s gaeing tae be given any land, then he’s got another thing coming. Our place is in the Highlands, nae out here. I dinnae know why he’d want tae be out here anyway. I will never understand that man,” Fergus said.

The man shrugged and went back to his business. When Fergus tried to stop him, the man said that since Douglas was in charge, he had to obey. A shadow fell across Fergus’s face, and he glowered as he stormed back into the house.

Douglas could say whatever he wanted, but Fergus knew the truth. No doubt Douglas wanted to get the baron’s head to somehow claim the glory of the kill himself. It was Fergus who had swung the sword and taken the life of the baron. The glory was his, and he would have to make sure that Laird Wallace knew it.

Fergus’s mind was a suspicious one. He thought back to the girl that had been carried around by Douglas. Douglas had said that he killed her, but when Fergus went looking among the dead bodies, he couldn’t see the form of that girl. He laughed to himself; perhaps Douglas had gone soft. His mind became fixed on the matter, though, especially when he asked the other men if they had actually seen Douglas kill the girl, and none of them could confirm it. It left Fergus with a furrowed brow, and later in the day, he wondered if perhaps Douglas had lied to him. It wouldn’t do any harm to check, and if Douglas had spared the girl, it would be something that Fergus could use.

He ventured upstairs and tried the door, annoyed to find that it was locked. He slammed it and tried his hardest to open it, but the lock held fast. It made him wonder if Douglas was actually hiding something—or someone—inside the room, else why would it have been locked?

He went downstairs to fetch an ax, for the matter had been lodged deeply into his mind, and he found himself unable to think about anything else, but just as he was about to ascend the stairs again, Douglas returned and leaped off his horse.

“How was the meeting?” Fergus asked.

“Aye, it went well. Laird Wallace and all the others were successful, although some suffered more casualties than others.”

“Those damned English,” Fergus said, shaking his head.

“Aye,” Douglas agreed.

“Are we tae return home now?” Fergus asked.

“Nae just yet. We’re tae stay another day.”

“What will that accomplish?” Fergus asked. “We must return in case Laird Wallace requires our services yet again.”

“I’m in charge here, and I say we stay,” Douglas said, baring his teeth. Fergus glared back at him. He gripped the ax in his hand and was tempted to swing it around, wondering if he could be swift enough to wound Douglas before Douglas could avoid the blow. But Fergus was never going to get into a fight unless he was sure he could win, and now was not the time.

“What are ye daeing with that?” Douglas asked, his gaze drifting to the white-knuckle grip Fergus had on the ax.

“Just gaeing tae chop some firewood tae make sure we hae enough tae keep us warm through the night,” Fergus said, lying as easily as he breathed.

Douglas nodded and stared at him through narrowed eyes before moving away.

“By the way, Douglas,” Fergus added, “I was just wondering why ye bothered tae lock the door behind ye. Are ye hiding anything up there?”

Douglas stopped for a moment and merely said that he didn’t have to explain himself to Fergus.

Fergus smirked. The man was definitely hiding something, but what it was, he did not know.

Since Douglas had returned, Fergus couldn’t go upstairs to investigate what was being hidden in the room, and to make the lie the truth, he ended up having to chop some wood. He kept as close an eye on Douglas as he could, though. Douglas walked around the grounds and spoke to the men without returning to his chamber. If there was a girl, then surely Douglas would have wanted to return to her as quickly as possible, so then Fergus wondered if his suspicions were mistaken. But then why would Douglas lock the door when he left?