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His wife, Aileen, is beside him.

She’s not sitting there of her own ease. She’s drawn into herself, shoulders bowed, one hand clutching the sideboard of the wagon so tight I can see even from a great distance how bloodless her knuckles are. Her face has the look of a woman who’s wept until not a single tear remains inside her.

There’s no bruise on her I can see, no split skin, no visible token of what has passed, and still I know it at once.

Fear has its own countenance.

I’ve seen it more times than any man ought to by my age.

Alex comes out from inside, likely having heard the wagon too. He squints toward the road.

“Who’s that?”

“A feckin’ savage brute,” I mutter. “And that’s the kindest thing I can say about him.”

I’ve had the misfortune of meeting Ewan MacGregor only once before and once was enough. Some men carry trouble around them like a storm cloud. Ewan carries it like a blade, bare and eager for use.

The wagon has scarcely stopped before Ewan leaps down.

He hits the ground, already shouting.

“Where is she?” he roars, the words tear across the yard.

Alex glances at me, as if to ask who, but I’m no wiser than he is.

Ewan doesn’t look at Aileen as he turns back for her. His hand closes round her arm, and he yanks her down so hard she nearly falls to her knees.

“Where is the sly wee whore?” he bellows.

Aileen gives a gasp, catching herself on one hand in the dirt.

I take a step before I even know I mean to.

Then Ellen comes around the far corner of the house with a basket on her hip, and Ewan sees her.

I watch the whole of him fix.

It’s like seeing a hound catch a scent. There’s no sense in his movements, no courtesy, no pause for speech or explanation. He strides straight across the yard, dragging Aileen after him for two paces before flinging her loose.

“You.”

Ellen stills. “Cousin?”

The basket slips lower on her arm.

“You treacherous wee bitch,” he spits. “Did ye think I’d not come by it? Not learn what ye’ve passed to my wife under my nose?”

Ellen goes pale, but she doesn’t shrink. She has more courage in her than half the men I’ve known.

“I ken nothin’ of what you mean,” she says, though I hear the tremor in it.

“Aye, ye do.” He comes nearer. Too near. “Dinnae lie to me, lass.”

“Go get James and Taskill,” I hiss to Alex. “Now.”

He doesn’t waste so much as a heartbeat asking why. He runs.

I’m already moving, but there are moments in life that unfold faster than a man can mend them. This is one of them. It comes down upon us like a hawk, and we’re a blink too slow.