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“MacLeod?” Rosselyn’s grip tightened on Davina’s arm. “After what—”

“I said those very words. But aye. He says I’ve left him no choice.”

Davina shuffled to the breakfast table and sank into her chair. Though her appetite had fled, her stomach growled again, so she grabbed a piece of buttered bread and shoved it into her mouth.

Rosselyn joined her, pouring two cups of tea and handing one over.

They drank in silence, the weight of the morning pressing upon Davina’s shoulders, hope flickering out like a dying flame.

∞∞∞

Ian Russell stared at the grave marker bearing his name. Beside it, another grave bore the name of his father, Munro. A mixture of fear and grief troubled his heart for a fleeting moment before he made room for relief. He was free. Ian straightened, allowing his posture to reflect the independent man he now was.

“Can I help you?”

Ian turned to face a vaguely familiar man about his age. Where had he seen him before? A name stirred in his memory, paired with a younger face that resembled the man now standing before him. Brian? Aye, a cousin he hadn’t seen since childhood.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Brian repeated, his tone firmer.

“Aye, forgive me for not responding,” Ian said, casting a mournful glance at the gravestones. “I had come here expecting to find friends…and instead, I find graves.”

Brian’s posture softened, his guarded expression giving way to sympathy as he stepped closer. “’Tis sorry I am you had to find out like this. Poor souls. The Battle of Flodden.”

“Aye, I guessed as much,” Ian said with a somber nod. “Just coming back from that horror myself.” He lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal the ragged, blotchy scars that marred the right side of his ribs and belly.

Brian winced. “A lucky one you are, my friend. Not many can say they walked away from it as we can.”

Ian nodded, pulling his shirt back down.

“You look vaguely familiar,” Brian speculated. “You knew Ian and Munro well?”

Ian offered a weak smile and nodded, scratching his beard. “That I did. You also look familiar to me.”

The man stretched his hand out in greeting. “Brian Russell.”

“Ian.” He stayed his tongue before he said the rest of his name out of habit. “Ian Grant.”

“Oh, the same name?”

“Aye, ‘tis a common curse.” Ian laughed, and Brian chuckled with him. “So, with the last name Russell, how are you related to Ian and Munro?”

“I be a distant cousin. When they passed, their lands went to me, but I’m afraid I’ll have to sell them.”

“Passed on to you?” Ian masked his reaction behind a veil of concern. “Pray tell, Ian’s wife—”

“Oh, nay, sir!” Brian reassured him quickly. “She’s alive and well, thank the Lord. Nay, though we didn’t get to see her, as her uncle… What was his name? Oh, Tammus. Tammus Keith. He managed the exchange. Said Ian’s wife was too grief-stricken to remain at the holdings. And since she was with child, it wasn’t proper to marry her off right away, so she returned to her childhood home. Even though the property rightly belonged to me, I didn’t feel right not giving her some of the inheritance. Just to help her out since she lost everything. Mayhap she’s married off by now, though.”

“Mayhap.” Ian fought to keep his voice steady.

“Would you like to come in, join us for supper?” Brian offered.

With his fists tightly clenched behind him, Ian pressed his nails into his palms. “I appreciate your kindness, my friend, but I really must leave. My own family awaits my return. They probably assume I’ve been dead for quite some time, given how long I’ve been gone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Most assuredly.” Ian shook Brian’s hand and turned to retrieve his horse, tied just inside the front gate. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the reins and mounted. “Thank youagain. I appreciate the information.”

“Godspeed!” Brian called after him.