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“Lady Davina Armstrong McKenna!” James shouted.

“Who are ye?” the soldier wanted to know.

“Her husband, Sir James McKenna.” James patted the neck of his restless horse and glared at the man.

“I cannae open the gate unless the steward commands it,” the soldier insisted.

“Then call the steward, so that Lady Davina can speak to him directly. And be quick about it! I’ll be very displeased if my wife catches a chill in the rain.”

Davina felt her face heat with annoyance. While she appreciated the soldier’s efforts to protect the keep, their manner was overly cautious.

After a few minutes, the steward appeared. He carried a chicken leg in his right hand, proof they had interrupted his dinner. He exchanged some words with the soldiers, paused, looked down at them, then resumed the conversation with the men on the wall.

“My man informs me that ye wish to gain entry to the keep,” the steward said.

“Aye,” James replied curtly.

“Ye claim that Lady Davina Armstrong rides among yer party?”

“I dinnae claim it, I know it. Now open the damn gate!”

James shouted so loudly, the precious few panes of glass on the keep windows shook.

The steward’s face whitened. He tossed his chicken bone aside and wiped his greasy fingers on the front of his tunic. “Forgive my confusion on this matter, Sir James, but Lady Davina is already here. She’s resting in her private chambers.”

Davina was so stunned by the announcement that for an instant all she could do was stare. She turned toward James and saw the shock she felt reflected in her husband’s eyes. “Did he just say that I was already in residence?”

“Aye.” The astonishment on James’s face gave way to puzzlement, then anger. He shifted in the saddle. “Bring her here immediately.”

“But she is resting,” the steward exclaimed.

James swung his shield around, drew his sword, and began beating the sword against the shield. The McKenna men surrounding them took up the chant, imitating their leader. The fierce sound reverberated through the valley, a chilling, violent warning. Davina could almost see their fear as the men on the wall exchanged nervous glances.

James raised his sword, and the pounding ceased. “Ye have been lied to, my good man, by a clever, deceitful female. Bring her to the wall this instant, and I shall consider sparing yer life once we are inside.”

The steward’s jowls quivered. He spoke to the soldier on his left and the man scurried away. Just as Davina felt the first fat raindrop on her arm, the soldier reappeared. There was another person with him, smaller in stature and obviously a female.

The imposter.

“Who dares to claim my identity?” Davina shouted. The imposter stepped forward. Her head was bent so low that Davina could see nothing of her face—yet there was something about her manner that was familiar. Gooseflesh pricked down Davina’s arms and an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.

“Joan?” Davina gasped.

The imposter let out a high, keening cry and stumbled forward. The steward reached out, catching her in his arms as she fell to the ground.

“Well, that’s one mystery solved.” James smirked.

Less than an hour later, Davina and James sat across from a defiant Joan in the great hall. Her golden hair hung around her shoulders like a veil, making her appear far younger than her years. She wore a blue silk gown, with long tight sleeves and an equally snug bodice that clung to her slender figure.

Her expression was calm, her manner haughty. One would think that she was the offended party in this sham, not the other way around.

“What sort of game are ye playing, Joan?” James asked, anger lurking in his gaze.

“’Tis no game. I was traveling home after visiting my parents and stopped here to spend the night. The gates were barred, much as they were today. It simply seemed easier to gain entrance by telling them that I was ye.” Joan had the grace to flinch, though her chin remained proudly raised. “’Twas only a small fib. I planned to leave within a few days.”

James turned to the steward, who was hovering in the shadows. “How long has Lady Joan been here?”

The steward blinked rapidly, clearly terrified to have been asked. “Neigh on three weeks, Sir James.”