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He was seated by the fire in his night shirt, wrapped snugly in a woven wool blanket, his slippers on his feet. On a tray next to his chair was a piece of chicken pie and a bowl of leek soup.

When she entered, he looked up, a smile creasing his careworn features, his piercing blue eyes lighting up as he caught sight of her.

“Come in, lass. Tell me of yer adventures. Ye’ve been at sea too long and I was almost fearing fer yer safety. We’ve had some terrible fierce storms lately.”

She took his hand in hers, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat at the sight of him. The once wild, strapping, Barclay MacAlpin was now a frail, old man. A prisoner, far from his home on the Isle of Canna.

After regaling him with some of the most amusing moments from their trip, including the sojourn at Tam’s tavern, without mentioning Maxwell, her conversation took a serious tone. She wasted no words describing the task Sutherland had ordered her to carry out and how she’d erred, taking the younger brother and not the laird.

Her father listened intently.

“Would this be one of the MacNeils of Barra?”

“Aye. It would.”

He gave a sigh. “I kent their faither when he was laird before the one ye mentioned.”

“Everard.”

“Aye. I was never friends with the old laird and he was nae a kind man, but we rubbed along well enough when we chanced tae meet. He was always in favor of me petitioning the king tae become a licensed privateer.”

“Ye didnae tell me of this.”

“Aye lass. I’d have had his support fer a petition. But then we got that English King Edward on the throne and I wasnae in favor of attacking the French. The Auld Alliance ye ken.”

“’Twas a sorry time fer us.”

He brightened. “But now, King Robert might look on ye kindly if ye petitioned him.”

She did not respond to this. King Robert was no friend of Sutherland’s and, although her father refused to countenance it, she was not a free agent but was operating under Sutherland’s orders.

“There is something else I wish tae speak wi’ ye about, Da.”

His face grew grave, the lines deeper than ever. “What is it lass?”

“I ken Sutherland will punish me fer bringing him the wrong MacNeil.” She tried a laugh to lighten what she was saying, but it came out as only a hoarse croak.

Her father gazed deep and long into the fire. Then he heaved a great sigh. “The laird will show nae mercy tae neither ye nor the lad. Ye must leave here at once lass. Gather up the MacNeil lad and begone. From what I’ve heard from ye now, he’s a good man and strong. A brave one who’ll help ye.”

She reached for his other hand and held them both in hers. “Will ye come wi’ me?”

He laughed. “I’d never make it as far as Dornoch, lass. And then ye’d have me death on yer conscience too.”

She moaned. “I cannae leave ye.”

“Ye must go.” He shook his head, lost in thought for a moment. “I’ve an idea that could see ye gone and keep me safe.”

“Oh?” She threw him a dubious look. “Pray tell, Da.”

“Scribble a note, making yer hand shake as ye write, and leave it in yer chamber.”

“And what should I write on this note?”

“That the MacNeil is forcing ye tae accompany him. That ye have nae choice but to go with him as he has a dirk at yer neck.” He chuckled. “A drop of blood might help.”

Her heart bounced with a sliver of hope. “Will it work?”

“As much as anything. Ye can never tell with that brute, but it will make him doubt. And if me luck holds, he’ll nae take revenge on me old bones.” He squeezed her hand with surprising strength. “But ye’d better run and keep running as far as ye can, fer Andrew Sutherland will nae let ye go. I’ve lived me life and taken me decisions. Ye shouldnae pay fer them, Aileen.”