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Adam rubbed his fingers again over the silky lock of hair he’d tucked into the top of his hauberk, against his heart.

He was miserable.

He trudged toward the Fergus stronghold, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

He may have ruined his chances to live happily ever after with the woman of his dreams.

She might never forgive him for betraying her.

Yet what other choice did he have?

What Eve didn’t understand, what her innocence wouldn’t allow her to believe, was that reporting the bad behavior of the royal soldiers would have fallen on deaf ears.

Men-at-arms always committed horrific acts—rape, murder, destruction—in the course of war.

And kings always looked the other way. Even kings like Malcolm who prided themselves on chivalry.

That was the real reason Adam devoted his life to keeping his warrior clan out of as many wars as he could.

The warriors of Rivenloch had always behaved honorably. To do otherwise would have earned them expulsion from the clan. That legacy had been passed down through generations.

But kings came and went. They varied in their sense of gallantry and were likely to waver once they sat on the throne and grew drunk with power. As for mercenaries and simple soldiers, they weren’t expected to possess a moral compass. Most presumed that waging war included taking spoils.

In truth, it impressed Adam that an outlaw like Eve possessed such a strong sense of justice. She was intent on seeking fair recompense for the alewife. He admired her for that. If it were possible, he would have fought for atonement as well.

But in this instance, in wartime, it wasn’t possible. Such actions would be perceived as giving aid to the enemy. Eve would be branded a traitor.

Still, he knew the lass couldn’t be convinced to let go of that expectation of justice. So he’d initially decided, if he wanted her to be safe from the fighting, he’d have to drag her, by force if necessary, to Darragh.

Of course, that was an ugly proposition and not a good way to start a marriage.

If he brought his bride-to-be kicking and screaming to his sister’s castle, he’d never hear the end of it from his clan.

And that was only if she didn’t manage to trick her way out of the keep.

He could easily imagine her manipulating Feiyan’s men with her winsome ways and catapulting herself back into the midst of danger.

Which would drag him back to a place of turmoil as well. Worried about Eve’s safety. Concerned she would try to confront the king. Afraid that, left to fend for herself, the same fate that had befallen the alewife might await his precious bride.

The idea sickened him.

Nay, the only way to deal with the stubborn lass was to go along with her. To lull her into complacency and then close the shackles of safety around her wrists when she least expected it. Which was exactly what he’d done.

She’d been hurt. Of course she’d been hurt.

He couldn’t bear to look in her eyes and see the pain he’d inflicted upon her. But it was clear in the tremor of her voice.

Once she understood he’d tricked her and meant to imprison her, she’d gotten past the heartache, and her hurt had turned to anger. But he wondered if she would ever be able to forgive him.

His intentions, of course, were absolutely honorable. He meant to keep her out of harm’s way. And he could think of no safer place for her than as a royal hostage.

If Malcolm believed Eve was somehow valuable to Fergus, that he could use her as leverage, the king would ensure she was well protected by his best men. That protection would be backed by the full force of the royal army. And Adam couldn’t wish for more proficient guards.

Nonetheless, they were only men. They would be vulnerable to Eve’s machinations.

The clever lass could mince and cajole, flirt and weep like a skilled player upon a stage.

If they somehow let her persuade them into giving her an inch of freedom, she would take a yard, and he’d probably never see her again.

Which was why he recommended the shackles.

She despised him now. He was certain of that. But he would rather endure her hate than be tied up in knots over her safety.

As far as Fergus, Adam knew it was the man’s hunger for power that drove him. He ruled by strength and threat and cared little what consequences his people suffered, as long as he profited.

His own clanfolk weren’t interested in expanding their holding or destroying the homes of their neighboring clans. They didn’t care about allying with the English or rallying against Malcolm. That was why Fergus needed to hire mercenaries to do his fighting.

His clanfolk simply wanted to live their lives. Harvesting crops. Raising children. Falling in love. Dancing. Singing. Praying. Celebrating birth and marriage and holy days.

They were people like the alewife and her husband, living in peace and being good neighbors.

They had no interest in risking life and limb for a bigger plot of land. They were satisfied with what they had.

But men like Fergus could never have enough. They wanted more and more and more. And when their appetites were that voracious, they consumed everything in their path.

Adam knew Fergus had to be stopped. He’d made too many aggressions into neighboring territories, threatening to divide Scotland and rule over the west as king.

But he didn’t agree with Malcolm that all-out war was required to rein in Fergus’s ambitions.

Fergus was still just one man with a few allies.

Like a bad tooth, he could be removed with no harm coming to the rest.

And Adam could be the one to do it.

When he arrived at the Fergus stronghold, Adam demanded to see the laird immediately. Unfortunately, having made himself invisible for weeks as the mercenary Ness MacNeill had its drawbacks. It took several threats and coercion of a guard at the tip of a blade to be granted an audience.

When Fergus greeted him with a frown, Adam told him he’d seen the king’s troops.

“I doubt that,” Fergus grumbled. “If ye had, ye wouldn’t have come back. Not in one piece anyway.”

“I tossed a comely lass in their path,” Adam said, giving him a knowing wink. “They were too busy takin’ turns on her to pay heed to me.”

Fergus chortled at that.

“I have information that may be o’ value to ye,” he continued.

“Information?” Fergus raised a dubious brow. “And what sort o’ value are ye hopin’ to extract from me?”

Adam shrugged. “Not much. I’m reasonable. Maybe an extra cup of ale at suppers.”

“And how do I know this information is worth an extra cup of ale?”

“I give ye my word.”

Fergus snorted. “The word of a mercenary?”

“I’ll tell ye the information. ’Tis up to ye whether ye believe it or not.”

“Fine. Tell me your information.”

“I heard tell the king is plannin’ a siege.”

Fergus’s eyes widened. “On the Fergus stronghold?”

“Aye.”

“When?”

“After All Souls Day.”

“All Souls Day is…” He stopped to calculate. “A fortnight hence.”

“There’s more.”

“What more?”

Adam hesitated. He needed to play to Fergus’s expectations of him as a mercenary. “That will cost ye an extra oatcake each morn.”

Fergus looked disgruntled. “Done.”

“He’s got the Rivenloch warriors with him.”

Fergus paled.

“And he’s waitin’ for the English troops to arrive.”

“English troops?” Fergus barked. “What English troops?”

“Malcolm has forged an alliance with Henry. They’ve joined forces against ye.”

That was a lie. But it served to rile Fergus. His face contorted with rage.

“What?”

No doubt the news would upset Fergus. He was counting on Henry siding with him against Malcolm.

Fergus snagged Adam by the front of his hauberk and drew him up short. “Ye’d better be tellin’ me the truth.”

Adam resisted the urge to shove the laird away. Instead, he gave him a grim smile. “Why would I lie? Ye’re payin’ me fairly. And now, with the extra provisions of ale and oatcakes…”

“If I find ye’ve led me astray…” Fergus threatened.

Adam shrugged. “M’laird, they already outnumber us by half, e’en without the English. If we attack on the morrow as planned? With the Rivenlochs in their ranks, we’ll lose half our men.”

“Lucifer’s ballocks!” Fergus let go of him and began to pace, rubbing an angry hand over his beard.

“I do have an idea,” Adam offered.

“What?” he spat, unimpressed with the guidance of a common mercenary. “What idea could ye possibly have?”

“Ye have one clear advantage,” Adam told him. “Ye know he’s comin’. Ye know where and when. And ye know we’re outnumbered. If we lay low for the next fortnight, we’ll lose no more troops. And there will be time to gather up the provender to withstand a siege.”

“And then what?” Fergus exploded. “The Fergus clan will singlehandedly hold off the entire armies of England and Scotland?”

“Ye won’t have to, m’laird. Once they’ve besieged the keep, ye’ll summon the neighbor lairds who’ve sworn fealty to ye. They’ll come up from behind and surround the kings’ armies. Ye’ll be in a position to attack from both sides.”

Fergus scowled, considering this.

Adam added, “And since the attack will be upon the Fergus stronghold, ’twill be seen by everyone in Scotland as an act of aggression by the king.”

Fergus nodded. “How many men do they have?”

Adam had to strike a balance with his reply. Too few men, and Fergus might imagine he could defeat them in a surprise attack. Too many, and he might consider retreat an option, which would only extend the battle.

“Five dozen at least. Seven with the Rivenlochs.” To be honest, Adam wasn’t sure there were two dozen Rivenloch warriors of fighting age. Even if there were, some always stayed behind to defend their own keeps. And some like Adam were roving in parts unknown. But the number sounded impressive.

“Shite.” Fergus’s brows came together. He punched his fist into his palm, grinding it as if squashing a bug. “After All Souls Day?”

Adam nodded.

“I want ye by my side,” Fergus told him.