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“Escaped, Your Grace?”

Adam couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. Even with shackles. But he thought it would take Eve a little longer to enchant the guards into letting her go. He’d hoped to return before she slipped her bonds and got herself into worse trouble.

According to the king, she’d managed to break free of her chains in less than a day. Even more impressive, she hadn’t used the power of her charm at all. According to what remained of her shackles, she’d picked the lock with the physician’s shears.

Adam had to hide his disappointment and dread.

It would do no good to accuse the physician of carelessness. The king had probably already given him a tongue-lashing he’d never forget. Besides, the man seemed almost as distraught over her disappearance as Adam.

It would avail Adam nothing to blame the king. He just had to come up with a new strategy that didn’t involve rescuing Eve…yet. Now that the lass was loose among bloodthirsty warmongers, the best thing for all concerned was to subdue the hostility on both sides.

“I think we can go ahead with the siege the day after All Souls, Your Grace,” he said.

“But we’ve lost our leverage,” the king said.

“Fergus doesn’t know that.”

“He will once the hostage returns to him.”

“I don’t think she will return,” Adam said.

“Nor do I,” the physician chimed in. Then, immediately mortified at his own boldness and glared into submission by the king, he silenced.

Adam added, “She was abducted while under Fergus’s protection, Your Grace. She won’t trust him to protect her a second time.”

“Where do you think she’s gone?” asked the king.

Adam glanced at the physician. He knew something. But he wasn’t going to say it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Adam lied. He’d question the physician later. “As far as Fergus is concerned, Your Grace still holds her captive.”

“Fergus agreed to the truce?”

“Aye. He won’t attack.”

“Fine.” The king sighed. “I suppose ’twill give us time to build a trebuchet.”

Adam bowed and took his leave.

He hoped he could keep the stories he’d told straight.

The king believed Fergus was keeping the peace because he held Eve hostage.

Fergus believed the king was keeping the peace because he was waiting to amass a bigger army.

They both believed the siege would happen on the day after All Souls Day, which it would, but only because Adam had made it so.

He sighed. After this was over, he’d need to go on a very long pilgrimage to atone for all his half-truths.

Eve’s trek through the forest at night was blessed by the full moon. It shone like a light to guide her home, reinforcing her sense she was doing the right thing in returning to the convent.

Twice betrayed by a Judas, it was time for her to accept her fate. Life as a nun. Doing God’s work. Sworn to lifelong chastity.

But if this was her chosen path, why did the stars of her destiny blur overhead as she followed it?

Why did her heart ache with loss for what would never be?

Why did she weep all the way through the woods?

By the time she reached the convent, dawn was breaking, and she was all out of tears.

But her silence was only a temporary surrender. Her peace was only a facade. Deep in her soul, she knew she’d bear the scars of grief forever.

She managed to steal into the convent and to her cell without being noticed. That was another gift from God. For if any of the sisters had taken note of her missing wimple and veil and seen her blood-stained habit, there would have been questions.

She sat on her pallet and eyed her spare set of clothing hung on a hook.

She’d have to burn the bloody habit. She wasn’t sure if her wimple and veil were in her satchel.

The guards must have stuffed her belongings into it after she’d emptied it on the floor of the king’s pavilion, looking for the royal dagger.

She dumped the contents onto the pallet.

Her veil and wimple were there. Her herbs. Her provender. And her costumes.

Those she would need no longer. She would go adventuring no more.

She choked on a knot of sorrow.

Then one other item caught her eye.

The marriage document.

Her breath stopped.

She assumed either the king or Adam had confiscated it.

But nay. There it was. Intact.

For the first time in three days, her heart lightened. She had one last mission. Something significant to do. Something meaningful. Something to occupy her and keep her from dwelling on her lost love.

There wasn’t much time. The siege Adam had talked about would happen after All Souls Day. Once war began, she’d trust neither the Fergus clan nor the royal troops. She needed to be home in time to protect her convent sisters from harm.

First, however, she’d warn the abbess. Insist the nuns keep to the convent for the next fortnight. Tell her there were rumors of war. Warn them to remain inside on Samhain and several days following, just to be safe.

Naturally, on the day of her leaving, the abbess vehemently protested. She argued it was unsafe for Eve to wander if war was afoot. She said Eve’s father would never forgive her if something happened to Eve. She even tried to make Eve feel guilty for abandoning her convent sisters.

But Eve knew this was important. So she confided in the abbess.

She told her she was going to Rivenloch.

She told her it was a secret mission of utmost importance for the clan.

She vowed that when she returned, she would not venture forth on such a mission again.

She’d train as a physician and serve the community. This would be her final adventure.

If Eve’s voice choked up at that confession, the abbess didn’t notice. She was too delighted by the idea that Eve was going to be a messenger for the famous Rivenloch clan.

Filling her satchel with provender and borrowing the convent mule, Eve began the long ride to Rivenloch.

She maintained her identity as Sister Eve and stayed at convents along the way.

It was more boring than traveling as Lady Ailenn or Jehan of Rouen.

But the prospect of seeing the illustrious castle of Rivenloch at the end of her journey buoyed her spirits.

The trek took longer than she intended. The mule was old and tired easily.

But eventually, after six days, she arrived.

And while her imagination had filled in the details of what she’d heard described, nothing could have prepared her for the magnificence of Rivenloch.

Set on a rise overlooking vast crofters’ fields and a pair of twin lochs, it was stately and well constructed for defense, with a double concentric wall surrounding the keep.

Clearly, it was intended to serve as a strong fortification for the clan.

But attention had been paid to the comforts of living and beauty as well.

Sheep and coos dotted the verdant hillside.

Gardens and orchards bordered the vast courtyard.

There was a great stable, a dovecot, and a mews for falcons.

Structures built along the inner wall included workshops for an armorer, a baker, a jeweler, a leatherworker, and sundry other services.

Dust rose from the practice field adjoining the keep as warriors fiercely clashed and battled as if they waged real war. The thunder of hooves announced great chargers as mounted knights tilted at a quintain.

Inside, the imposing walls of the great hall, filled with the shields and banners of conquered foes, were softened by the lively activity of the castle denizens. The lovely smells of bread and cinnamon and roasting meat mingled with the scent of fresh rushes and smoke from the blazing fire.

Maidservants and kitchen lads hurried across the room, bearing baskets and platters, setting up trestle tables, chattering away.

By the fire, three sweaty warriors in chain mail drank ale and laughed together.

In one corner, a pack of hounds napped. In another, a pair of toddlers played with wooden knights.

To Eve’s right, a young fair-haired lad of about fifteen years sat on a stool, laboring over some intricate wooden structure, while a lass a few years older examined his handiwork.

It was hard to believe that this was the home of the most feared and ferocious clan in all of Scotland.

Then Laird Deirdre herself entered the hall.

She was splendid. Tall and wide-shouldered, with long braids the color of winter wheat. She wore a leather hauberk over a sky blue surcoat that perfectly matched her eyes. Upon her breast rested a silver Thor’s hammer, and a long sword was sheathed at her hip.

As brave as Eve usually was, Deirdre intimidated her. She gulped. How would the laird receive the news that her nephew had wed without her permission?

The king had approved the marriage. That should be enough.

Still, Eve bit her lip, and her fingers fumbled with the scroll.

The fair-haired lad looked up from his work, noticing the rolled parchment. “What’s that?”

“Ian,” the lass beside him chided, “don’t be rude.”

“I’m not rude. I’m curious.”

The lass detected Eve’s hesitation. “Is that for the laird?”

Eve nodded.

“Ma!” Ian called out.

Eve was mortified, especially when Deirdre’s gaze turned her way.

The lass shushed Ian, then turned to Eve and murmured, “I’m Isabel, the laird’s daughter. Come. I’ll introduce you.”

Eve followed the lass, who had all her mother’s beauty, but was as sweet as the laird was fierce.

Isabel whispered, “What’s your name?”

“Eve.”

“Laird Deirdre, may I present Sister Eve.”

Deirdre’s appraisal was swift but thorough. She was obviously used to sizing up her adversaries with a single glance. “Sister.”

Eve could tell Deirdre was not impressed with her. And though she understood why, it rankled at her. This was not who Eve truly was. A cowering nun who jumped at her own shadow. A shrinking sister who turned the other cheek at any affront. A humble agent of God whose only purpose was to serve.