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“ L yall? Lyall, where are ye?” Katie Blake hissed around blind corners, down narrow passageways, and into the hidden recesses where her younger brother was known to hide.

Her patience waned with every hiding place she found empty, her fear rising in its stead.

“Lyall?” she pleaded, as terrified of being spotted as not finding her brother.

She kept her head down as she hurried along vaguely familiar hallways, imploring her mind to make a note of the lefts and rights for the return journey. The last thing she needed was to get lost in the labyrinth of Castle MacKimmon, especially now.

What were ye thinkin’, ye bampot?

Had it not been for the miller coming down from the castle at the very moment she had gone outside to fetch eggs for breakfast, she wouldn’t have known where Lyall had gone. She’d have foolishly assumed he was still in his bed, safe and sound, and not putting all of the Blakes’ lives at risk.

She held her breath at the sound of footsteps approaching, clasping her hands together, making herself as small as possible.

Two soldiers rounded the corner, laughing between themselves.

“It’ll nae be Taron,” one said with a derisive snort. “I could throw him clear over the courtyard without a bit of effort. Slim as a lassie, with the strength of a kitten.”

The second man shoved him. “Aye, well, it’ll nae be ye either. I wouldnae be surprised if the Laird doesnae appoint a man-at-arms at all, after Johnson.”

“He cannae nae have a man-at-arms,” the first man protested. “Wouldnae be proper.”

The second man shrugged. “If ye cannae trust yer second-in-command, what’s the use in havin’ one?

” He paused, his dark eyes skimming over Katie as she stepped aside to let them pass, hoping they wouldn’t linger.

“Still cannae believe he did what he did, mind. Nearly sent us back into another five-year war.”

“He must’ve been mad,” the first man remarked as Katie’s cheeks burned. “Love does that. ‘Tis why ye’ll never see me fallin’ head-over-heels for any lass. I’d rather have the freedom to sample any lass who catches me eye.”

Please, dinnae look at me.

Katie clasped her hands tighter together, as much from worry as anger.

She could not bear to hear anyone speak ill of Johnson, despite knowing what he had done.

The brother she had known and the man who had done those terrible things, killing one poor woman and attempting to kill another, could not be the same person. Even if they were.

“Do I ken ye?” The first soldier halted in the hallway, walking backward a few steps to stand in front of her.

She swallowed tightly, keeping her chin to her chest. “It’s unlikely, Sir. I arrived just two days ago with me faither.”

As a rule, she didn’t like to lie, but her safety surely depended on bending the truth.

“And who is the faither to such a pretty thing as ye?” the first man asked, the heat of his gaze making her bristle.

“The blacksmith from Muldoon,” she replied without hesitation, remembering such a man coming through the village a few days ago. “I was on me way to find him. He’ll be expectin’ me.”

The soldier made a disgruntled sound. “Well, ye’ll nae have any luck this way, lass. There’s naught down there save for the passage to the trainin’ yard and the Laird’s private quarters.”

Katie considered what the man had said, a frown creasing her brow. She had searched everywhere but this wing of the castle. If Lyall was here, what on earth was he doing in the Laird’s private quarters?

“Aye, Sir,” she responded politely. “I’m to meet me faither here, so we can go to the trainin’ yard together. He means to take measure of the armory and the weapons ye’re all usin’. He’ll be along any moment.”

So dinnae linger here, I beg of ye.

The other soldier whistled. “We’ll be late, lad! Leave the lass and hurry over. I’m nae facin’ the Laird’s wrath because ye wanted to wag yer tongue at a lass with a blacksmith for a faither. Do ye have any idea how strong a blacksmith is?”

The first man hesitated but seemed to think better of staying in the hallway with her. He dipped his head. “I hope our paths cross again, lass.”

With that, he joined his fellow and continued up the hall, disappearing around another corner. Only then did Katie allow herself to breathe again, taking a moment before hurrying on, anxiously aware that she was about to set foot in a place she should not.

What the devil are ye playin’ at, Lyall Blake?

If her brother was not a head taller than her at five-and-ten, she would have considered giving him a hiding.

As it was, she’d have to come up with a more creative punishment—making him cook his own meals, sending him out to fetch bog mushrooms, taking the seams of his shirts in so that they were a little too tight, putting cooking grease in his shoes.

The air seemed to change as she entered Laird MacKimmon’s private domain. It thickened, the passageways closing in on her, the shadows moving like pursuers who had come to arrest her for skulking around, bearing the offensive name of ‘Blake.’

She passed two doors and listened outside each one, hearing nothing but the stillness of empty rooms.

At the third door, however, she heard something that made her heart lurch—a dull thud, followed by a sharp expletive, hissed in a voice she knew as well as her own.

She wasted no time turning the iron ring that served as a handle and burst inside.

Two gasps mingled in the dusty air— one belonging to her, as she realized she had marched into what appeared to be Laird MacKimmon’s private study; the other belonging to her wild-eyed brother, Lyall, whom she had just caught in the act of rifling through the Laird’s desk.

“After almost gettin’ yer hand sliced off for stealin’ food at the market, ye’re robbin’ the Laird now?” Katie gasped, struggling to lower her voice. “Have ye taken leave of yer senses?”

Lyall stooped to pick up a thick ledger that had tumbled to the floor, gathering the papers that had scattered across the floorboards.

“Me senses have never been clearer,” he protested, stuffing the stray papers back into the leatherbound ledger. “It’s ye , all of ye, who have taken leave of ‘em. Ye ken as well as I do that Johnson would never betray his Laird. Ye ken it, Katie!”

Katie took a step forward. “But he did, Lyall. He did betray Laird MacKimmon, and if the Laird finds another Blake in his castle, he’ll have ye strung up. Both of us, actually.”

“Believe ill of our braither, but I willnae,” Lyall shot back, slamming the ledger down on the desk. “Even if his loyalty had wavered, he wouldnae have raised so much as his voice to Lucy. He didnae kill her.”

Katie rested her hands on her hips, heartbroken and furious in equal measure. “I dinnae want to believe it, but it’s the truth. Our braither confessed to what he did. He killed the first Lady Marsden, and he tried to kill the second.”

“He loved her, Katie.” Lyall shook his head vehemently.

“He loved Lucy. Always had. Now, if he’d murdered Laird Marsden in his bed, I’d believe it.

And aye, he tried to kill the new Lady Marsden, but only because our supposedly fearless Laird signed a bloody truce!

All of that fight for justice… it was for nothin’.

Who wouldnae lose their mind, eh? He was… desperate.”

With some difficulty, Katie swallowed her complicated grief. “He did those things, Lyall. I’m sorry, but ye cannae disprove a confession.”

“ I can. I dinnae trust it. If I didnae hear him say what he did or didnae do with me own two ears, I willnae believe it for as long as I have breath in me lungs,” Lyall insisted, sifting through the papers in the ledger, poring over private documents.

“What are ye doin’, Lyall? What are ye doin’ here? Do ye want me to lose me two braithers?”

It had been Katie’s greatest worry since the day she received news of what their brother, Johnson, had done. That Laird MacKimmon and Laird Marsden would appear at the door to their cottage, demanding vengeance from anyone who was related to the deceased, disgraced man-at-arms.

Johnson Blake: beloved older brother and cold-blooded killer.

Lyall didn’t look at her. “I’m searchin’ for proof that Johnson was innocent. I dinnae ken what that is, but I’ll ken it when I see it—evidence, threats from other enemies of Laird MacKimmon, anythin’.” His voice hitched. “Anythin’ to exonerate him.”

His hand curled around a sheet of paper, crushing it into a ball.

He flung it across the room, anger and pain flaring in his summer-blue eyes as he turned his simmering rage on the entire ledger.

He grabbed it and threw it against the wall, panting hard as a storm of documents and papers fluttered down.

Katie had no doubt he would have torn the entire study apart if she hadn’t quickly rushed to his side, pulling him in a ferocious hug. She held on to him tightly, murmuring soothing words, gently rubbing circles on his back as he crumbled in her arms.

Although he pretended to be a man, Lyall was still a boy at heart who had suffered not just the loss of his brother but also the loss of his greatest hero.

Of course, he couldn’t accept that Johnson had done awful, despicable things.

Of course, his heart was breaking, his mind at war with itself—like Katie, unable to accept that the vicious killer and their dear older brother were the same person.

“I’m so sorry, Lyall,” Katie murmured, feeling every shudder of his heaving sobs.

“I wish I could change things. I wish I could tell ye that this is a strange nightmare and sing ye lullabies until it goes away. I wish I could find a note here somewhere that would tell us it’s all wrong, that our braither didnae do what he did.

But I cannae do any of that. What I can do is keep ye safe.

So, come with me, and let’s go home to have some breakfast before the Laird or one of his guards catches us here. ”

“Yer sister is right…” said a rumbling voice behind them, like a stampede pounding the earth. “Run.”

Lyall froze in Katie’s arms, terrified eyes peering over her shoulder and across the room to the doorway.

“Ye ken what happens if the Laird catches ye.”