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saddle in a flash. Satan reared. Ranald did not budge. His firm
hands and legs let the horse know the man was master, not the
beast. Satan again stamped up and down with his forelegs. Ranald
ignored him.
    Each maneuver the horse tried, Ranald
countered, until it shook and snorted then threw its head up and
pranced. Regal. Proud. As if he deemed the black-robed man on his
back worthy of him.
    “Cover yer face. ‘Tis as unsightly as the day
I sent ye here.”
    “Nay, Broccin. Ye dinna like the design ye
created? ‘Tis a shame. Ye worked so hard at it.”
    “Yer fault. In yer drunken state, ye could
have ruined a fine stead.”
    “Ah, yes. Yer mount was far more valuable
than yer son. There is another problem ye are forgetting.” Ranald’s
cold regard made Broccin twitch.
    “What?”
    “Are ye not afeared Moridac’s bride will bolt
with one look at her new husband-to-be?”
    “’Tis yer problem—not mine. Mayhap ye should
blindfold her afore ye ram betwixt her legs.” Broccin’s laughter
rang out as he rode toward the men waiting in the field beyond.
    With Domnall riding beside him, Ranald led
Satan through the opened gate and stopped. He twisted around, his
hand rising in a farewell gesture to the men who ran behind them,
waving.
    Chief Broccin waited at the head of the long
line of warriors facing them. Raik and the king’s man were behind
him.
    “Take your place, Ranald.” Domnall motioned
with his chin for him to pull alongside the waiting Chief
Broccin.
    Ranald cantered over, knowing whether he
liked it or no, he must show the warriors of Raptor Castle that he
took his rightful place as their lord’s heir. He drew in beside the
man he despised, expecting to hear more hate spewing from his
lips.
    Instead, Broccin pulled a folded banner from
inside the neck of his tunic and shook it out. Two shiny black
eagles flew on a field of yellow; a red bar diagonally divided it.
A waiting squire attached it to his pole and bobbed his head at
Ranald, before pulling even with the other standard-bearers, their
colorful banners cracking in a stiff breeze.
    “‘Twas
his
design,” Broccin
muttered. “He said ‘twas for the two of ye separated by death.
Should have been yer death. Not his.” Broccin kicked his mount into
action, heading for Raptor Castle.
    o0o
    “I know no more than you, Letia.” At Raptor
Castle, Catalin wrung her hands and paced back and forth at the
foot of her bed.
    “Moridac’s twin Ranald has lived at Kelso
Abbey all this time? I cannot understand why Chief Broccin said he
died so many years ago.”
    Catalin blinked, clearing her eyes of the
smoke from candles lit around every corner of the room. Since
Moridac’s death, she could not stand the gloom on cloudy days.
    “Aye. ‘Tis what he claimed. It does not seem
right that a man would declare his son dead if he was not. I fear
some terrible secret lies behind it.”
    Catalin’s stomach heaved. She forced it back.
‘Twas worry and fear that caused it.
    “Letia, did he give any hint about Ranald
when he sent notice to you?”
    “Nay. His missive bidding our return took us
by surprise. He said only that he wanted ample witnesses for a
wedding betwixt his long absent son and you.”
    Hannah, ever close of late, brought a cold
cloth and wiped Catalin’s face. “You should eat more, child.”
    “I cannot keep it down. Every time I start to
eat, Chief Broccin watches me with a strange look of glee. I fear
he is brainsick.”
    “More likely too much wine.” Letia grimaced
with disgust and ran angry fingers through her dark brown
curls.
    “Late on the night before last, I heard the
grinding of the portcullis rising. Mayhap twenty warriors escorted
a messenger from King David.”
    Catalin pressed the cold cloth to her face
and breathed in the soothing lavender oil Hannah had sprinkled on
it.
    “Could you make out who led the escort?”
    “Nay. It was too dark. But before dawn even
lightened the sky, Chief Broccin hammered on my door