“And who gave it to you, John Breccan?”
Jack didn’t answer. He could scarcely breathe, feeling the wind tousle his hair like cold fingers.
“Do you recognize this, Malcolm?” Rab asked Narrow Eyes.
“Aye. Looks like one of Iagan’s harps.”
“As I thought.” Rab’s smile was a sharp crescent. “You stole this from Loch Ivorra.”
Jack frowned. “I’ve never been to Loch Ivorra. And I didn’t steal this harp.”
Rab carefully slid the instrument back into its sheath, but he kept it beside him on the grass. “I know what you are, John.”
“If that is so,” Jack said, his cadence rising, betraying his agitation, “then you would understand why I carry a harp that was given to me.”
Rab leaned forward. “You are a liar and a thief. I don’t believe anything you’ve told me, and you aren’t going anywhere until you give us the truth. All of it.”
Jack held Rab’s stare. His heart was drumming against his ribs, and his hands were going numb. This was not how he had envisioned his time in the west unfolding. This was not how his journey was to progress, and his hope began to wane.
“I’m a messenger of peace,” he said, which provoked a chorus of chuckles from the Pierce men.
“Of course you are,” Rab said with a chuckle.
“I carry a truth blade, which you’ve taken, and wear no plaid,” Jack continued. “I’m a bard, and this harp was given to me by Laird Torin Tamerlaine, who wrote that letter that rests by your foot, supporting my claims. Read it for yourself.”
The bold statements killed the men’s amusement. The camp fell deathly quiet. There was only the crackle and pop of the fire and the distant howl of the wind as it passed over the glen.
“You carry no weapons but a truth blade,” Rab finally echoed, ignoring the taunt of Torin’s letter. “But that also is a lie. Your harp is perhaps more dangerous than any enchanted steel.”
“It holds no danger unless I play it,” Jack said. “And you should let me go before my wife hears of this.”
“I take it your wife is Lady Cora?” Rab teased, and his comrades laughed.
“Yes,” Jack said.
The men froze.
“My wife is Lady Cora,” Jack repeated, calmly. “Her name was Adaira when she was in the east, when we were married. I’m traveling to her now, and I would appreciate it if you let me go without any more trouble—”
Rab was fast. He delivered a sharp blow to Jack’s face to silence him. Jack was momentarily dazed by the impact. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat it in the grass, his eyes watering as he looked at Rab and his barely contained fury.
“You are not a bard,” Rab said. “You only pretend to be.”
“If you doubt me,” Jack rasped, “then set my harp in my hands and I will prove myself to you.”
“I will cut off your hands before I set a harp in them.” Rab slid the sharp tip of his dirk beneath the neckline of Jack’s tunic. At first, Jack thought Rab was about to slit his throat, but Rab found the golden chain that hid beneath Jack’s clothes. His half coin.
In one swift movement, the necklace broke with a metallic snap.
Jack hadn’t removed the coin since Alastair had draped it over him. The day he handfasted himself to Adaira. A terrible ache bloomed in Jack’s chest. He stared at Rab as he tucked the golden half coin into his pocket.
“What you are is a thief and a charlatan,” Rab said with a sneer. “And we don’t take kindly to either one in the west.”
“Are you afraid of me then?” Jack said, his voice full of ire. He pulled at his bindings. “Are you—”
Rab grasped Jack’s hair, shoving him forward and down. He held Jack’s throbbing face over the fire, dangerously close. The heat was suddenly becoming more and more unbearable.
“Tell us the truth, thief,” Rab taunted, forcing Jack even lower. “Tell us who you are and why you stole the harp from Loch Ivorra, and perhaps we will let you go and water your fantasies of being married to a laird’s daughter.”
Jack closed his eyes, feeling the fire’s heat begin to scorch his face. “I have told you . . . the truth. If you doubt me, use my truth blade.”
Rab inched his face lower. Jack kept his eyes shut, expecting to feel the lick of the flames any moment. But it never came, and the heat and light suddenly vanished.
A slew of curses ensued.
Rab’s fingers tightened in Jack’s hair.
Trembling, Jack opened his eyes.
The fire was gone, burned into ashes. Only a trail of smoke remained behind to dance, elusively.
“The wind must have blown it out,” said one of the men, but he sounded wary.
Jack panted in relief, the sweat dripping from his nose. He knew it hadn’t been the wind, and he searched the ashes for a sign, a word, a face. But his vision blurred as Rab yanked him back and threw him down on the grass.
“You should let me go,” Jack said. “You should let me go before you interfere with something you have no knowledge of and probably want nothing to do with.”
“Oh, I will let you go,” Rab said, looming over him. “But not yet, thief.”
Jack tried to brace himself for the blow. But he was defenseless. Rab’s boot caught him in the temple. Jack saw a smattering of stars, heard a trickle of laughter.
He was looking at his harp, at Torin’s unopened letter, when Rab’s foot struck him again.
Jack folded into the darkness.
Chapter 19
Adaira had mastered the art of sneaking out of Castle Sloane in the east. She told herself it should be no different here in the west at Castle Kirstron, even though the Breccans’ holding was designed to keep people out and there were still many passages she had yet to be given permission to roam. But three things gave her confidence:
She could now unlock enchanted doors with her blood.
She had a sword she could carry anywhere.
She had ridden through the wilds enough times with Innes to have gained a good sense of the land.
Adaira dressed in a long-sleeved tunic and leather jerkin. Her hair was a similar shade to Innes’s and would swiftly give her away, so she covered it with the drape of her blue plaid. She then belted the sword to her waist and packed her leather satchel with all the supplies David had left with her to tend to her stitches—fresh linen bandages and a small jar of healing salve. She also packed a flask of wine and a bannock left over from breakfast.
Taking the corridors, she eventually emerged into the courtyard.
No one paid her any attention.
Adaira stood on the flagstones, deliberating. She had tried to estimate how far away the spirit had fallen. It was well beyond the city walls, in a part of the wilds, kilometers away. She imagined the spirit was now lying broken and exposed on a hillside. Adaira’s heart quickened as she glanced sidelong at the bustling stables.