not throw him over the cliff and say good riddance?” Deacon asked. “Let them worry over where he’s gone. Mayhap they will think he’s deserted.”
Her husband physically recoiled from his suggestion. “We’re not animals. We”—he amended the word—“I owe the man a proper burial.”
Still holding Anne’s hand, he started for the castle. The others fell into step behind him, chattering with excitement. They felt free to discuss the duel now. Each had seen it from a different perspective and wanted to share his or her thoughts.
Deacon bragged that the swordfight had been an omen—and the young men around him agreed. They declared the English would be vanquished just as Aidan had defeated the better trained officer.
Only Anne and Aidan were quiet.
She wondered what her husband was thinking. She could not judge his mood. He released her hand when they entered the great hall. Norval met Aidan at the door with a fresh shirt.
“It was a grand fight, Laird,” he said with new respect. “I’ve never seen the like.”
Aidan didn’t answer, but threw the shirt over his head and tucked it in.
Meanwhile, his clansmen filled the room. Some moved straight for the keg. Others gathered in groups, laughing and talking, the atmosphere festive.
However, Aidan did not join them. He grabbed a wall torch from its sconce and lit it off the fire in the hearth.
“Here’s ale for you, Tiebauld,” Deacon said, offering a foaming tankard. “And here is our first toast. To Laird Tiebauld of Clan Dunblack. He has returned the clan to its proud former glory!”
His words were quickly hailed and seconded, but Aidan didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, he started for the side door leading to the kitchen walkway, the flaming torch held high in one hand.
“Where are you going, Tiebauld?” Deacon asked, each fist holding a full tankard.
“To destroy the gunpowder,” Aidan answered, and walked out the door.
It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did, Deacon was the first to react. “Are you mad, Tiebauld? You can’t do it!” he shouted, but there was no answer. Aidan had already left.
With a strong oath, Deacon tossed aside the tankards. He started after Aidan, slowing his step long enough to look at Anne. “It’s your fault,” he told her. “From the moment I clapped eyes on you, I knew you would do what you could to destroy him.” He raced out of the room after her husband.
Everyone else stood rooted in stunned silence, except for Anne. She understood. She knew what Aidan was about to do and she would help him.
Lifting her skirts, she ran after the two men, only steps behind Deacon. The others followed.
Aidan made his way along the rocky path, heading for the cave. The torch’s flames danced and flapped in the strong wind off the water.
As he skirted the edge of the beach, Deacon caught up with him. He grabbed Aidan’s arm and swung him around. Anne was not far behind. She stopped. Up above her, along the cliff path were all the others—Fang, Hugh, the clan.
“Tiebauld, what is the matter with you?” Deacon shouted.
Aidan wanted him to understand. “War isn’t the answer. It will destroy us all.”
“We are already being destroyed,” Deacon retorted. “The Clearances are costing people their homes. Taxes and laws eat away at us. If we, the highlanders”—he thumped his chest for emphasis—“are to survive, we must fight back.”
“You can’t win, Deacon, not this way.”
“Of course we can win!” Deacon shouted, gesturing wildly. “Look at what you’ve done! You single-handedly walked into an armed English camp and rescued Robbie. If you can do that, Tiebauld, then with an army of loyal Scotsmen behind you, you can defeat the English. You can run them all the way back to London just as the great Donner Black did! It’s in your blood.”
“Deacon, England is the strongest country in the world. She will crush us, just as she did at Culloden. But this time, her vengeance will be a hundred times more terrible than it was in ’45. There will be nothing left.”
If he had hoped Deacon would listen to reason, he was disappointed. His friend’s eyes burned with righteous pride. He caught a glimpse of Anne from the corner of his eye and pointed at her. “You would not desert us—not on your own. It is her, she has weakened you.”
“No,” Aidan answered. “You told me yourself, I must choose. In the last twenty-four hours, I have killed two men. I will kill no more.” He dashed up the