his stubborn chin rose. “I think Patrick was right in what he said before.”
Respect and something else simmered inside Ciaran. Och, but he loved Red’s strength. “What do ye mean?”
“I don’t think this was the IN.” He pointed at the cloth in Ciaran’s hand. “Where did you get that? Why didn’t it burn?”
“He found it.” Patrick flipped his chin toward Stuart.
They all turned to Stuart, and the old man pointed to a shrub behind him. The thistle looked out of place in this harsh and craggy landscape where there was more rock than earth. Grass and weeds peeked up from between rocks and on ledges all around the cliffs that surrounded them, but the lone thistle looked as though it should have been trampled. “It was tied tae that thistle.”
“So a sign. Someone wanted you to know this was your men. That isn’t how the IN operates. They would have killed the men and buried them, or burned them in the base. They would not have drawn attention to it.” Red sounded so sure of himself, but Ciaran shook his head.
Clenching the fabric in his fist, Ciaran closed his eyes for a moment. This had been left here as a message, but he didn’t agree with Red. “It was a warning tae leave them be.”
“No.” Red shook his head and looked at Patrick. “Everything they’ve done so far has been in secret. They don’t want to draw attention to themselves. They do not realize we are onto them.”
“Of course they do.”
Again Red shook his head. “No, they don’t. If they did, they’d declare an all-out war. They have superior fire power. They may know that the clans on Skye know, but they don’t know that Regelence and Englor realize their game. They don’t know that we have Patrick and Marcus.”
Marcus shifted his weight from one foot to the other, leaning more on Patrick, as though his leg were bothering him. It probably was, since he’d been in the saddle. “Bannon’s logic is sound. That isn’t how they operate. They don’t do intimidation tactics—they destroy. I think this was the MacLeans.”
“Doing so under the IN’s authority?” Ciaran asked.
Red shrugged, his shoulder making Ciaran’s arm move. Then he dropped Ciaran’s hand and pointed at Stuart. “I don’t know. Why don’t we ask him.”
Stuart looked away, his shoulders stooped, making him look frail. He stood perfectly still, then muttered something under his breath.
“What?” Ciaran asked.
But it wasn’t Stuart who answered; it was Red.
“He has sheep in the wagon. He’s the one who has been stealing the livestock.”
Och, but Ciaran had totally forgotten about the wagon and the moving tarp. He tried to make sense of it. He’d wanted so badly to think it was Ian and Fiona playing a trick.
The tension in the air grew so thick, it was nearly suffocating. All of them stared at Stuart, waiting for an answer, but he didn’t deny it.
After the cattle raid, Ciaran had known for sure those were their cattle, and after seeing the MacLeans helping the IN move things at the base, a blind rage overtook him. It empowered him with what felt like superhuman strength. Everything around him fell away until there was nothing but Stuart. He did not even stop to think. He couldn’t.
In hindsight, he should have pulled his sword and been done with it, but his entire focus narrowed, and he could see nothing, feel nothing, but the need to strangle the life out of the man who’d betrayed him, betrayed their clan. Grabbing Stuart by the throat with both hands, Ciaran lifted him off the ground.
He watched as the man’s face turned a mottled gray and his eyes seemed to bulge.
“Ciaran! Stop!” The voice came from a distance, as if the sound was coming from a well and rose in volume as it got closer. Someone started pulling at his arm.
“Ciaran, there’s been enough violence already. Let him go. Please.” Red’s plea cut through him. He tried to ignore it, but something in the soft cadence, the desperation, stopped him, cutting through him like nothing else could. He became aware of the hands pulling on him. They were quite strong and persistent.
“He’s not even fighting you back. Let him go.”
Ciaran looked up at Stuart’s pale face and realized Red was right. Stuart hung limply in his hands. Releasing the council member, Ciaran watched him crumble at his feet.
Stuart grabbed his throat and coughed, never even looking up at Ciaran.
Red released Ciaran’s arm like he’d been burned. His face was