those at the table leapt up. “Ye too,” he instructed Camdyn and Isla. “Go with Simon.”
Toran offered his siblings an encouraging smile, not willing to let them know how much the escalating situation worried him. Nor did he want to let on his feelings to his uncle and cousin.
No matter how careful Toran had been, with his uncle’s constant spying, the chief of clan Fraser would have figured out at least some parts of Toran’s dealings. The problem was, though the old Fox had made his declarations to the Jacobites, it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d done so and then swung round to the usurper’s side. It always came down to whomever was willing to give him a better deal. Aye, Toran had lied when he’d agreed to join the Jacobite cause with his cousin Archie, but how was that any different than what his uncle was doing?
Revenge was a seed Toran had kept hidden in the shadows, along with his irritation at the old Fox for doing nothing about Toran’s mother’s death. She’d been his niece, daughter to his own sister, and married to one of the Fraser men, Toran’s father. Her naked, battered body, covered in bloody gashes, swollen and bruised, hair torn from her head, had been delivered to the castle doors in a pine box carved with the name Mistress J and with a note pinned to her bare breast that simply read Traitor.
The morning of Toran’s mother’s death, the old chief had aligned himself once more with the Jacobites and wasn’t willing to question them about her death. For it was they who had killed her, his uncle and Boyd had confirmed that. His uncle’s lack of interest in avenging his niece’s brutal murder felt like a stab in the back, and Toran had decided to take matters into his own hands.
When Toran kept silent, the tension in the room became palpable. By now his uncle would have heard what had happened at the prison, though not necessarily which side Toran had been on. Clearly he’d presumed Toran dead as well, along with the others.
The Fox drummed his fingers on the table, gaze boring into Toran. But he didn’t squirm. Instead, he sauntered toward the table and sat down casually at the other end. He’d subsisted on dried meat and bannocks for days, and the scent of the stew made his mouth water. But the first bite tasted bitter as he remembered those he’d left behind and the threat of his presence here became more than clear.
“Do ye know what a traitor’s death is?” the Fox asked, swirling his spoon slowly in his stew.
Mo chreach, so this was how it was going to be. How easily his uncle had given him up. “I dinna know a man who doesna.” Tied around the ankles, a traitor would be dragged to the hangman’s noose by a horse, where he’d be hanged until he was only mostly dead. Then cut down, still gasping, body filled with pain, he’d have his twig and berries chopped off and his guts pulled from his body to be burned before his still-breathing body. Only then would he have his head chopped off and his body quartered. For certes, it was not a good way to go.
“So ye understand, then, what ye’re risking. That it is not just your life in danger.”
Isla and Camdyn. Toran’s heart kicked against his ribs. “When will Boyd be here?” He was done playing this game. He’d not let the man intimidate him. It was clear from Simon’s warning and from his uncle’s cryptic talk that he planned to give Toran over.
“Soon.”
Toran slowly stood, keeping his face a mask of disinterest. The Fox stared up at him but didn’t move or signal anyone to apprehend him.
“I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Toran said.
“We?” his uncle challenged.
“Aye. I’m taking Isla and Camdyn to the MacGillivrays. We’ve not visited with my mother’s clan for some time.” That was of course a lie, but he wasn’t about to give his uncle any further information.
Toran expected the man to argue, to demand more information. But he only nodded slowly, eyes studying him with the practiced ease of a man used to lies. His silence was more terrifying than if he’d ranted. Fortunately for Toran, he’d been thwarting that gaze for more than two decades.
“Simon will go with ye.”
Toran ground his teeth. “Nay.”
“He’ll go with ye or ye’ll not go at all.”
It was a trap. A guard and spy for his