To his shock, the crowd heeded him. Their eyes shifted from Adaira to him, and he suddenly didn’t know what to say as he felt the weight of their gaze on him.
“We have a culprit in custody for the kidnappings,” Torin continued. “Which he committed on his own, without Adaira’s knowledge or assistance.”
“But what of the illegal trade she was partaking in?” an Elliott shouted. “What of justice for our sister? For the other girls still missing?”
“Justice will be served,” Torin said. “But first, you must let me and your laird pass safely and quickly to the castle, where we can settle the matter and bring home the other lasses.”
The crowd began to step back, clearing a path.
Adaira still seemed frozen, and Torin reached over to grab her reins, urging both of their horses forward. He didn’t relax, not even when they reached the safety of the castle courtyard.
“Adi,” he said, watching her dismount.
“I’m fine, Torin,” she replied, but her face was pale. “Go see to Moray in the dungeons. And then meet me in the library. We have things we need to discuss.”
He nodded, watching her stride into the castle.
His thoughts were roaring as he hurried down to the coldest, dampest cell. Moray was being thoroughly searched, and Torin watched by torchlight as his guards found a hidden dirk in the Breccan’s boot. The blindfold and gag were removed, and Moray took his first look at his new surroundings. Stone, iron, and meager firelight.
His wrists and ankles were shackled to the wall.
“I want to speak to Adaira,” he demanded as his cell was latched and bolted.
“She’ll speak to you when she wants to,” Torin said.
He appointed five guards to keep watch and then ascended to the brighter levels of the castle.
At last, Torin thought. They had found the girls’ kidnapper. He knew Maisie’s exact location. At last, he had imprisoned the guilty Breccan in the dungeons. And yet how heavy his heart was. This day had dawned with hope, with his voice restored and plans coming together. One confession had now altered everything.
There was no triumph within him as he found Adaira sitting at her father’s desk, writing a letter.
Torin watched her intently for a moment, as if she had changed. He tried to find traces of his enemy in the features of her face, in the color of her hair, in the sprawl of her handwriting. But she was his cousin. She was the same Adaira he had grown up protecting and adoring. He didn’t care what blood she hailed from; he loved her and he would fight for her.
“I’m writing Innes Breccan,” she said, dipping her quill into the ink. “I want you to read this letter after I’m done, to approve it.”
Torin shifted his weight. “Very well. But you don’t need my approval, Adi.”
The sound of her nickname made her pause. He waited, hoping she would breathe, that she would look at him and tell him what was cascading through her mind. But Adaira continued with her writing.
Soon, she was finished. She stood and brought the letter to him.
Dear Innes,
The Heir of the West has trespassed into the east with ill intent. I had no choice but to bring your son to the fortress, where he will be held until we can settle an important matter between our two clans. I would like to meet you tomorrow at sunrise at the northern signpost. I cannot ask you to come alone or unarmed, but all the same, I ask for this exchange between us to be peaceful. I don’t desire to see blood shed or lives lost, even as this matter is one that is driven by the fires of emotion.
I believe we can reach a settlement that will appease both of our clans, face-to-face. I will await you tomorrow at first light.
Respectfully yours,
Adaira Tamerlaine
LAIRD OF THE EAST
Torin sighed. “What is the settlement?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Adaira replied. “I need to see how angry Innes is going to be upon discovering that her son and heir is imprisoned and guilty of stealing children, or relieved upon learning that her lost daughter is indeed very much alive and well.”
Torin studied her face. She was staring at her written words, held in his hands. He whispered, “Look at me, Adi.”
She did. And he saw the fear in her eyes, as if she was waiting for him to reject her.
“I don’t care whose blood you belong to,” he said. “You’re a Tamerlaine, and that’s the end of it.”
She nodded, but he could tell she was struggling to find comfort in his statement. “Whatever comes tomorrow, I think we need to prepare for conflict at the clan line.”