Shana Abe Read Free Page A

just punishment.
    And now Kyla’s only chance to set things right was about to vanish unless she did something to prevent it. She had to find Alister. If the English were coming, she had to get to him. She had to.…
    For now she knew that Malcolm was not going to listen to her. What a shock he had turned out to be, such a baleful old man, a man who had hated the English side of them that was their father’s even as he had embraced them for his sister Helaine’s sake. And she and Alister had thought to find safety with their Scottish kin.
    Yet it was an uneasy situation from the start. Malcolm had the red hair of the MacAlisters—just like Helaine—and the tall figure, but burning eyes Kyla had not recognized in any of her family.
    When she and Alister had arrived, weary, uncertain, he had allowed them to stay, having heard their story, and Kyla had swallowed her misgivings when she saw the relief of her little brother, his slender shoulders slumping with exhaustion. It had been hard on him, brave Alister; he had come along without complaint the entire journey, had wept enough for both of them over the loss of their parents, had helped in every way he could from the beginning.
    She thought he would never be a boy again and regrettedthat, for he had been such a cheerful, happy child, and she didn’t like to see the tired wariness that marked him now. She had wondered if it would ever leave him, and when Malcolm himself had shown them to their rooms two weeks ago she had felt her soul lighten at last, just a little, at Alister’s obvious joy.
    It had been a horrible winter. But it was not over yet.
    Malcolm had been scarred by the defection of his young sister to the side of an Englishman. Kyla hadn’t realized it at first. Yes, she had known there was some tension between her mother’s brother and father. After all, not once had Malcolm ever come to Rosemead, though he was invited every year.
    One late evening not even a week ago, after most of the manor people had gone off to seek their slumber, Kyla had encountered her uncle in the sitting room, drinking whiskey, shards of broken glass all around him.
    When she had exclaimed over the glass and gone to him, he had seen Helaine. It was Helaine he grabbed painfully by the arms, Helaine he had ranted against for leaving him, for going to the side of the enemy. It was Helaine who betrayed him for the English, a generations-old hatred, and it was Helaine he had never forgiven.
    The broken glass had been an empty decanter. It reflected thousands of glints of firelight all around them as Malcolm held her, alternately shaking her then embracing her, reeking of whiskey, spilling what was left in his cup on them both.
    He was tearful and mostly incoherent. Kyla had broken from his grasp and fled the room.
    To the best of her knowledge, Malcolm did not remember that night. He certainly never mentioned it. And she almost had cause to forget about it entirely until Roland’s messenger arrived this morning, an army behind him, offering his bargain for peace.
    She was ready to take it—eager to take it. It was such a perfect solution, a thing to clear Conner’s name of her mother’s murder and restore her family honor. Nothing could be more important than that.
    But Malcolm did not want peace, no, he wanted a battle. How awful to be held up as a new cause for hatred. He had seen his chance to rage against the injustice fate had dealt him when he lost his sister. This was a golden opportunity for revenge.
    And now the soldiers were coming.
    Where was Alister?
    She found him standing over the pallet that he slept on each night in the chamber next to hers, his back to her, looking down at something on the covers she could not see.
    She slipped into the room quietly but he heard her anyway, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to confirm her presence.
    “They want us to surrender.” His voice was subdued.
    “What?”
    “The English.” He said the word as if it were foreign