Sweat traced down the curve of her back. It was warm in the forest, and the wind was quiet that day.
At last, Adaira could hear the Breccans approach. Clomps of hooves and the rattle of a wagon disturbed the peace of the woods, and she flexed her hands.
A breath later, she took her first glimpse of Innes Breccan.
The Laird of the West rode a great horse, and she was dressed as a warrior—in knee-high boots, a tunic, a leather jerkin, and a swath of blue plaid. She was older, but the strength gathered around her, as if she were a storm. The silver shone in her long blond hair, contrasting with the golden circlet on her brow. Her face was narrow, difficult to look away from, and woad tattoos danced up her throat and along the backs of her hands and fingers. Her eyes were keen as she brought her horse to a halt, just before the clan line. She met Adaira’s stare, and there her gaze rested for a heavy moment, as if she were measuring her opponent.
Adaira stood in her leather armor and crimson plaid, her face carefully guarded. But her bones were buzzing with tension. She was beholding her enemy, the nemesis of her clan. She was seeing her face-to-face, with only a few handbreadths between them.
Perhaps she comes to kill me, Adaira thought, even though Innes was unarmed. The leather scabbard hung empty from her belt. Perhaps this will be the beginning of the war.
Behind Innes, a wagon came to a halt. She had brought only three guards with her, although perhaps there were more, waiting in the woods. She dismounted and moved to stand before Adaira.
“Heiress,” she said, her voice deep and smoky as a forge.
“Laird,” Adaira responded.
“I have recovered most of everything that was taken,” Innes replied. “However, the livestock has been lost. I can offer only gold coins in reparation.”
Adaira was quiet, wondering if the Elliotts’ cows and sheep had already been slaughtered. It inspired a shiver in her spine, but she nodded.
“The coins will suffice for now.”
“May I cross over to your side?” Innes asked, and her gaze shifted to Torin. She must have recognized him as the Captain of the East Guard, since he was standing armed and directly behind Adaira.
“You alone have permission,” Adaira replied.
Innes nodded and walked to the wagon. She took a crate, loaded with sacks of grain, and walked it over the clan line. She set it down at Adaira’s feet before returning to fetch another crate. One by one, the laird brought three crates total, brimming with the Elliotts’ winter stores. After that, she stood face-to-face with Adaira and extended a purse of coins.
“This should be enough, I hope?” she asked.
Adaira accepted the payment and looked inside the purse. It brimmed with gold, and she nodded, thinking this was overpayment for the missing cows and sheep.
It was odd, how generous Innes was being. Adaira didn’t know what to make of her, whether she was genuine or only engaged in a diversion, with another betrayal soon to follow.
As if reading her thoughts, Innes said, “I hope this ill decision of my clan’s can be forgiven, and that the trade you suggested can be continued between us.”
“I’ve been speaking to Moray about the trade,” Adaira said, making a point to glance around at the guards Innes had brought. “I was hoping to see him today.”
“My son is currently disciplining the men who raided your lands,” Innes replied, and her voice turned a shade cooler. “Or else he would have accompanied me today.”
Adaira felt uneasy. This meeting could still go awry. She said, “We also desire to move forward with the trade, and there is a specific item that we would like to receive from your clan.”
“Name it, heiress,” Innes said. “And I will bring it myself to the next exchange.”
Adaira held up the glass vial. The Orenna flower had yet to wilt, and the golden sheen on its petals glistened in the light. She watched Innes’s face closely, and the laird’s brow rose.
“Your clan desires the Orenna flower?” she asked.
“It grows in the west?” Adaira countered.
“It does,” Innes replied. “Although it is quite useless to us, as the spirits are weak.”
“The same can’t be said of the spirits in the east,” Adaira said. “If you can provide us with a basket of flowers, then I can bring resources your clan needs to prepare for winter.”
“Very well,” Innes said. “I will harvest these flowers for you. Give me three days to prepare, and we can meet again for the trade, in a place of your choosing.”
“Agreed,” Adaira said.
She watched as Innes returned to her side of the clan line. She mounted her horse and gave Adaira a nod in farewell before she trotted away, the guards following her with the empty wagon.
Adaira released a shaky breath. She turned only when she felt it was safe to, and even then, Torin immediately guarded her back. Jack, who had been a quiet support, fell into stride beside her. She waited to speak until they had emerged from the woods and returned to their horses, hobbled beneath an elm tree.
“I have at least one thread of proof now,” Adaira said.
Jack frowned. “Which one?”
She met his gaze and held up the Orenna again. “Moray Breccan has lied to me.”
Jack parted ways with Adaira in Sloane, making a stop at Una’s forge. His dirk was sheathed at his side, and his heart was pounding as he waited to speak with her. Una was bustling about her work with sharp focus, and she had several apprentices working with her, one her own daughter, who pumped the bellows and hurried to bring her mother tools.
“Forgive me for interrupting your work,” Jack said when Una had a spare moment to speak with him. “Is everything well?”
She only arched her brow, the silver in her black hair catching the afternoon light. “Of course it is, Jack. What have you brought me today?”
He set the dirk in her waiting hands. “I would like to know who commissioned you to make this blade. Do you remember his name? It was most likely a long time ago.”
“I remember all my clients and all of my blades,” Una said, continuing to scrutinize the dirk. “And I fear I can’t tell you the name you seek, Jack.”
“Why is that?”
Una leveled her dark eyes at him. “Because I didn’t make this blade.”
He frowned. “Are you certain?”
She laughed, but he could tell she was annoyed by his question. “Do you remember each piece of music you compose? Recognize each instrument you have ever held and played?”
Jack felt his face warm. “Forgive me, Una. I meant no offense.”
“None is taken, Jack.” She handed the dirk back to him.
“I merely thought …”
She waited, and he sighed.
“You are the most skilled blacksmith in the east,” he continued. “And whoever had this blade forged … I believe he would want only the finest hands to create it.”
“It’s fine work, I won’t deny it,” she said, her gaze lingering on the dirk. “But it’s not mine.”
“Is there a way to discover what enchantment it holds?”
“There’s a way, yes. And it’s not by looking at it.”
He knew what she was implying. He slid the dirk back into its sheath.