“As such, I am no longer fit to lead you, and I pass the lairdship to one who is worthy of you. Torin has proven himself as an exceptional leader and will guide you now. I have all faith that he will continue to lead the clan to better days.
“In parting, I reached a settlement with the west, an agreement which I hope will bring peace to the isle. Moray Breccan is to remain shackled in your prison for kidnapping the daughters of the east until you deem him fit to walk free again. Because he is in the east, I must go to the west. I leave you all today, and I want you to know that I will continue to hold each of you dearly in my memories and in the highest regard, even if I am never afforded the chance to walk among you again.
“May you continue to be prosperous, and may the spirits bless the east.”
Murmurs wove through the crowd. Adaira could hardly bear gazing at her old friends. Some of them looked sad, others were nodding in relief. Once, she had been great among them. Beloved and adored. Now she was regarded in various shades of sorrow, disgust, and disbelief.
So much had changed in a day.
She had spoken her last words to them, and the ring of power was on Torin’s hand. Her cousin walked with her across the dais, escorting her through one of the secret doors. Jack was on her heels, but before they could slip away, one of the people shouted, “What about Jack? The bard is ours now. Is he staying?”
Adaira hesitated, glancing at him.
Jack’s eyes widened. His surprise was evident, but he turned to look at the clan. “I go where she goes.”
“Then you’ll be playing for the west?” a woman called in anger. “You’ll be playing for our enemies?”
“Don’t answer that, Jack,” Torin warned under his breath. “Come, let’s go.”
But Jack stood on the threshold and said in a clear voice, “I play for Adaira and Adaira alone.”
Adaira was still reeling from his response by the time they emerged in the courtyard. Two horses stood tacked and ready on the moss-spangled flagstones.
“Can you send word to me when you arrive safely?” Torin asked once she was settled in the saddle.
“Yes, I’ll let you know,” Adaira replied, gathering the reins. She didn’t know how to say goodbye to Torin. She felt like a part of her was being ripped away, and she drew a deep breath when he squeezed her foot.
“I’m sorry, Adi,” he whispered, gazing up at her.
She met his stare. Her head was throbbing from all the tears she had swallowed. “It’s not your fault, Torin.”
“You will always have a home here with me and Sidra,” he said. “You don’t have to stay in the west. When Moray Breccan is released one day … I hope to see you return to us.”
She nodded, but she had never felt more adrift in her life. As much as she longed to catch a glimpse of her future, the path ahead of her was murky. She didn’t know if she would remain with her blood, if the east would one day draw her back, or if she would leave Cadence altogether.
She urged the horse forward, and Torin’s hand fell away. She didn’t say goodbye to him.
Torin had never liked farewells.
With the sun reaching its zenith in the sky, Adaira and Jack took to the eastern hills one last time.
Innes Breccan had yet to arrive by river.
Adaira and Jack dismounted from their horses, then decided to wait for the laird inside with Mirin and Frae.
The rug that Derek had bled to death on had been rolled up and removed, but Adaira could still taste a trace of death in the air. Mirin had opened all of the shutters, welcoming the southern breeze.
“Would you like some tea, Adaira?” Mirin offered. Her face was haggard and ashen, and her voice rasped like a ghost’s. She looked worse than Adaira had ever seen her, and it sent a pang of worry through her.
“No, but thank you, Mirin,” Adaira replied.
Mirin nodded and returned to her loom, but she seemed hung in a web, unable to weave. Frae was clinging to Jack’s legs, and Adaira was trying not to watch them as Jack prepared his sister for a long absence.
“I don’t want you to go,” Frae cried. Her sobs filled the cottage, slipping beyond the windows, a contrast to the bright sunshine and warm summer day.
“Listen to me, Frae,” Jack said gently. “I need to be with—”
“Why do you have to go? Why can’t you stay here with me and Mum?” Frae said, her words smudged by her tears. “You promised me you’d be here all summer, Jack. That you wouldn’t leave!”
Her wails were painful to listen to. Adaira suddenly couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on her, and she slipped out the back door, panting. She closed her eyes, steadying herself, but she could still hear Frae ask, “When will you be back?” and Jack reply with a hesitant, “I’m not sure, Frae.” Which inspired another round of weeping from the girl, as if her heart had broken.
Adaira couldn’t bear it. She walked through the gate and sat in the grass, her legs trembling. She had been so certain just an hour ago that Jack should come with her. But now that she had seen Mirin’s deterioration and Frae’s distress … Adaira thought she should convince him to stay. The clan wanted him and his music. His family needed him.
She would be fine on her own.
She was absently staring at the distant forest when Innes and a trio of guards appeared. Their horses splashed through the river and onto the bank, approaching at a walk.
This is it, Adaira thought, rising. This is the end and the beginning.
Her heart was beating vibrantly in her chest as her mother’s horse came to a halt on the hill. Innes’s eyes swept over her, as if she could see the tears and the heartache that Adaira hid beneath her skin.
“Are you ready to come with me?” the laird asked.
“Yes,” Adaira replied. “My husband Jack would like to accompany me, if you approve.”
Innes arched a fair brow, but if she was annoyed at the thought, she hid it well. “Of course. So long as he knows life in the west is far different than it is in the east.”
“I do know, and I go willingly,” Jack said.
Adaira turned to find him standing in the garden, his bag slung across his shoulders and his ruined harp tucked beneath his arm. Mirin and Frae remained on the threshold to see him off, the lass weeping into her mother’s skirts.
Jack moved forward to stand beside her, and that’s when Adaira noticed that a change had come over Innes. The laird was regarding Jack with cold, narrow eyes.
Adaira’s breath caught. Did Innes know that Jack was the son of the keeper? The son of the man who had given her daughter away? Suddenly, those earlier feelings of foreboding returned, like a strong tide rushing around her ankles. Adaira didn’t know if Jack would be safe if the Breccans came to know of his true heritage. She was a moment away from drawing Jack into a private space, to tell him to keep his paternal link a secret, when Innes dismounted.
“I would like a word with you, Adaira,” the laird said. Her tone was reserved but heavy. Adaira felt herself bend to its command, and she saw the storehouse, a few paces away.
“We can speak there,” she said, and Jack shot her an uneasy look as she led Innes into the small, round building.
The air was warm, dusty. Once, not long ago, Adaira had stood in this very place with Jack.