Rory turned around. His gaze traveled around the chapel. "What can I do?"

"Return to Inverleith."

"That I cannot do. I am not good at letting others fight my battles."

"I do not want another Maclean on my conscience."

"How does your father feel about having a Maclean in residence?"

"He is getting used to the idea. Lachlan saved my life. He took a dagger thrust meant for me."

"What can I do?" Rory asked again.

"Have you ever met Morneith?"

"Nay. I have only heard rumors."

"Then be at the Rose and Spur tomorrow night. I am to sup with Morneith and explain he has few choices other than giving me a very substantial amount of money to keep silent. There is a private room upstairs, but it is not as private as most people would believe. It shares a fireplace with another room and often the proprietor declares the fireplaces in need of a chimney sweep. Words are then easily distinguishable between the two rooms. The king's cousin, Ian Stewart, will be in the second room. But another witness or two would be welcome."

Rory raised an eyebrow.

Jamie shrugged. "I hear a little blackmail sometimes flows from that room."

"Could Morneith be aware as well?"

"I doubt it. It's known only to a few people. One of my friends was blackmailed when he bedded someone else's wife there. There is a hefty price on those rooms and part of it is silence. Those victimized can not speak of it, either, since their ... failings would become known."

Jamie stood. "I would like to see Felicia."

Rory hesitated, then nodded his head toward the back where a young lad sat on the last bench.

Jamie turned his head and looked. He had seen her cropped hair at Inverleith, but he had never seen her look so entirely like a lad.

"I will watch outside," Rory said.

As the Maclean left the chapel, Jamie approached the lad whose head was bent in prayer.

The lad looked up, and Jamie saw those bright blue eyes of the Campbell family.

"Ah, Felicia. I should have known we could not leave you back at Inverleith."

"I will never forgive you," she said, even as her hand reached out and clutched his.

"And the Maclean? Are you as angry at him?"

"He is not my cousin and my friend."

"Is he not the latter?" he asked. "Or something more?"

Her cheeks blushed. "He has no interest in me."

He held her for a moment, then she took a step back. "You have been hurt," she said.

"Morneith set his lackeys on me. Lachlan was following and joined in the battle. I have bruises. He was hurt far worse."

"How badly?" she asked, her face drawing up in worry.

"He will live," he said, wishing not to distress her. He wanted to wait until he knew more about how well the wound would heal.

"I would like to see him."

"He is staying in my father's rooms at the castle. I do not think you want to see him at the moment."

"Soon then. He was very kind to me."

He nodded, and her gaze went back to the bruise on his face.

"It is nothing," he said.

"It does not look like nothing, but now I cannot hit you. Not like I did Rory."

He raised an eyebrow. "You hit the Maclean?"

"Aye, and very well," she admitted with great satisfaction.

Several minutes later, he departed. Before he did, though, he caught glances exchanged between Rory and Felicia.

God help them both.

It was pure agony sitting across from Rory at the Rose and Spur and feigning indifference.

Indifference was the last thing she felt.

She had tried to seduce him last night after they returned from the chapel. She had needed him after hearing that Jamie and Lachlan had almost been killed on her behalf.

"It was not your doing," Rory tried to comfort her. "They are after a traitor."

"But if not for me ..."

"If not for you, Scotland could be at peril."

But it had not comforted her. And while she knew he wanted her as badly as she wanted him, he had merely held her through the night. Part of him had withdrawn from her, and it hurt to the core. She wondered whether he could ever tear down that wall he'd constructed around his heart.

Still in the guise of an apprentice, she sipped the bad wine and kept her gaze on his face as he continued to glance toward the door.

Everything depended on whether Morneith was desperate enough to meet her cousin again. She knew about the first meeting. She also realized there had to be more witnesses.

Rory had assured her Jamie would be protected, that there would be others around. Jamie had assured both of them that he would be safe, and she wondered who among the diners might be there on Jamie's behalf.

Rory had not wanted to bring her. She knew that. She knew the only reason he had was that he feared she would find some way to join them anyway. And she would have. She was involved. She, too, could be a witness against Morneith. She had been left out too long.

The establishment was nearly filled with a mixture of young lords and prosperous merchants. Three men came in, talking in loud voices. One was a fine-looking young man with red hair and a red beard. The other two were less distinctive, though their voices were blurred with wine.

"There will be others joining us in our little game," he told the proprietor in a voice loud enough for the room to hear. They were led by the proprietor up the stairs to one of two private rooms Felicia had been told about.

Jamie entered and sat at a bench near the one window.

Minutes went by. Then an hour. She was beginning to think no one would come, when she saw a flicker in Rory's eyes.

She heard Jamie's booming voice. "Morneith, my dear man. How good of you to join me."

A grunt was the only answer.

Felicia was turned partially away from him, but she saw him glance around the room. His eyes rested on her, and she saw something malignant in the glance. His gaze lingered too long on her, and she remembered the dark rumors that had swirled around him.

She shivered as his gaze turned from her and studied the others in the room.

Morneith was a tall man, though not fat. His beard was neatly trimmed, and he was dressed in somber but obviously expensive clothes. His shirt had a fashionable high collar, and he wore a black velvet coat and silk hose. His face was lined, and his nose crooked, but the most startling feature were piercing dark brown eyes. It was the cold calculation in them that made them striking.

"I have engaged a room upstairs," she heard Jamie say. "We will have privacy. Now I hope you have brought what you promised."

"Lower your voice," Morneith said with obvious disgust, but he followed Jamie up the stairs.

Rory waited several moments, then he and Felicia mounted the stairs as well, knocking lightly on the door to the left. It was opened by the redheaded man.

He acknowledged Rory and gave her a searching glance, then turned back to his companions. "The show was in the event someone was watching below," he explained in a whisper.

Then he went over to the fireplace and stooped. Felicia and Rory did the same. Voices were audible. Barely, but audible. She wondered how Jamie had found such a place.

"It is not enough. 'Tis only a fraction of what you received from--" Jamie continued, his speech slurred as if he'd had too much to drink.

"You fool, be quiet. You will have us both in the castle dungeon."

"I want what you promised."

"I cannot bring it here. You will have to go to my residence."

"I prefer public places after the other night."

"I heard about that. I had nothing to do with it."

"A coincidence then," Jamie said in a louder, wine-slurred voice.

She heard the sound of a metal hitting the table. "You sotted young fool," Morneith said. "You spilled wine on me."

"I want you to talk to Buckingham, as well," Jamie said, ignoring him. "He should ha' even more gold for another friendly Scotsman."

"Your father has more gold than any of us."

"Aye, but he is tightfisted and refuses to pay my debts. Says I am unworthy. I will show him by gaining even more land than he has."

"You think Buckingham will offer a drunken..." He shut his mouth immediately.

"He promised land to you. He gave you money. My name is far more respected than yours, and more clans will follow the Campbells. When my father dies I will have three times the number of soldiers."

Jamie was arrogant, boasting, throwing his name in Morneith's face. Felicia tensed at the danger he was courting.

"Buckingham would have naught to do with a drunken lout," he said, his fury obvious even through the barrier of the fireplace grates. "He trusts me ..."

He stopped suddenly. "If you want any more money, you will have to come to my residence," he said in a voice dripping with ice.

"I know Buckingham gave you--"

One of the men in the room with them suddenly dropped a tankard. Just as they had heard the one in the next room, Felicia realized Morneith could hear this one.

Silence. Then she heard Morneith say in a more moderate tone, "You can go with me to my residence now, and get your... money for the investment. Either way, I am leaving."

She, Rory, and Ian Stewart exchanged glances. Did Morneith suspect anything? Would he charge into the room? Or would he try to get rid of Jamie quickly? Surely, he would have had men watching the tavern. He was too cautious a man not to.

The door next to them opened and closed. She heard Jamie's complaining voice. "Another glass of wine first?"

"Nay!" Morneith replied. "There is much at my residence."

As soon as Felicia thought the two men had gone down the stairs, she turned to Rory. "We have to go after them."

"There are Campbells in the streets," Ian Stewart said. "They will not allow anything to happen to the son of the Campbell. But now if Jamie does get the money, then there can be no doubt." Fury turned his pleasant voice into a grating whisper.

"Is there any now?" she asked.

"It was Jamie's plan," the red-haired Stewart said. "He wanted no doubt."

She did not like Jamie's plan. He was taking too big a risk. They should have enough proof now.

"I am going after him," she said, opening the door and going down the steps. Rory was right behind her. But as she ran through the public area, she was aware of a commotion behind her. She turned. Rory was on the floor, and a rough-looking man loomed over him, blaming him for a collision.

She could not wait. Urgency filled her. She opened the door. Fear ripped through Felicia. She knew Jamie had just signed his death warrant. Morneith could no longer let a drunken young man wander about making charges, even if he had not heard the tankard fall. If he had ... he would have to rid himself of the most immediate danger.

She darted out the door.

She reached the street in time to see two men holding Jamie, half carrying him down the street to a cart waiting there. She saw three men who had just left the tavern stumbling in that direction.

Suddenly the darkened street was lit by several torches.

Men surrounded those carrying Jamie. She recognized some of them from Dunstaffnage.

Hands, seemingly out of nowhere, grabbed her. An arm went around her neck, and she felt a dagger prick her throat. "Make a sound, and I will slit it," her captor said.

She recognized Morneith's voice. Everyone's attention was directed toward Jamie and the two men who had taken him. Apparently Morneith had waited in the shadow to see who else might emerge.