Ember let her eyes slip over the half circle of knights facing her. One of these warriors would be at her side day after day, teaching her to fight. She shivered, wishing that Kael MacRath weren’t already Alistair’s mentor. Though she’d only just met him, his cheerful demeanor was much less frightening than the hardened faces staring at her now. Glancing to her right, Ember met the gaze of a woman whose piercing blue eyes seemed at war with her mouth, one side of which was pulling up as if in amusement. Unlike the wild, loose tresses of Eira and Cian, this woman’s muddy-brown hair was pulled up in a severe knot. As the sole woman Ember had spotted among the Guard besides the sisters, she could only assume this must be Sorcha—who according to Alistair was as ferocious as any man on the battlefield. As Ember held her gaze, Sorcha’s half smile broke into a full grin, which Ember found herself responding to with an uncertain smile. Sorcha’s open expression was confident, if a bit mischievous.
It must be her, Ember thought with relief. For her mentor to be the only woman of the Guard was reassuring. As much as she’d hoped with all her being to be a part of it, this was a man’s world and Ember knew she’d need wisdom and experience like Sorcha’s if she were to succeed. Ember began to breathe a little easier. Though Sorcha’s expression was crafty as a wildcat’s, Ember thought wiliness and courage must have made her the warrior Alistair claimed she was.
Sorcha winked at her, and Ember almost giggled but managed to keep still. The warrior woman had taken a step forward when shouts filled the room, turning all attention to the doorway.
Lukasz frowned, shaking his head. His height allowed him to see past the ring of Guards to whoever had entered the room. “You shouldn’t be here, Lord Morrow. We’re in the midst of our own ceremony. Only members of the Guard may be present.”
“And that’s why I’m here! I found your priest and he claimed my daughter passed some sort of trial. This madness must end.” Ember’s stomach twisted when her father pushed his way into the circle, glaring at her. “I only beg for reason. Surely there has been an error.”
His eyes were bright with outrage. “Ember, your mother and sister beg you to reconsider. As do I.”
“For what reason?” she asked, her temper flaring. Not only was her father still denying what she’d always wanted, but she was also humiliated that he would confront her about it with the entire Guard assembled to witness his outburst.
“For every reason!” He lunged forward, gripping her arms. “You would throw your life away to drink blood with the rest of these brutes?”
“Is that what you think we do here?” Kael asked, grinning. “How flattering.”
He’d stepped from the ring of knights and came to stand beside Ember. Alistair mimicked his mentor’s actions, taking up a post at Kael’s shoulder. Ember started when Barrow materialized at her back, glowering at her father.
Her father paled, glancing around at the rest of the Guard. “Forgive me. Of course I give you nothing but honor for your sacrifice, but this is my daughter. She’s just a child and doesn’t understand the cost.”
“Is this true?” Barrow’s question was directed not at her father, but to Ember.
“No.” Ember pulled out of her father’s grasp, holding the gray-eyed knight’s stern gaze. “This is my choice. I belong with the Guard.”
Barrow’s mouth twitched like he was about to smile, but her father’s mirthless laugh shattered the moment.
“You are a woman, not a warrior,” Edmund said, glaring at Ember. “You should honor your family with a marriage suiting your rank and children to carry on your legacy, not the mischief and bloodshed that you’ll find here.”
From behind him, Sorcha snorted.
“Agnes will give you grandchildren, Father,” Ember said. “Leave me be.” She almost added “please” but worried it would make her sound weak. If she could have begged him to leave, she would have, but members of the Guard didn’t beg . . . at least she didn’t think they did.
Ignoring her, Ember’s father whirled, thrusting his fist at Sorcha. “How did you bewitch my daughter? Only you could have requested her to serve you.”
Sorcha’s hand went to her sword hilt. “That’s quite an accusation, my lord. I would be more careful of your tongue. I would remind you that two of the Guard, both women, now belong to the Circle. You are indebted to Conatus. This is the price required.”
Edmund’s eyes bulged. His face was a bright shade of red slowly ebbing into violet. Ember wanted to shout her fury at him, but she was loath to act like a temperamental child before her new companions.
“Peace, Lord Morrow.” Barrow stepped in front of her father, breaking his line of sight to Sorcha. “It was not Sorcha who chose Ember.”
“Then who?” her father said, his clenched fists trembling. “Who dares claim my daughter as a squire?”
“I do,” Barrow said.
Ember gaped at him while Sorcha clapped her hand over her mouth. Ember couldn’t tell if it was from shock or if she was laughing and trying to hide it.
The mottled hues painting Edmund’s face drained away, leaving his skin sallow. “But why? Why would you choose a girl to serve you?”
“That is a matter for the Guard and the Guard alone,” Barrow said.
Edmund choked and spluttered, staring at Barrow in disbelief.
“You have your answer, my lord,” Barrow said. “Leave us now or you will be taken from these quarters by force.”
Glaring at Barrow for a moment longer, Edmund finally bowed his head. To question Barrow’s statement would be to challenge his honor—a foolish act for any man. Edmund turned away, passing Ember as he moved to the door.
“Foolish girl,” he hissed under his breath. “I swear you’ve not heard the end of this.”
When he left the room, Kael closed the chamber doors, barring them with a stout length of wood.
“I’d say that’s enough interruptions for today.” He grinned at her.
Ember’s stomach churned with a mixture of embarrassment, relief, and lingering fear. Her father was a proud and powerful man. If he believed he could still bring her back from the Guard, he would keep after it like hounds after a fox.
Sorcha laughed, slapping Barrow on the shoulder.
“Show me your tongue, my lord,” she said. “I didn’t know it was forked.”
Barrow offered her a fleeting smile. “The man outstepped his place, as he has a habit of doing too often. He needed to be reminded of it . . . again.”
A tightness overtook Ember’s chest. Barrow had been lying. For a brief moment she’d believed that the most feared warrior of Conatus had chosen her as his apprentice, proving beyond any doubt that she was destined for a life with the Guard, but it had only been a ruse. She turned away, not wanting the others to see her cheeks burn. By giving her back to the others, Ember was now facing Alistair. He watched her face and his eyes narrowed. He stepped beside her, leaning down to whisper.
“What ails you?”
Every buried fear, nagging doubt planted beneath her skin by her family surfaced. If Barrow doubted her place among the Guard, perhaps she didn’t belong here. What if her father was right? She couldn’t bear it.
Alistair touched her shoulder, drawing her slightly apart from the others and peering at her face in concern. “Ember?”
Ember managed to choke out her confession. “Barrow didn’t want me.”
Something about her words made Alistair stiffen.
“Of course not,” he said. “And why would you desire otherwise? He’s too brutal to guide an initiate. And it’s better for you to be trained by a woman—Sorcha has been wanting a squire, and no man would have a woman try to teach him swordplay.”
His words stung Ember more than Barrow’s lie. Did he think so little of her? When he’d given her a sword and taught her to use it, had it only been in fun?
Sorcha was still laughing. “You’re caught in your own web now, my friend. You’ll have to take her on or her father will cry foul.”
; “Surely you jest.” Alistair snorted. “Barrow has no call for an apprentice.”
“Do you know me so well, boy?” Barrow’s eyebrows went up.
Alistair scowled at the word boy, but he inclined his head in reluctant acknowledgment of Barrow’s station. “Forgive me, my lord. Ember is a dear friend. I only spoke out of concern for her well-being.”
“Do you fear I would offer an initiate of the Guard ill treatment?” Barrow asked.
“I—” Alistair struggled, glancing around the room to find all gazes upon him. “I meant no insult. Sorcha had claimed Ember, so it seems right that she would be the one to train her.”
“Politics outweigh intent,” Sorcha said, smiling at Alistair. “You’ll find that is often the case, even when it comes to the Guard. We value our swords, but we know they can’t always win the day.”
“Bearing in mind that young Alistair is still serving as squire to Kael, I have decided it follows that I should lay claim to this girl,” Barrow said. “We’ll complete your training together.”
Alistair’s face darkened as he listened to Barrow. “You’ll remain Ember’s mentor, then?”
Ember couldn’t understand Alistair’s glowering when she was ready to shout for joy. Not only was she going to join the Guard, but her life would be training side by side with her best friend.
Barrow was still considering Alistair’s statement. He turned to Ember. She straightened up, hoping that all traces of embarrassment had vanished from her face.
“If the girl will have me,” he said, “I would be honored to train her.”
She started at his words. Accept the training of Barrow Hess? What madness would keep her from agreeing? Well, what madness other than an instinctive fear of Barrow’s ferocious reputation. She wondered if she could make it through a round on the practice field against him. But he’d just said it meant that she and Alistair would train together. Having Kael’s laughter and Alistair’s friendship to offset Barrow’s stern demeanor would be reassuring as she found her place among the Guard. No doubt she’d have to endure an inordinate amount of teasing from Kael and Alistair, but it would be worth it.
Barrow continued, keeping his gaze on Ember though she thought he spoke for Alistair’s benefit. “Ember comes from a landed family with great influence. Even the Circle must sometimes concede to the will of the nobles. We cannot show signs of doubt before them. If Edmund Morrow objects to women fighting in the Guard, it will only fortify his case should we place Ember in Sorcha’s care. If he were to take his complaint to the other nobles, it could cause great trouble.”
Alistair nodded, but he glared at Barrow before casting his gaze on Sorcha.
“I agree,” Sorcha said. “I withdraw my claim on the girl. Let her be trained by Barrow.”
Barrow drew his sword, laid the blade flat on his palms, and dropped to one knee before Ember. Her blood roared in her veins.
“To fight, to lead, and to teach are the roles of the Guard,” he said, holding her in his gaze. “The first two obligations I have fulfilled. I am indebted to my order to meet the last. I have no great knowledge to impart nor do I believe myself a wise teacher, but it would be my honor to guide you.”
Ember reached out, letting her fingertips rest on the flat of the blade. “And I would be honored to serve you, my lord.”
Behind her, Ember heard Alistair expel a hissing breath.
Kael chortled. “Barrow, my friend, you know how to stir up a hornet’s nest. Wait till Father Michael hears about this!”
Barrow rose, nodding at Ember before flashing a smile at Kael. “Father Michael speaks well of peacemakers. Let him now make peace.”
While the knights of Conatus swarmed around her, Ember accepted their hearty congratulations and words of welcome with forced smiles. She couldn’t help but wonder what sort of battle her call to the Guard would spark.
SEVEN
CIAN SAT ON THE EDGE of the bed while Eira finished binding her hair up and then fastened her heavy riding cloak.
“You’ll be missed at the feast,” Cian said.
“The nobles won’t care if one of the weird sisters fails to appear at dinner,” Eira said.
Cian winced at her sister’s use of the foul name that dogged their steps. Catching sight of Cian’s frown, Eira laughed coldly.
“You know I speak the truth.”
“Even so.” Cian shrugged. “You mustn’t let them chase you away.”
“They aren’t chasing me anywhere,” Eira said. “It’s a night of power. We need someone to keep an eye on the villages in the glen in case an aspiring sorcerer attempts to draw on that power.”
Cian gave a reluctant nod. “Would you like me to join you?”
“No,” Eira said. “I’m abandoning you to a different type of watch, sister. I think Lord Morrow is of a mind to abduct his daughter and deliver her to Mackenzie’s son. Such is the gossip of the day.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a marriage began with kidnapping.” Cian rose, crossing the room to the window. As members of the Circle they no longer resided in the barracks but shared quarters in the manor. Though darkness covered the valley, Cian spotted winking lights one by one breaking through the black veil. Gatherings would take place up and down the glen to honor the turn of winter to spring, darkness to light. And Eira was right to worry about what might take place at a few such meetings. It was their life’s work to watch and to worry.
“I’d be more concerned if the other party were any other but Mackenzie,” Eira said. “He knows enough to prevent any foolishness. Mackenzie wants our protection more than a wealthy daughter- in-law.”
Cian laughed. “Do you think he’ll set Lord Morrow’s mind at ease?”
“Edmund Morrow will soon be back in the lowlands and no longer a concern of ours.” Eira pulled the hood of her cloak up, casting a shadow over her face.
“Do you think he’ll forget his younger daughter so quickly?” Cian turned away from the window to gaze at her sister.
“She is no longer his daughter,” Eira said. “She is one of us. You and I know what that means, even if he doesn’t.”
Without another word Eira left the room.
“And even if she doesn’t,” Cian murmured to no one but herself.
Most of Ember’s triumph was pecked away through dinner by her mother’s constant lamenting and her sister’s pathetic sniffling. It had been like this all day. She’d returned to the guest quarters to collect her belongings only to be beset by a dissonant chorus composed of her father’s curses, her mother’s pleas, and her sister’s sobs. After what had seemed like the longest hours of her life, they’d returned to the manor hall for the feast as a family but with none of the warmth one hoped for among kin. Her father had refused to sit with them, instead seeking a place beside Lord Mackenzie. No doubt he was conniving a way to see her married to the highland lord’s son, despite the day’s events. Ember could only hope his pleas would fall on deaf ears. She glanced frequently across the room, hoping to spy evidence that her father wasn’t making any progress toward his goal. From his reddened face and the sour turn of his mouth it seemed his efforts were being frustrated.
Even with this reassurance, Ember was finding it difficult to enjoy the feast. Her family had been seated at a table of honor not far from the head table, where members of the Circle sat. Alistair and the rest of the Guard were gathered at their own long table, and Ember wished she could join them. At that table her presence would be welcomed. Currently she felt much like a guest at her own funeral. But since it was the last time she’d spend with her family for the foreseeable future, she felt obligated to remain at their side.
“Surely you can’t want this?” Ember’s mother asked for the third time. “If you don’t want to live in the highlands after your father’s debt to Conatus is paid, I’m certain we can find a husband for you other than Mackenzie’s son. I’ll speak with your father.”
Ember ignored her, trying to enjoy the decadent feast spread before
her. The heavy wooden board was laden with foods welcoming spring. Nests were filled with hard-cooked eggs, an accompaniment to roasted pheasant and suckling pig. Wine breads, bursting with preserved fruits, forecast the ripeness of summer berries to come. She was about to tuck into a crock of fish stew scented with savory herbs when her father’s shouts roared through the hall.
“Am I not lord of my own house?” Edmund’s fist swept across the table, sending platters of food sailing. Slabs of meat smacked onto the floor while vegetables rolled underfoot.
Lord Mackenzie rose, trying to calm her father. “Sit down, my lord.”
“I will not!” Edmund’s face matched the beets that were now staining the floor.
Ember sat frozen in horror. Her father’s anger was obvious, but so was how deeply he’d sunk into his wine cup. In his rage he waved his arms, swaying unsteadily as his glare swept the room.
“This place is cursed, I tell you!” he cried, stumbling toward his family. He pointed an accusing finger at Ember. “A den of iniquity that has stolen my daughter to bend her to their will.”
Ember had been so focused on her father’s ranting that she hadn’t noticed others moving nearby. Father Michael walked calmly to the center of the room.
“Lord Morrow, do not speak of evil here,” he said. “Your child has been called to a higher purpose, God’s purpose.”
“No!” Edmund stumbled forward, knocking the priest aside. “Yer . . . no man of . . . of . . . God. There’s . . . there’s . . . no true Church wi’in these . . . walls. Your lies . . . all . . . yer . . . lies . . .”
Her father’s words began to slur as his voice became hoarse. She could no longer make sense of his rambling, only picking out a few words as he shook his fists in the air, shouting.
“. . . devil’s snare . . . heathens . . .”
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