It was Torin who reached them first. Adaira sensed his ire as he drew his horse to a sliding halt. He dismounted in a rush and took hold of her arm, his grip firm as he gave her a slight shake.

Though his wound was finally healing, he still couldn’t speak. But he didn’t need to. Rain sluiced down his face as he stared at her. His hair was lank on his broad shoulders, like tangled threads of gold. Mud splattered his raiment.

She saw the fear shining in his eyes. She had told him where Jack was going to play for the wind, but she hadn’t thought it would take hours, ending in a tremendous storm.

This day had gone completely awry. She felt like collapsing.

“Torin,” Adaira said, and she hardly recognized the sound of her own voice. “Torin, my da . . .” She couldn’t finish the words. She watched the shift of Torin’s expression, how his fear burned away into sadness. She knew it then. She had felt it in the cave; she had heard it in the storm. The passing of life into death—the vengeance of the north wind—and yet she waited for her cousin to confirm it.

Torin drew her into his embrace, holding her tight against him.

Adaira closed her eyes, feeling his plaid brush her cheek.

Her father was dead.

Laird Alastair was laid to rest beside his wife and three children in the castle graveyard, in unrelenting rain and thunder. The clan was devastated, and life seemed to come to a halt. But the storm hadn’t ceased, and the roads had become streams. A few low paddocks had begun to flood.

Torin watched it all in silence.

He watched as his uncle was buried in the soggy earth. He watched Adaira stand in the graveyard, soaked from the storm with eyes that seemed dead. The clan gathered around her. Torin couldn’t hear what was spoken, but he saw the Elliotts approach her, faces red from weeping. He saw Una and Ailsa embrace her. He saw Mirin hold her hand, and Frae wrap her arms around Adaira’s waist.

Ever since he had lost his voice, Torin had begun to notice things that he would have missed before. Weeds in the garden, the difficulty of making parritch, how empty rooms felt without Sidra and Maisie. And now he lifted his eyes and watched the northern wind rake across the east. This storm was a display of power and a warning. Torin felt the fear of Bane in his bones and knew Jack’s music must have challenged the northern king.