She cast off those painful memories and plunged beneath the water, holding her breath. The world was quiet here, and yet she could still hear Jack’s music and voice as he sang. She wanted to sit and listen to him play for hours. She wanted to see the hall restored, the clan brought together by music.

She wanted Jack to be the one to do it.

It was strange how much time away had changed him. Adaira had first noticed two things about him: how deep and rich his voice was now, and how beautiful his hands were. But his grumpy disposition was the same. As were his many frowns.

She had hated him as a lass. But she was coming to learn that it was hard to hate what made her feel the most alive.

She rose from the water and dressed, then made her way to the bureau where her brush and mirror waited. A letter caught her eye. Its corner was tucked beneath a jar of moon thistles, and the parchment was crinkled, as though it had been carelessly handled.

It was also marked by the western seal.

Moray Breccan had written to her again. She almost hesitated to open it.

On the day Adaira had forged a letter to Jack, she had also sent a letter to the heir of the Breccan clan, expressing her desire to discuss the possibility of a trade. Moray had quickly replied and, to Adaira’s surprise, had been well spoken and enthusiastic about her idea.

It seemed that peace might be attainable after centuries of strife, and Adaira was hopeful. She was tired of the raids, tired of the fear that laced the cold days in the east. She dreamt of a different isle, and if the Breccans wouldn’t initiate it, she would.

Her father had been furious.

She could still remember how Alastair had railed at her, claiming it was foolish to open their storehouses for the Breccans. To begin a relationship with the clan that wanted nothing more than to harm them.

“I know you have raised me to never trust the western clan,” she had replied. “For us to be self-sufficient. The history of raids alone is enough to make me despise the Breccans. But I confess that the hatred has worn me down—it has made me feel old and brittle, as if I have lived a thousand years—and I want to find another way. Have you never dreamt of peace, Da? Have you ever envisioned an isle that is united again?”

“Of course I have dreamt of it.”

“Then is this not the first step toward such an ideal?”

Alastair had fallen silent. He refused to meet her gaze when he replied, “They have nothing we need, Adi. A trade, as much as you want to believe it will stave off winter raids, will not end them. The Breccans are a bloodthirsty lot.”