“He said Merida predicted it,” the brother with the skull mask said, and they all turned to the elderly woman with thick white hair.

Merida Sinclair. She had been wed to Ella’s father years ago, but she hadn’t given him a living child, and he accused her of witchery to divorce her. It had started the bloody war between their clans thirty years ago.

The woman’s chin tilted up. “Aye, I told my brother his time to die was here.” She shook her head and pulled back more of the plaid to look down at him. “Ye never listen to me, ye stubborn goat. See where it’s led ye.”

Surely to hell.

Merida’s eyes had fine lines around them, and her skin was tan but still smooth. Her white hair was loose and long, with one thin braid plaited to hang along her cheek. A mantle of blue linen draped from one shoulder to the other in a regal style that reminded Ella of the ancient Roman’s costume that she’d seen painted in her mother’s books. Could the crone really see death coming for a person? Maybe her father’s claims of witchery held truth. What could Merida see for Ella? There was only one option for her if she couldn’t escape.

“Perhaps that is why he battled so fiercely and alone, as if he were beating off death,” the brother with the bandaged arm said.

Merida shook her head again as if furious at the dead man. “He always fought like a giant, cornered wildcat. He did not want to strike one of his boys down in his frenzy.”

The brother who had yelled leaned closer and pulled the cloth farther down the body. “Arrows?” He turned his head without straightening, his gaze going to Cain.

“The Sutherland chief ordered all her archers to fire straight at him,” Cain said. “At least fifty of them.”

Fifty of her most skilled warriors, for she had known it would be their best chance to kill the warmonger. Ella swallowed as every set of eyes in the great hall turned to her. Courage. Stand tall as if you have it, and sometimes it comes. Kenneth’s words reverberated in her mind. What was the worst they could do? Cain didn’t want her to die, but pain was worse.

She wet her parched lips, suddenly realizing how badly she thirsted. “It was the best strategy to end the battle and save my people from cruel slaughter,” she said, proud of the force behind her words. She met Cain’s blue eyes, his longish hair falling around his rugged jaw. “And it worked.”

“It is war, then!” the brother yelled.

“It has been war since Alec Sutherland showed no honor by sending me back to Girnigoe, Joshua,” Merida said, hands on her ample hips.