Ella released her breath and turned to face the room, the dusty air heavy with a musty tang. Dwindling daylight from two pairs of large windows illuminated the room, one set on either side of the rectangular space. Even though it was large, or maybe because it was large, the room seemed spartan with only a trunk at the end of an oversized bed, a privacy screen with a water basin and jakes, and two sets of bookshelves filled with volumes and various trinkets, which were probably stolen from conquered clans.

A set of padded chairs sat before the cold, brushed hearth sporting a heavy wooden mantel, the only adornment being a small portrait of a lady. A broadsword was mounted above a hanging tapestry. Not only would she struggle to get it down, but the length and weight made it fairly useless against a trained warrior. No, she needed daggers or a bow and quiver full of arrows.

She turned in a tight circle, her eyes scanning everything from the thick double beams above her head to the odd-looking chess game set between the two chairs. Her gaze came full circle back to the tapestry hanging across most of the far wall. It was another scene of the four apocalyptic horsemen riding down from Heaven.

She snorted softly, walking over to the carved chessboard where she sank down to study a knobby piece of wood sitting in the king’s spot. Without disturbing it, her gaze followed the uneven grooves carved into the wood to represent a frowning face and crown. She peered next at a tall piece of wood that was perhaps a bishop with a pointy hat. The pawns looked like simple blocks, one set painted white and the other set black. And yet the wooden horses, which represented the knights, were exquisitely formed and carved, nothing like the rest of the set. She stared at the white knight. Cain.

A burst of laughter from down below snapped Ella upright. Curiosity would slow her down. She hurried on the balls of her feet to the chest, finding only folded linens and lengths of woven wool that George Sinclair likely wrapped around his hips. Belts and holsters sat to one side but no knives. Damn.

She closed the lid and looked at the large bed, its frame made of whole tree trunks. The size of it could hold six people across. It was luxurious with a multitude of pillows and numerous quilts and several furs. Turning in a tight circle, she frowned. Where are your weapons? Her gaze latched onto the thick pillows on the bed. Even with the door locked at Dunrobin, Ella slept with a sgian dubh under her pillow. Perhaps George Sinclair did, too, in case enemies got past his drawbridges, walls, and ridiculously lethal sons.