“Death has come for him,” Bàs said, and he pulled his great horned helmet from his head and his skull mask from his face. He kneeled, his sweat-matted hair falling about his shoulders.

Cain yanked off his glove and grabbed his father’s hand, but it didn’t feel like his da’s without the strength that always grabbed back as if trying to prove his superior strength. “Da,” he called. “Da.”

George Sinclair’s eyes squeezed as if pain momentarily robbed him of his courage, but then he blinked, his lids opening to stare up at his boys. Red spittle sat on his lips as blood bubbled up from his pierced lungs. “Cain, bow to no man. Your duty is to conquer. Sinclairs above all else. Ye are God’s servant, his weapon against all those who are weak,” he said, staring up at him, and he coughed up more blood. Cain felt a shadow of his da’s strength squeeze his hand. “Joshua will rule all wars,” he continued, a wheeze hissing in his words. “Gideon…”

“I am here, Da,” Gideon said, ducking his head to hover before their sire.

“Judge well without mercy. Ye know what is right from wrong. Do not be swayed from your judgment.”

George’s head lolled to the side, though his eyes remained open as he stared at his youngest son, Bàs. “Ye are named for Death,” he said, each word growing weaker. “Ye will bring death to all ye touch. Execute our enemies.” He coughed, the lines around his lips stained red as blood filled the tiny cracks in his skin.

Cain yanked off one of the scraps he used for signaling and wiped his father’s lips. The movement revived the man enough for his gaze to connect with Cain. “Ye are chief now.” His heavy eyes slid up to the crown that sat crooked on Cain’s head. “As I have taught ye…the four…sent by God to kill our enemies. Ye are ready to rule together; first my kingdom and then all of Scotland.”

The redness that always tinted their father’s ruddy cheeks paled until his skin took on the deathly pallor of Bàs’s gray-green horse. The corners of his mouth tipped upward. Had Cain ever seen his father smile before? Not since before his mother died. George Sinclair looked up into Cain’s face. “Merida told me I would die this day. ’Tis a good death, this.” Staring, locked with the gaze of his eldest son, his eyes stilled as his soul flew elsewhere.