Alex didn’t know what to say. He felt as if he’d just had his legs cut out from under him. MacRuairi was the last person he ever expected to say something like that. Perhaps for the first time he understood the depth of his betrayal. He’d always told himself it had never really mattered to them—or some of them at least—but what if he had been wrong? That was something he didn’t want to contemplate.

“I didn’t think I had a choice.” He hadn’t seen any other way at the time. He’d just known he couldn’t go on doing what he was doing.

“That’s shite. You had a choice, you just chose wrong.”

Even if he had, it didn’t matter. It was too late. They both knew that.

Alex turned to go, but not without a warning. “Stay away from her, Viper. I will take care of her now.”

MacRuairi shook his head. “Not until I hear it from Joan. Besides, we have protective measures in place in case something goes wrong.”

“What kind of protective measures?”

The wily bastard just shrugged.

Suddenly Alex remembered a similar conversation he’d had with Pembroke and frowned. Pembroke had been talking about the spy, but at the time Alex hadn’t realized it was Joan. Were they planning something?

Alex swore.

“What is it?” MacRuairi asked.

“Nothing, I hope. But I need to go find Joan.”

“I’ll come—”

“The hell you will, Viper. Your presence anywhere near here will only make it more dangerous for her. How long do you think it will take someone to make the connection if Lachlan MacRuairi is recognized? If there is a problem, I will take care of it.”

MacRuairi looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead he forcibly clenched his jaw. “You better—or I’ll be back. And next time you won’t feel my blade.”

Alex didn’t need to guess what he meant. He wouldn’t feel it because he would already be dead.

Joan had been looking for an opportunity to talk to Alex in private since receiving the note, but with the men readying to march on Scotland any day, he’d been kept so busy with his duties that she’d hardly seen him. She told herself it had nothing to do with what she’d told him, but it was obvious that he was preoccupied with something.

She understood that only too well. Since receiving that note she’d been thinking of little else, not to mention jumping at her own shadow. Who had sent it? What did they know? Who else knew?

Margaret had been just as stunned as she—and just as worried. “You can’t stay,” her cousin had told her. “It’s too risky now.”