He turned to join his men where they waited in the courtyard. Their looks were serious, and she missed so much the laughter and light she’d always seen in their eyes. She clung to Isabelle while Lady Madelyn stood behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders. She watched sadly as her husband rode toward the gates.

Greylen looked back once more before he rode through the gates. His anger was gone, replaced with feelings that were hard to fathom. He wasn’t even sure if Gwen realized what she had done that morn. He would never forget.

After she shaved him, she’d walked to his wardrobe, removing the things that she knew he would wear. She’d held out each item, smoothing the material over his body with her hands after he’d put them on. Then she packed his satchel, hugging it as she sat on the trunk. He knew she held back tears, and in truth, her actions tugged at him as well. Since he was a young boy, no one had dressed him or packed for him. No one had ever touched his heart the way that she did.

He left Connell and Ian behind with strict orders to stay by Gwen’s side. The order wasn’t necessary, but he voiced it all the same.

They reached the MacFale holding before noon. The gates were open and they rode straight to the keep. Malcolm’s father waited on the steps.

“Where’s your son?” Greylen commanded, meeting the old man’s stare.

“I’ve not seen Malcolm for weeks.”

“You expect me to believe you, old man?” His shout was filled with reprimand. “He had my wife poisoned and his man set fire to our stables.” Greylen nodded to Kevin, who released the remains of the man he’d killed the night before.

MacFale looked to the ground, nodding before addressing Greylen again. “Aye, ’tis Malcolm’s man. But I swear, MacGreggor, I’ve not seen my son. Nor do I approve of his actions.”

“You’ve defended his actions in the past,” Greylen accused. “I don’t want war, old man, but I’ll have your land before you pass power to him.”

“I have no choice,” the old man argued. “He’s the only son willing to take what’s rightfully his.”

“I’ll not speak in riddles, MacFale. When I find him, he’ll pay for his offenses with his life.”

“Then it seems you’ll have this land, MacGreggor. I’m not long for this world, and I’ve had no control of Malcolm for years.”

“The fault is your own,” Greylen charged. “He’s of your blood. His evil could only come from you.”

“I’ve bred good as well, MacGreggor, though my actions caused his leave. I only wish to right my wrongs.”

“Cease your twisted words,” Greylen bellowed. “Speak of what you wish.”