Greylen reached behind his back and unsheathed his sword, placing its tip over Malcolm’s heart. Then he and Gavin covered the hilt together and raised the blade.

Greylen felt a hand upon his shoulder at the same time that Gavin looked up. Greylen turned his face, tilting his head to look up at Gwen. He intended to justify his actions. Malcolm must die, surely she realized that. The words, however, caught in his throat.

His wife stood calmly by his side. Her fingers, hesitant at first, brushed his forehead and cheeks, then pressed deeply into his skin. With that same deliberation, she rubbed her fingers across her own face, covering herself with the paint she purposely took from him. She said not a word, but her next actions made her intentions clear. His wife extended her arms, locking her elbows as she placed her torn, bloody hands before them, palms up.

Her silent demand to be a part of this kill.

Greylen and Gavin reached for their daggers. Greylen saw and felt her push against each of their blades. They cut diagonally from one end to the other, just as they had done themselves. Then they placed her hands on the hilt and covered them with their own.

They didn’t look at Malcolm as they raised the blade, only at the hands joined together in the center. Three sets of hands once joined so long ago as they stood before Father Michael. Tonight, those same hands joined again. In vengeance.

Greylen and Gavin brought the sword down with such force it embedded deep within the ground beneath Malcolm’s body. They never looked at him again.

With the greatest of care, Greylen pried his wife’s hands from the hilt of his sword. Then he cradled her broken body. He looked at none of his men as he walked with her from the courtyard. He only looked ahead. ’Twas all he could do.

He would look only ahead.

Alex and the elder MacFale were found badly beaten in the dungeons below the keep. Gavin ordered the men onward so their wounds could be tended. Greylen, however, rode back slowly. He was as silent as Gwen. Gavin, too, was silent as he followed behind them throughout the long journey.

Greylen turned toward the lake before entering the gates of Seagrave. He cradled Gwen in his arms as he walked into the water and held her in the shallows as Gavin washed the dirt and blood from her body and hair. She stared at the sky, silent.

Gavin left to fetch a clean shirt, and they carefully slipped it over her head when Greylen stepped from the water. The soaked shirt they had placed on her hours ago remained on the shore, a painful reminder that neither could touch.

The sun was just beginning to rise as they took the stairs. Greylen glanced to Gavin, who returned a look of sorrow so deep ’twas hard to speak.