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tramples the meadow grass under its hooves.“ He clenched his fists at his sides. ”If it is an unwillingness to change that holds you back, say now, and another can take your place. We must be on guard that the battle be not more important than the reason for it.“
    Angus’ voice was defensive. “Our methods have served us well in past wars. I see no reason to change.”
    The confrontation ahead might easily wipe out a third of their numbers and more still if Subedei’s skill as a warrior were underestimated. Lachlan needed to know what each man would risk to preserve his people. Lachlan felt his temper boil to the surface and knew it was fueled by the need to have his friend realize the strength of their enemy. But Angus would have to choose. Their race’s continuance depended upon it. He took a knife out of his belt and drove it into the table. The blade quivered between them and marked the invisible line Angus must cross. The metal seemed to glow white hot in the candlelight.
    “Take care, friend, that your confidence does not override your wisdom. It will be as I have said.”
    Angus stared back at him, a look of resolve on his face. His jaw slackened as he bowed his head. “You inherited the role of leader of the Council when your father was killed, but you earned our loyalty by placing our wishes before your own. It will be as you command.”
    There was no animosity in Angus’ voice, no condescending tone, only obedience. They had started in life as mentor and child, but Lachlan was born into the ruling family. When his father died, their roles had changed forever. Lachlan pried the blade from the table. The council looked to him as the leader who would take them into the next century. His first loyalty was to the good of all. At times he wished he and Angus were ordinary solders who fought side by side for a king or queen, or equal terms and for equal goals. But it was not to be. “Come, ‘tis time for us to join our men.”
    In the Great Hall, Lachlan leaned against the whitewashed stone wall near the window drinking his ale. Soon his men would gather for the evening meal, but for now he could enjoy the quiet. Amber’s presence in Urquhart was already known and her position as his betrothed made clear. All that remained was to tell her. He swirled the ale in his tankard and took a drink. It was warm and bitter. He knew not how she would react to the proposal of handfasting. The words of the legend echoed through his mind like the haunting notes of a bagpipe. She could be the woman in the legend. He drained the ale from his tankard.
    The light of the torches glowed on the walls and kept the evening shadows away. Large oak panel squares, with the crests of the Highland clans painted in each, covered the ceiling. The idea belonged to his sister, Elaenor. He had encouraged her interest in the task, hoping the research would distract her from her solitary thoughts. However, the project had failed. While the ceiling was magnificent, Elaenor still suffered. What Subedei had done to her older sister, Beatrice, had shaken young Elaenor to the core.
    A half dozen men, clad in the MacAlpin plaid, saluted him as they entered the Great Hall. He nodded and watched as they sat down at one of the long trestle tables by the fire. These were good men, loyal and able warriors. Their laughter filled the corners of the room. Angus entered. His friend was trailed by barking wolfhounds.
    Servants filed into the room carrying foaming pitchers of ale, trays of steaming salmon, wedges of cheese, and brown bread. The sound of voices and the clatter of earthenware blurred together until none could be distinguished from the other. Lachlan had the sudden impulse to retreat to the solitude of his chamber. The vision of the woman who occupied those quarters halted his thoughts. Amber. She was well named. Her hair shone like the blaze of a fire, and her eyes… their warmth stirred his blood. He reached for his tankard. It was empty.
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