Prologue

"Newcomers on the Isle of Mull? I fear they'll not be here for long." The man's fist flexed on his sword's hilt.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll kill them if they get in my way. I will control all the inhabitants on the isle. They will do as I say or regret it." His long hair feathered back in the evening's summer breeze that wafted through the trees as if warning them of an incoming threat. But he wasn't worried. Despite being younger than the other man, he requested his guidance based on his renowned wisdom. His age implied unparalleled experience.

No one would stop him.

"Who are they?"

The older man explained, "It is said that King Robert the Bruce gifted the castle to Clan Ramsay. Since the MacDougalls deserted the castle, it is now a gift to his favored clans. They are fierce fighters, strong archers, and have assisted Scotland many times. Even their women fight."

The man snorted, his derision of the fairer gender something he never tried to hide. "I do not fear them, especially their women. How many are there?" He strode over to a large boulder and climbed on it for a better view of the isle that would belong to him someday. He lacked sufficient men for now, but his coin would soon rectify that. This incident of new tenants to the castle was a minor complication, nothing that worried him. "How many?"

"I'm not sure. I've heard their weaponry is formidable, with more en route. It surely will take them a while to build a force strong enough to protect the castle." The older man walked over to a row of bushes and relieved himself, tossing his weapon into the tall grasses next to him.

"I will not worry about them. They are too small a force to concern me. What else do you have?"

"Unfortunately, that is where you are wrong. You should concern yourself. They will be a formidable enemy because the curtain wall is nearly a horse's length thick. The sea walls the MacDougalls built are some of the thickest I've ever seen."

"But as long as their numbers are low, we will persist."

"There are several groups on the isle. How do you expect to overtake them all when they are so far apart? They sit on four coastlines, one inland near the mountains. I can't comprehend your belief in overtaking such a large number. You may defeat each one by day, but then what will happen when you move to the next one? Their proximity makes it impossible to control all of them unless you have ten score more men at the ready."

"If we kill them all, there will be no one left. Then we will have their riches. Horses, sheep, cattle, gold coins, seed, furs, and unlimited weaponry. You'll see. I am not ready yet, but when I am, I expect your support."

"You have it. Just send me word when you are prepared to attack."

"Do you have any other information of value?" The old man was wasting his time. He could have learned most of this if he'd visited the castle on his own.

"I have. One woman is a healer. Both women are archers, and one is said to be the granddaughter of Gwyneth Ramsay. Her husband is the grandson of Alexander Grant. The other woman is the daughter of the Grant laird. If you kill either, expect the wrath of Clan Ramsay and Clan Grant to fall upon you quickly."

"I do not fear any clans, and why should I care about someone named Gwyneth Ramsay? That name means nothing to me."

His acquaintance chuckled. "She was once the finest archer in all the land. Once pinned a man to a tree by his bollocks. They say this one is as fierce. Protect your jewels when she is around."

The man grinned. "I look forward to meeting her. If she's a healer, I may have to keep her. We do not have one, and they do have their value." He mounted his horse and turned the beast around. "Did they bring horses?"

"I heard they have two warhorses and one mare."

"Warhorses. I can surely use a couple of fine stallions. This is good news. Until our next meeting." The man sent his mount into a fast gallop.

The second man climbed on his beast and left. This was the second fool he'd learned of who thought they could take over the Isle of Mull easily. One was the brother of the chieftain of Clan MacDougall, but this one? He wasn't quite sure who was backing him. And without a large force behind him, he'd never be successful.

The MacDougall, he'd just been shamed and was without any coin to feed his fetishes. And a wee bit daft. One shouldn't forget that large piece of his personality. Daft meant desperate. But this one? He wasn't sure he understood what was driving him. But he would uncover the truth of it.

Once they were both gone, a lad stepped out from behind a tree and spit in both directions. "I must meet the newcomers, my friend."

He glanced over his shoulder at his companion, then grinned.