Prologue

Keep Leòideach, Orkney Islands, 1509…

What ended in a scream had begun with a kiss.

Adamina could still feel the imprint of her mother’s lips on the crown of her head. The ghost of her hands curled around her shoulders, pinning Adamina to her spot at the edge of her bed. She could feel the hair standing up on the back of her neck, despite having awoken from her dream.

She glanced down at the leatherbound journal in her lap, running her hand over its rough cover. The book had been a permanent fixture at her mother’s writing desk—along with all the other things which, like the great Lady Leòideach, were now gone and buried.

Squinting down at the now open pages, Adamina tried to make sense of what her mother had written. Her father had always bemoaned her struggle with words. At thirteen, reading, writing and more were expected of her as a young lady. Her brothers were encouraged to be boorish at the best of times, fighting and exploring the island to their satisfaction. Adamina, however, had been commanded to stay inside from the moment she was born, watching her brothers spar from the window of her mother’s chambers. If not for her mother’s presence at the keep, Adamina might have fought harder for her freedom. Dunn and Tor would not have minded her presence outside, that much she knew.

Their parents had been the driving force behind their separation, even in their deaths.

Adamina tended an ear for her brothers’ voices. Their arguing echoed through the keep, keeping her from sleep just as aptly as her fresh grief. She could not make sense of what they were saying, but she doubted the object of their anger had changed much from that morning, when they had lain their mother to rest.

The Morgan clan has struck the final blow. Faither is gone with the sword, now Maither in her sadness. Dunn and Tor willnae rest until one or both clans are dead and buried too.

A familiar footfall sounded in the hallway, and Adamina’s breath hitched in response. She hastened to tuck her mother’s journal under the coverlets of her box-bed, fearing that the maids would tell Dunn if they caught her with it.

Moonlight streamed through the open window before her. Adamina focused her attention on the low-hanging moon as she wiped away her tears. The door creaked open, and she braced herself for another half-hearted attempt at consolation.

“Is the wee lady nae yet sleeping?” came a voice from the doorway. “Ach, but what would yer faither say tae ken ye out of bed so late, bairn?”

“Me faither isnae here,” Adamina murmured, glancing over her shoulder. She scowled at her new warden—a woman named Maile, who had been called up to the islands from Edinburgh to complete Adamina’s education. “He cannae say a thing tae me nay more, much less worry about me rest.” Adamina steadied her voice. “Besides, I am on the bed, if nae in it.”

Curling her legs beneath her, Adamina started when the door groaned further open behind her. She watched over her shoulder as Maile silently placed a trencher of petticoat tails on the drawers by the door. Unlike Adamina, Maile was an expert with words, but she knew little about young lasses and their troubles. The woman pressed her lips together in something halfway resembling a smile, then moved to close the door again, leaving Adamina to her grief.

“Things will be brighter by the matins, bairn,” Maile said tenderly, closing the door behind her as she left.

Adamina sat motionlessly for a moment, considering Maile’s kindness. When she heard the woman’s footsteps retreat at last, she crept to the drawers and inspected the fare that Maile had brought with her. The sweetmeats were decorated with caraway seeds, cut into the shape of little suns. They were Adamina’s favourite treat, but that night she could not rouse her appetite at the sight of them.

Returning to her nest, she kneeled beside the bed and slipped the journal free from its hiding spot. Turning to one of the first pages, she ran her finger along the first line, mouthing the letters one by one. The echo of her mother’s voice rang in her ears, but the words would not manifest on her own tongue.

“Twelve… Twelfth of…” Adamina shook her head, brushing a few stray blonde hairs from her eyes before trying again. “Twelfth of Jan—”

She paused her reading. Something had clipped against the window frame, and Adamina sought the source of the sound. Finding no answers in the darkness, she chalked it up to the wind dropping fruits from nearby trees. Turning once more, she froze when another small clicking noise sounded behind her.

Taking a nearby brass candlestick in her hand and pocketing the snuffer in case of danger, she crept towards the window, hissing as her foot landed on a small, sharp pebble.

Her heart leapt into her throat as another pebble flew in from the open window and landed at her feet. Steeling herself, she leaned out of the window, gasping as a final pellet arched its way up to her and landed on her shoulder.

“Ewan!” she growled, catching sight of her friend down below.

He was standing between the walls of the keep and the hedges, a fistful of stones hovering in midair. His dark hair was glinting in the moonlight, lapping at the sides of his young, boyish face. He released his handful of pellets at once, and they fell in a waterfall down to his feet. Baring his teeth at her in a grin, he greeted her warmly.

“Me apologies, lass! Ye ken me aim has forever been lacking,” he whispered, quietly dusting off his hands on his rough linen trousers.

Adamina wrestled with a smile. “I ken ye are a fool,” she shot back, craning her head out of the window to check for danger. Confident they were alone, Adamina rested the candleholder on the windowsill and settled in for the show. “Ye shouldnae be here so late, Ewan. If Dunn or Tor were tae see ye—”

“Och, ye ken they willnae dae a thing, Ada. I could hear yer brothers braying from the village.” He placed a hand on his hip, puffing out his cheeks as he looked around him. “The coast is clear,” he said quietly. “Shall I come up, or will ye come down?”

“Come down? Dressed like this? Bampot! I will catch me death!” Struggling to hold back her laugh, Adamina conceded her defeat. “I suppose ‘tis better ye come up than draw attention tae yerself down there.”

Retrieving the candlestick, Adamina stepped back to allow Ewan room to enter. His aim may have been lacking, but Ewan was a strong lad of fifteen—who had arguably too much experience scaling the walls of the keep in his visits to Adamina. Placing his feet perfectly in the spaces between the flagstones, he hoisted himself up, navigating with ease the twenty or so feet between the ground and the window of Adamina’s sleeping chambers. She saw his hands first, knuckles tensed around the window frame, before he pulled himself up and crouched on the sill.

He paused a moment, scanning her room. His body was bathed in moonlight, concealing much of his face in the darkness. Adamina tensed at the sight of him, and her breast swelled with a war of emotions. For most of the day, she had managed to bridle the worst of her feelings, but Ewan had a way of getting her to open up, and this she feared most of all.

“Far be it from me to question a lass in mourning, but…” Ewan said with a serious voice. He furrowed his brow, and she braced for the worst. “Have ye been baking, Adamina?”

It was just like Ewan to be making jokes at such a time. Adamina cried out in feigned outrage, slamming down the candle holder and storming over to the window. She grabbed hold of Ewan’s shoulders, playfully fisting the fabric of his patchwork tunic and shaking him softly.

“Ye better get inside, now,” she exclaimed, “before I change me mind and send ye hurtling tae yer death.” She released him and turned away. “Ach, ye cannae play with me like that, Ewan! Ye are so cruel…”

“Aye, but ye’re smiling now,” Ewan said. She heard his boots connect with the floor as he hopped into the room. “I can hear it in yer voice, even if ye dinnae deign tae look at me.”

She cast a glance over her shoulder, losing the battle against her smile as Ewan pushed past her and made for the sweetmeats. He took one for himself and offered Adamina another, but she refused with a shake of her head. Ewan shrugged, taking a bite of shortbread and settling against the dresser. He cast the other back on the trencher, and its rattle against the wood brought Adamina back to her senses.

“Now that ye have completed yer pillage,” she began tentatively, “will ye tell me why ye have come? Certainly there is naething tae be said that cannae have waited fer the morning.”

“I could have waited, aye. But I didnae want tae.” Ewan’s expression twisted then, even as he tried to hide his distress by licking clean his fingers. His round hazel eyes filled with worry. “We didnae have the chance tae speak afore yer ma’s rites.”

“I ken…” Adamina shrugged one-shouldered, drawing her arms around herself to ward off her sudden chill. Her mind flashed with memories of her mother’s interment—her silver shroud; her long, flowing hair; her peaceful countenance after so many weeks spent in agony. “If ye mean tae comfort me, dinnae. I have nay need fer more sympathies—and nay need fer more trouble either, Ewan.”

She eyed her friend carefully, hinting at her brothers’ growing unease with their closeness. It was no surprise Ewan had not managed to speak with her that morning. In their grief-fuelled anger, Dunn and Tor had all but forbidden their sister from spending any more time with him than necessary, especially where the other clan members could see. Adamina thought their worrying was farcical. She and Ewan had been friends their entire lives, and Ewan had always been considered kindly by the Leòideach heirs. Nothing—not the differences of their birth, not even their advancing ages—would keep them apart so long as Adamina had her say.

Ewan said nothing at this, clearly understanding her meaning but not wanting to push his luck. He dipped his head low, and his dark hair glinted gold in the candlelight. Even in his embarrassment, Ewan looked warm and inviting. Years ago, Adamina might have allowed herself to be held by him and comforted, but things between them had changed since they had become adolescents and she knew it would not be appropriate.

Before her father’s passing, Laird Leòideach had made mention of matches and marriage for his only daughter but Adamina had never considered taking a husband before with any seriousness. There had always been more pressing things to worry about, like the wellbeing of their clan, her brothers’ antics, when next she could hope to be allowed to spar with Ewan. Her duties as a Leòideach daughter, the commodity of her young body—these things had not preoccupied her until they had been brought to her attention.

Sighing, she directed her attention to Ewan, wanting to apologise for her frosty reception. He had turned from her slightly, and in so doing had revealed a fresh welt on the side of his eye. Halfway concealed by his hair, the bruise had forgone Adamina’s notice.

She realised at once that Ewan had not only wanted to check on her. He had needed an escape from the tyranny of his own household.

“Is that the mark of yer faither’s hand again?” she asked.

Ewan barely moved, but a mirthless laugh rumbled low in his throat. He mussed his hair, dragging it back over his injury. That was his way—never wanting to inconvenience others with his troubles, and especially not Adamina. It was the part of Ewan that she liked the least. She wanted to provide him the same protection that he was always so eager to provide her. It frustrated her that he did not let her.

“I didnae mean fer ye tae see,” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. “That isnae why I came, Adamina.”

“I havenae doubt about that. But even if ye had come fer that reason, I wouldnae have minded,” Adamina assured him. “Let me see?”
Her other fears dissipated immediately, and Adamina crossed the room to inspect the mark. She pushed back his hair slowly, careful not to injure him further. Ewan let her, wincing as she ran her fingers over the raw swell beneath his eye.

It was not the first time she had seen Ewan’s face blemished by his father’s anger. Cam of Clan MacGregor was known throughout Orkney as a fierce warrior and a brilliant councilmember. He had trained many of her father’s men in the way of the bow, and he knew more about the history of the isles than even the clan elders.

To Adamina, who had witnessed second-hand the worst of him, he was little more than a brute. His other talents could not possibly impress her while she knew what sort of monsters resided deep within his breast.

“I could sneak some herbs from the infirmary,” she suggested carefully. “It wouldnae take more than a moment.”

“I ken as much—ye and yer deft fingers,” Ewan joked half-heartedly. He scowled when she drew back, but quickly purged his expression of all weakness. Taking her hand in his own, he lowered it before releasing her. “Ye will heal me more by speaking with me, Adamina.”

“Aye, but I dinna ken what ye wish fer me tae say.” Adamina put some space between them, returning to her bed. Her gaze drifted over her mother’s journal, and she heaved a deep sigh. “Nae a thing I say will change what has happened. Like that mark on yer face, the only salve fer me heart is time.”

“Ye might start by telling me what that is,” Ewan said. He gestured for her mother’s journal, and Adamina stepped before it instinctively. “Dinnae try tae hide it now,” he teased, crossing the room. “Yer secrecy means it must be important.”

He sidled up beside her and reached for the diary, pausing as though to ask her permission. Adamina nodded, watching as he carefully extracted the journal from the woollen coverlets. Ewan turned the book over in his hands, then pried it open gently. He narrowed his eyes at the first page, reading the first lines in silence.

Despite Adamina’s better education, Ewan was the one between them who really knew how to read. Cam’s ambition was a hungry beast, sated only by Ewan’s many successes. Like all things forced upon him by his father, reading was one of the skills at which Ewan excelled. He had mastered the written word at the age of eight, and he had spent the years since reading what Adamina could not when she needed him.

Ewan’s face contorted suddenly, and Adamina’s anxiety roiled within her.

“This was Lady Leòideach’s diary,” he stated breathlessly, closing the book immediately. He kept his thumb between the pages and cast a glance at Adamina. “Why would ye take this?”

“I didnae take it,” she protested, moving to the window so he could not look at her. “She gave it tae me on the night she…” Her eyes smarted, and she choked on her next words. Composing herself, she continued. “Maither used tae read her entries to me, sometimes as she wrote them. I cannae say why she thought tae leave me such a wretched thing. I dinna need tae read proof of her misery, of her madness. I saw it while she still lived with me own eyes.”

“Ye dinnae want me tae read it tae ye?” Ewan asked. She heard him take a step toward her, then dither. “It seems some parts were written tae ye, Adamina. She meant fer ye tae see them.”

“Dinnae matter tae me now.” Adamina sought purchase on the windowsill. “As I said tae ye, I already ken what lessons she penned fer me. They live here.” She pointed at her heart, digging her finger in deep.

Adamina gasped as Ewan appeared beside her, holding the diary aloft. She darted her gaze from his face to the cover of the journal. The gentle pity in his expression was too much for her to bear.

The first of her tears fell, and she cursed herself under her breath for her weakness. Wiping madly at her face, she whimpered as the full force of her grief wracked her small body. Ewan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close. He breathed into her hair, pleading with her to be quiet, reassuring her that she would be all right.

Ewan was the only person in the world who could say as much and make Adamina believe it. But not even he could comfort her this time—not after what her mother had said when she had handed Adamina the diary, the night that she had jumped from the keep.

“Ye should go,” Adamina said into his chest. “Afore me brothers see ye. Afore—”

“I willnae,” he replied, holding her more tightly. “Ye have naething tae fear from me.”

Adamina shivered against him, deaf to his sweet protestations. He had opened the journal, and now she could think of nothing else but her mother’s parting words.

“If a maither must teach her daughter anything, Mina, it is tae fear love more than death.”

Chapter One

Brodgar Forest, Orkney Islands, 1519…

“Nae, I dinnae believe a word of it!” Adamina cried, clambering over a fallen tree. She hopped off the trunk, casting a glance over her shoulder at Ewan. “Ye may be correct most of the time, councilman, but I am right in this. That babe doesnae look a thing like Wille—he looks like Wille’s brother!”

Ewan paused in his march, shooting her an exasperated look. Adamina seemed adamant, but her thin, pink lips were curled in a smile. Readjusting the strap of his bow, Ewan sighed.

Adamina merely laughed at him, climbing back over the tree to join him. Threading her arm through his own, she urged him forward. She was right to lead the way. It was almost dark, and it was no time to be loitering in the woods. Ewan thought it had been a mistake to indulge her in the first place. After everything that had happened on Orkney over the last few years, the laird had been rightly wary about letting Lady Adamina out of his sight.

The business with the new Lady Leòideach was fresh in Ewan’s mind. He had witnessed the feud between Clans Morgan and Leòideach explode first-hand, having risen to the rank of councilman in the meantime. After all, he had gone as a soldier and saved the life of Katarina Buckland, the beautiful Romani woman now wed to Dunn Leòideach, the Laird of Clan Leòideach and Adamina’s older brother, by the King’s decree.

The match between Katarina and Dunn had been paved with strife. Katarina had been forced by Laird Morgan to pretend to be his daughter Katherine, taking the place of Dunn’s betrothed in her stead. The plot was revealed in time, but the new laird’s nascent feelings could not be helped. Katarina was the lady of their clan now, and the mother of his heir, and the laird would not have it any other way.

While the particular threat had been squashed by the death of Laird Morgan a few months later, there was no telling what other enemies would present themselves now that Katherine Morgan’s father had been dealt with. She was now married to Tor, Adamina’s other brother, though Ewan had not seen either of them since they had settled on the Morgan land. Their departure had meant an end to the Leòideach struggles—but like all things, this peace was not to last.

Ewan felt fear stir in his breast as he considered the recent Gypsy threat, quelled just a year gone. His friend Bran, a warrior of extreme renown, had fallen into disfavour with the Gypsy King himself, August Raymond, and the consequences of their feud had been felt across Orkney.

The island had settled uneasily into peace, but Ewan, who had only ever known strife, was still on his guard. Adamina seemed determined to have some fun now that the fighting was over. This scared Ewan more than he dared to admit, knowing that her free-spirited attitude was a mask for all the other troubles that plagued her.

Ewan knew all too well that the more she smiled, the heavier her burdens weighed on her heart. Adamina may have thought that her antics fooled him but they didn’t and never would. She sensed the winds of change, as did he. But he didn’t know in whose favor they would blow.

“Is that why ye dragged me down tae Wille’s croft this eve?” Ewan asked after a moment, allowing himself to be shepherded forward by her. She looked up at him teasingly, and he supplied her a scowl. “I didnae think ye tae be a gossip, melady.”

“Och, ye ken I hate when ye call me that!” She nudged him in the side, and Ewan was not quick enough to dodge the blow. “And ye ken even more that I am a gossip!”

Despite her small size and beauty, Adamina was fiercely strong when she wanted to be. Long underestimated for being the only Leòideach daughter, Ewan had no doubt she would try to assert herself more now that both of her wild Viking brothers were settled in their marriages. With Tor gone to lead Clan Morgan with his new bride Katherine, Dunn was in more need than ever of his sister’s support. The change suited Adamina, who had always longed to be taken more seriously.

Except, of course, when she did not.

“My intentions were only braw. I brought a basket from the keep out of the goodness of me heart. A few bonnie births are just what we need after so much rottenness these last few years,” Adamina argued, brushing the blonde hair from her face. “It isnae me fault that Wille’s young wife has been straying far from home.”

“If ye suspect the brother, should that nae be straying in the home?” Ewan narrowed his gaze at her, then cursed himself for playing along. “Ach, but we shouldnae claim such things when there isnae proof,” he said. He detached himself from Adamina to help her over a rough patch of the forest floor. Testing the ground ahead of her, he reached out a hand for her to take. “Besides, Wille looks exactly like his brother. I dinnae ken what ye think ye have heard about young Canny, but she is as honourable a woman as ever there was. More honourable than ye, anyway,” he joked.

Adamina grimaced as she hopped over the network of tree roots, taking his hand as she did so. Her foot caught on something beneath her and she stumbled forward suddenly, crashing into him. Ewan held firm, breathing a small, “Umph,” as he steadied them in the twilight.

His arms wrapped around her on instinct, and he felt his body tense. The day had been warm, and Adamina had snuck from the keep in a thin, embroidered cotton smock. Pressed up against him in her error, she revealed to him every hill and valley of her body. He could feel her nipples through the thin fabric of her gown, and Ewan started in response.

Though Ewan and Adamina had been best of friends, almost fraternal, their whole lives, over the past decade he had watched Adamina blossom into a woman. But it was one thing to admire her from afar as a good friend, and another to feel the evidence of her womanhood pressed against him. He needed to move her, and quickly.

Unable to temper his body’s reaction—a constant ache in his loins for her that had started a few years prior—he immediately pulled Adamina off of him. As he held her at arm’s length, he could swear he saw her face flush in the dim light,.

“Are ye…” He swallowed hard. “Are ye unharmed?”

“Aye,” Adamina replied, recovering quickly from their mistake and shoving Ewan away playfully. “In body, at least. But ye are so inconsiderate as tae me poor soul.”

“Call me what ye like,” he replied, shrugging off his sheepskin cloak and revealing the long plaid beneath it. Whistling to get Adamina’s attention, he placed the cloak over her shoulders, relaxing as she settled into the garment. “Inconsiderate beast or nae, I willna ever forgive meself if ye freeze tae death afore we reach the keep. Pout all ye like, but that smock is much too light.”

“I am nae cold,” she protested, despite stroking her cheek gratefully against his cloak. She took on a scorned air, cocking her head to the side as she tightened the black sheepskin around her. “And I am nae dishonourable, councilman. If either one of us has aught to be ashamed, ‘tis ye. Dinnae think I havenae noticed ye lingering about the keep after the sun has set. What is the name of the bonnie lass who has claimed yer heart? Let me think…”

She forced a wounded sigh, and Ewan shot his eyes heavenward. He said nothing in reply, continuing with their walk and urging her to do the same. She fell into step quickly, tapping a finger to her lips sarcastically as she pretended to think. She knew full well who Ewan was taking off with. He could keep nothing from her, no matter how much he might want to.

“Ach, of course! The fair maiden, Effy!” she declared, skipping ahead of him and crying the woman’s name. “All the other maids look at ye as longingly as she. Dae their hearts nae interest ye as well? For certainly ye have captured them!”

“Ye have her name, I’ll give ye that. But it isnae her heart which interests me, and she kens it,” Ewan muttered, wishing they were speaking of anything else. Adamina asked often about his conquests, always interested to know more. It was not behaviour befitting a lady, but Adamina did many things other fine women would balk at. “Will ye nae stop with these games, melady? We should be hurrying tae the keep afore Dunn notices ye missing.”

At this, Adamina stopped walking altogether. She turned on her heel slowly, likely dragging out her reaction to punish him. Ewan could not deny how beautiful she looked against the thick, dark forest around them, even in her forced anger—like a beacon of light upon an otherwise dark canvas. Even though he had taken Effy and many other lasses into his bed, he still thought that Adamina was the most beautiful creature of all. His admiration for her was one of the many things that had weathered their friendship over the years, and like every time before, Ewan forced himself to forget just how much he pined for her.

The death of Adamina’s parents had changed them both beyond recognition. Ewan had forced himself to become a man before his time, hoping to be there for Adamina whenever she needed him. Adamina, however, had pushed him away, trying to deal with everything alone.

They had settled into their new friendship over the years, and neither of them much spoke about what might have been between them if things had been different. Ewan was convinced she had had feelings for him before tragedy hit her family as a young girl but he doubted Adamina regretted the dissipation of their young misguided feelings. He knew that a part of her associated his presence with those long years of grief and he was also aware that another part of her did not want to take a husband at all, no matter his name. These misguided excursions were the only unadulterated moments of companionship they could allow themselves anymore; the rest were spent under the watchful eye of her brother and the rest of the clan.

Even when Adamina drove him mad with her teasing, Ewan relished every second in her company, sharing her adventures and shepherding her through the night.

“Ye are nae usually so prickly,” Adamina was saying now, eyeing him from head to toe. She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped towards him. “What is troubling ye, Ewan? Dinnae fib, now. I ken when something is wrong. Is it… Are ye thinking of yer faither today?”

Ewan bristled at the suggestion, having refused to consider his father at any length since his death. His throat constricted in response, and he quickly sought to change the subject. Some things were better left alone—especially when the truth of them could not be spoken in full.

“It is naething ye need concern yerself with,” Ewan replied coolly, turning his gaze elsewhere. Adamina sentenced him to a charged moment of silence, forcing Ewan to answer her out of awkwardness. “If ye are determined tae ken the truth, there is a meeting early on the morrow. The council dinnae yet ken what the laird wishes to discuss, but a meeting called under such short notice cannae mean naething braw. It worries me. ‘Tis the truth, me only truth.”

“Dunn has said naething tae me about a meeting, and I havenae noticed a change in his good humour.” She made a contemplative little noise. When Ewan looked up, she was playing with the ends of her hair, her expression far away. “Perhaps ‘tis naething at all. But if it does amount tae aught, ye will tell me, willnae ye?”

Ewan nodded, partly out of habit, partly in promise. An owl flew overhead, filling the air with the echo of its call. A shiver ran down Ewan’s spine as he followed the path of the bird northward. The forest seemed to shift with its passing, and he held up a finger to silence Adamina before she could speak further.

Knowing the forest like he knew his own soul, he whipped his head around to survey the stretch of woods to his left. The way was thick with thousand-year-old oaks, concealing whatever danger might have been lurking nearby. His heart thumped hard in his chest, alerting him to the threat he could not yet see.

But I sense it… Aye, something is lurking nearby, something desperate and hungry.

Returning his sight slowly to Adamina, he put a finger before his mouth and commanded her to run, her blue eyes filled with understanding and fear. She nodded only once, full of trust in him after all these years. Bursting into a sprint, she shot through the trees before her.

Ewan heard it then—a set of snarls on the wind.

The wolves raced out from behind the western trees. Their grey coats rolled and glistened in the grey twilight as they bared their fangs to Ewan, snapping at him in warning. He counted two, knowing more might be about. If they had dared present themselves to him, he knew they would be wounded, desperate for blood.

Yanking on the strap of his bow, he held his breath and launched himself after Adamina. The wolves thundered after them, growling in their chase. Ewan angled his bow as he sprinted forward with all his might, drawing an arrow from his quiver as he prepared to take a shot, and muttering a prayer beneath his breath.

He glanced up only once, hoping to find Adamina as a spot on the horizon, safe from harm. If one of them was to die that night, Ewan knew it must be him.

When he saw her at last, his heart dropped. Adamina was standing only paces from him, a dagger readied in her hand.

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