The first thing he did was unstopper the flask and cautiously sniff the contents. The smell alone made his throat squeeze sickly, though that was probably just in his head. The gods alone knew what might actually be in there.

Disgusted, he corked the flask again. It wouldn’t do to lose his nerve in the first ten heartbeats. Maybe he could feed it to the countess’s fucking wolf first, make sure it didn’t turn it into a pig.

A bright line of white light split the chill dimness of the hall. Duncan started backwards violently enough to bang the back of his head on the wall. “Fuck! I knew it!”

The single line spread wider and expanded into a square frame, through which a dark-haired woman in a long blue cloak climbed as if through a window. When her feet touched the floor, the light snapped closed behind her, leaving a dazzling imprint on the inside of the eyes.

The woman pushed back her hood and scrutinized Duncan with disgust. “You look ill.”

Duncan squinted at her. As it turned out he recognized his cousin’s voice before his eyes adjusted enough to see her face. “It’s very nice to see you, Saorla, but all the same I should ask you to touch iron before we go any further.” He groaned and rubbed the back of his head, adding, “And keep your distance, please. I’m not sure if I want to vomit or not.”

“Not sure if you’re . . . ” Her voice trailed off. “It is so hard to tell when you’re joking.” In spite of the warning, she stepped nearer, concern in her eyes. “What on earth is going on here, Duncan? I’ve had the signal up for three days. No one’s heard from you. I was worried.”

In reply he simply tossed his two iron links at her. She caught them in surprise, then cried out and dropped them. He scooped them up and pocketed them. “Sorry about that. That’s what I’ve been doing for three days. This place is crawling with guard. I told you: the wedding’s still on, she’s got the Queen here. Are you trying to get yourself arrested?”

“I’d about given up on you,” she replied icily. “I’m trying to steal a barony at your behest and you’re off . . .” She glanced down at the flask. “Getting pissed. Have you even spoken to the countess yet?”

“I’m not pissed,” he said, tersely. “I wish I were. And aye, I’ve spoken to her. Personally I’d like to have something a bit more iron-clad but you’ll get your troops, I promise you, or I’ll rake her over the coals. Either I’ll out her before the courts or I’ll deal with her myself. The only real danger I can see is if the little idiot exposes herself before I have a chance to do it for her. They’re quite bold about the whole thing; half the castle knows already.”

“I’d like to be a little more clear on what we’re talking about when we say ‘troops,’ Duncan,” she replied. “I need to know how many, when, and where. I can’t just announce to your hellcat sister that we’re taking Cabhan just as soon as our army turns up.” She pursed her lips. “And have you decided what you going to do about your wife?”

Duncan looked wary, guarded. “There’s nothing to be done with her until the baby comes. I’ll figure something else from there. For now I don’t want her involved.”

“She’s going to be involved soon enough. I don’t see how you’re going to be able to conceal that oops, oh dear, there seems to have been a small coup in the family and you just happened to be at the head of it.” She gave him a hard look. “She’s a murderess. And a deviant. If she wasn’t claiming you, you’d be clamoring for her head. Take the fucking child, if that’s all you’re after. If she won’t agree, tell her you’ll expose her. It’s as simple as that.”