THE COMPETITION BETWEEN BARON COSWOLD AND BARON Percy had turned deadly. Or so it seemed.

Each man went to great lengths to find out what devious schemes the other was plotting. Spies were everywhere. Certainly not all of Baron Percy’s companions were loyal to him. One—William, his herald in fact—was secretly in the employ of Baron Coswold. The herald was a well-compensated informer who committed to memory every word said and every action taken by Percy and his conspirators, and reported back to Coswold.

When word of Laird Monroe’s murder reached Percy’s camp, the traitorous herald left the abbey on a false errand and rushed to give Coswold the news. The baron had made certain that William knew where he would be at all times, and the informer was therefore able to catch up with him just as he sat down to supper with Laird MacKenna in MacKenna’s palatial great hall.

The terrible news didn’t get the reaction William expected. Neither Coswold nor MacKenna seemed the least surprised. Coswold merely shrugged indifference and MacKenna, apparently just as unaffected, looked bored as he reached for a chunk of black bread and popped a wedge into his mouth.

Baron Percy had seemed just as uninterested when he’d heard the news. Had both barons expected this to happen? Had they anticipated Monroe’s death, or had they simply wished for it? And why was Laird MacKenna also indifferent? One of his own countrymen had been murdered; the herald had thought there might have been at least a hint of remorse.

Coswold pushed the chair back from the table and motioned for the herald to follow him outside. When they were alone, he ordered him to return to Percy’s camp to keep his eyes and ears open for further developments.

“Go now, while there is still light to guide you. You can make some of the distance back before darkness falls. I’ll arrive at the abbey tomorrow.”

The herald watched Coswold strut back inside and then stood there a long moment scratching his head in confusion. Although he’d wanted to, he didn’t dare ask the baron the question plaguing him. Monroe had been a powerful, and from all accounts a well-liked, laird who was shockingly murdered in the night.

Why wasn’t anyone surprised?