6
Not a sheep. Not a shaggy red cow. Not a soul.
Gavin, riding alone toward the abbey, spurred his charger to the summit of the rocky, heather-covered hill. The last of the mists had burned off hours earlier, and only a few, solitary wisps of white marred a brilliant azure sky. But the land that met the new laird’s gaze was as empty as the vault of heaven.
To his right the waters of the loch curved away to the west. Beyond the line of peaks in the distance, Gavin knew that the Spey River flowed to the sea. And rising above the Spey, perhaps only a day or two away, sat Benmore Castle, home of the Macpherson clan. Twisting his body around, Gavin looked back over the ground he had traveled.
Above the hills, he could see Ironcross Castle, rugged and proud on its high ground overlooking the
