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away the Scottish throne to England, I’ve nae doubt he’ll do it.”
    Wat knew that almost no one trusted the Earl of Fife, although many men respected his strength and believed him better qualified to rule Scotland than either the elderly, nearly blind King or Fife’s elder brother and actual heir to the throne, the weak, disinterested Earl of Carrick. Nevertheless, Wat said, “Do you honestly think Fife would agree to let an Englishman take the Scottish crown?”
    “’Tis surely possible, for even a King o’ Scots has tried it ere now,” Murray said. “Ye willna recall it yourself because ye hadna been born yet, but surely ye’ve heard that when David Bruce were our king, he agreed to leave the Scottish succession to England’s Black Prince. Our own Parliament put a stop to that, but not afore me da’ decided it would be wise for me to take an English wife. I railed against it at the time, mind ye, but Annabel’s been a good wife to me, and for a man like me to have allies on both sides o’ the line be nobbut plain good sense.”
    Wat understood, but he could not agree with the neutral posture Murray had taken. Giving him a straight look, he said, “I hope you don’t expect me to refuse to take sides, as you have, when I marry your daughter.”
    “Nay then, lad, for I ken fine what a hothead ye be. To my mind, ye’re no better than the Douglas, ever ready to spill lives in combat over this daft notion o’ Scottish freedom. And what comes of it, eh? Ha’ ye seen the devastation left behind whenever a clash arises? Or are ye so safe in yon Buck’s Cleuch o’ yours that ye think neither the English nor the Scots will trouble ye?”
    “Scottish freedom is no daft notion,” Wat said, reminding himself to tread lightly. He would only anger the man if he lectured him about the sacrifices of great men like Wallace and the Bruce to win Scottish freedom from English oppressors. Instead, he said, “I doubt that you disdain the notion of freedom any more than other men do, sir. I’d wager ’tis only the never-ending attempts by England to conquer Scotland, the fighting necessary to protect our freedom, and the continuing threat to Elishaw that lead you to say such a thing.”
    When Murray did not challenge that assessment, Wat added, “Scott lands do lie at a safer distance from the line. But the English have never been interested in peace except at their own price, which amounts to England swallowing Scotland whole. That is certainly what their present king, Richard Plantagenet, wants.”
    “Aye, ’tis true,” Murray agreed. “The lad’s young yet and already a devil.”
    “He is, and he is utterly determined to conquer Scotland, if only to prove to those who oppose him that he’s won the right to rule England.”
    “I expect, like most, ye’ve got it all worked out to suit your own notions o’ how things should be,” Murray said, clearly in better humor now.
    “I know what I believe, sir, just as you do.”
    “In troth, lad, I care nowt what ye believe or what ye do as long as ye’ll come to my aid when I need ye, and ye keep me daughters safe.” With a hopeful look, he added, “I’ve one more, ye ken—young Rosalie—but as she’s nobbut entering her eleventh year, I warrant ye’ll no want to take her along, too.”
    Wat was just swallowing more ale and nearly choked.
    As he sputtered, Murray clapped him on the back hard enough to knock the wind out of him. When he had recovered, he pushed his stool back as he stood and said dryly, “I thank you, sir, both for aiding my recovery and for your generous offer of a third daughter to take home with me. I trust you’ll take no offense if I say I’d liefer not be saddled with another female, let alone with one so young.”
    “Aye, sure, and I doubt her lady mother would allow it,” Murray said without rancor. “As it is, she’ll likely fall into a gloom over losing both Meg and Amalie. So I expect our Rosalie had better stay