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handing off his mount to a lad. The hazy common room of the inn was filled with people and smoke, but the conversation was friendly and the atmosphere was relaxed.
    Campbell spoke with the owner and led her upstairs to a bedroom.
    “Stay here, get some sleep.” Campbell’s eyes were kind. “Ye’ve had a long journey and bore it better than some o’ my sisters might.” He pulled out a red ribbon from the bundle he carried. “This is for ye, to replace the one ye lost.”
    “Thank you.” Isabelle received his gift with surprise and pleasure. “’Tis kind of you to think of me.”
    “Ye must be tired, I’ll let ye rest.” Campbell lingered for a few moments, then left the room, shutting the door behind him.
    Isabelle smiled and reclined on her bed, a pallet stuffed with straw, but it smelled clean and it was a heavenly relief to lie down. Despite her fatigue, a basin of water on a side table was tempting enough to get her back on her feet. She washed her face and hands in the cool water, appalled at how the clear water turned brown and muddy.
    Isabelle traced her finger along the smooth edge of the ribbon lying next to the basin. It was a kind gesture. Perhaps being dragged halfway through Scotland was not so bad after all.
    A new thought crept into her head. David Campbell was often kind and had not mistreated her during their journey, though he’d certainly had the opportunity. She would be safer under his protection than under that of her husband, of that she felt sure. Perhaps if she told him the truth of the matter, he would protect her from her murderous husband and help her return to her king.
    It would mean telling him who she was and risking him sending her back to her husband. And yet… without his help she would not have made it this far. How was she to travel back to England by herself? Even with her brightest optimism, she had to admit her chances of success were poor. She weighed the odds of successfully traveling back to England by herself, versus the odds that Campbell would return her to Lord Tynsdale.
    The strains of music floated up from below, and the crowd laughed and sang. Campbell was a good man. Perhaps it was worth taking a risk to trust him. Isabelle put her hand in her pocket to make sure her two signet rings were still with her. These would help her prove her words were true.
    Refreshed with purpose and eager to hear the music, Isabelle combed her fingers through her straight black hair and braided it down her back, entwining the red ribbon and tying it securely. It was hardly modest enough for a married woman, but it would have to suffice. Her gown was a mess, but she was only going to find Campbell.
    The common room hummed with the excitement of a boisterous crowd talking and laughing. A man in a brightly colored tunic played a lively tune on the lyre. Isabelle tapped her toe to the music and longed to join a few lads who were dancing, mugs of ale in hand.
    “Excuse me,” Isabelle asked a serving lass. “Could you tell me where I can find Laird Campbell?”
    The wench frowned at her. “Where ye from? I dinna ken ye.”
    “I’m looking for Campbell.” Isabelle emphasized the name, wishing he would appear.
    “Weel, now. ’Arry, this lass says she’s looking fer the Campbell.”
    Harry turned around. A larger, more gruesome man Isabelle could not imagine. Harry was covered in pockmarks, had a bent nose, was missing most of his teeth, and smelled of rot. Her heart beat a bit faster and the hair on the back of her neck rose.
    “I’m looking for Campbell.” She tried to speak with confidence but was afraid it sounded more like a squeaking mouse.
    “What are ye? English?” Harry growled, his gruff voice booming through the room. People paused their conversations to see what was happening.
    “If you please tell me where I could find him.” Isabelle took a step back.
    “Sassenach!” Harry spit on the ground. The minstrel stopped playing, the room hushed. Isabelle took