He was chilled to the bone, especially after the warmer air of the lowlands, but he was thankful the snow had ceased. Huddled under canvas at night he cursed Robert Stewart. He’d left his raser behind, disgusted with the condition of it after Tannoch’s abuse. Now his beard itched like the devil, adding to his frustration. He’d rather be lying in a bed of warm furs cuddling Margaret. Rumor was rife at home that the execution of the condemned kingslayers was to be in Edinburgh three days hence. He wondered if Tannoch was aware of it. Despite his resentment of Stewart he’d no intention of being present at the gory spectacle, but suspected Tannoch would likely move heaven and earth to be there. His suspicions proved to be correct when he came across the search party coming down the trail from Kindrochit. He hailed them loudly, lest they mistake him for Graham, bundled as he was in several plaids. His brother dismounted as he approached and came toward him. “Took ye long enough,”
