Magnus stood on the threshold to the great hall, staring at Colin. Hot disbelief pounded through him, and his good humor from just moments earlier vanished like a puff of smoke. “She can’t be . . . gone.” Agitation—and fear—welling inside him, he clenched his hands lest he seize his friend by the neck opening of his mailed hauberk and rattle a better answer from the lout’s lying lips. But even before his stopped heart could resume beating, Dugan and Hugh came barreling into the hall from behind him, their own blanched-white faces underscoring without words that Colin was speaking the truth. Bitter-cold dread squeezing the breath from him, Magnus stared at the three men, razor-sharp fear twisting his gut. Now he knew why his scalp had prickled earlier. Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, he focused on Hugh. “Tell me this is madness . . . that it is not true.” Saints, just putting his fear to words sliced his heart. “There must be some mistake.” But Hugh shook his head.
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