And the pleasant warmth in Jasek’s hand clasp. That was just body heat.

“Good to have you back,” Tara let him know right off.

She wanted no argument between father and son to interfere with firming up the bridges she had built with the Stormhammers’ leader before Chaffee, before Hesperus II. First, be appreciative. Second, take control.

She needed to greet the Lyran representative as well, a young leutnant-general with a fresh-pressed field uniform, and preferably before the lord governor insulted the man. Duke Gregory’s comments inside the sedan had been less than complimentary. But Jasek was not so eager to release her hand. He held it in a firm grip, pulling her back around to meet his stormy gaze. Dark blue eyes, so nearly indigo. Why did he distract her so easily?

“What?” she asked.

He’d brought his other hand up, and now cradled her hand in both of his. The way he shifted from one foot to the other. His hesitant glance toward his father, and then toward Niccolò GioAvanti. He looked nervous, like a man about to propose.

Far from it.

“We got word about two hours ago,” he said calmly as his father and Legate Eckard approached. “Jade Falcons overran your hidden command post outside of New London this morning. An assault Trinary.”

The facility she had built into the bluff, below the Forlorn Hope memorial. Where she had overseen the response to the Jade Falcons’ landing assaults.

“We didn’t have more than a lance… maybe two… of light vehicles left there.”

And twenty-two personnel, several from the staff of her own Highlanders. Tara Bishop had been sent back there! And Della Brown. Niccolò and the Lyran general refused to meet her eyes, leaving this to Jasek. She swallowed hard. “How many escaped?”

“An assault Trinary,” he repeated, and let the silence stretch out uncomfortably.

“No one escaped,” Niccolò GioAvanti finally said. He tugged at the braid lying down the left side of his face. His pale eyes caught each of the new arrivals in turn. “No one was taken prisoner. Prefect Della Brown is dead. The staff is dead.”

“Well, that tears it,” Duke Gregory said. “We need to take back New London.”

Jasek shook his head, finally releasing Tara’s hand. “That would be a bad idea.”

“It might cause some military hardship,” the lord governor snapped, “but it’s a political and a command necessity. We swore—each in our own way—to put the people of Skye and the men and women under our care first and foremost. We’re failing them all, boy.”

Visibly calming himself when Jasek did not contradict him, Duke Gregory placed a hand on her shoulder. “It was a fair gamble, Countess, letting them occupy New London, but I’m not going to watch while that murdering bitch takes Skye apart one piece at a time.”

GioAvanti studied his fingernails as if looking for flaws in his manicure. “ ‘Fortune is a woman,” ’ he said, his eyes finding Tara, “ ‘and in order to be mastered she must be jogged and beaten.” ’

Duke Gregory physically recoiled from the GioAvanti scion. The Lyran officer frowned his disapproval as well. But Tara recognized that far from making a sexist comment, he quoted from an ancient political text. And it did seem to match the Clan philosophy of mating military might with political gain, and of aggression in place of caution. On the face of it, GioAvanti seemed to be agreeing with the lord governor that rash action was needed. But she also knew the context in which that quote was nested.

“ ‘She runs her course only when she is not contained by proper safeguards.” ’ She nodded, and turned the small group toward the nearby facility.

“We either trust our original plans or abandon Skye’s fortune to a coin toss. Duke Gregory, I’ve lost as much or more in this recent setback.” She winced as memories of Tara Bishop threatened to flood to the surface—of all her Highlanders to lose… “And I still believe that we must hold to our position.”

“There are not that many positions left to hold,” he twisted her words around. Glancing to his left and right, he studied the light defenses surrounding the Assemblies plant, shook his head.

Too few vehicles, Tara agreed. Stepping inside the shadowed interior of the facility did not raise hopes. The main floor continued to work on assembling a Kinnol main battle tank, but fewer than half of the converted maintenance bays were busy with repairing allied war machines.

Again, that feeling of abandonment. Or maybe it was the ghosts of so many Highlanders. Tara shivered, but then, it was cooler inside the building, out of the sun. A few of GioAvanti’s people crewed a beverage table just inside the doors. She accepted an insulated mug of black, black coffee when it was offered, as did the Legate.

The beverage was bitter and burned-tasting, but at least it was hot.

Duke Gregory refused the offer. “It appears we are preparing to give up Miliano next,” he said with a frustrated glare toward his son.

“That will not happen, Lord Governor.”

Ignored for the last several minutes, the young leutnant-general now stepped forward to introduce himself. He looked more than a little out of place, his Lyran dress uniform standing out against the field dress of the other officers present. His woolen jacket was light blue. Red piping trimmed the cuffs and the outside seam of his white stirrup pants. His shoes were polished to a reception-quality shine.

“Hiram Brewster, of the Lyran Guards. My forces are set in a picket line just south of Miliano. We can hold against a Jade Falcon push.”

Tara had her reservations, having seen battlerom footage of the recent recapture of Norfolk. Also, she had spotted a Zeus being worked on in the facility’s large corner bay. Technicians were busy ripping out a mangled gyro, to be replaced from valuable local stores, no doubt. If the white horse’s head painted on its leg was an indication of ownership, Hiram’s ’Mech was currently sidelined.

Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, she reminded herself, and shook the offered hand in a quick, neutral clasp. “We appreciate the offer of Lyran assistance.” She had worried about Duke Gregory, but apparently for nothing. He stepped forward with a hand outstretched as well. She breathed easier, for about two seconds.

“My son may have warned you of my feelings against bringing in the Commonwealth, and he was right.” Tara drew in a sharp breath as the two men shook hands. “But for Skye I welcome you here. So long as we understand each other.”

“Father,” Jasek warned.

The leutnant-general did not seem to mind. “I think we do, sir.”

“I hope so. Because in this manner I do not speak for the Exarch, whoever it turns out to be. Jasek wants you here. Tara Campbell approves. So be it. But the minute I believe your Archon is trying to open the door for an invasion of The Republic, I’ll sic the hounds on your heels.”

Tara winced. Losing Paladin McKinnon had been a hard enough blow to the defense of Skye. If the Lyrans decided to pick up their toys and go home, whom did that serve?

Brewster’s face darkened only a touch. “I don’t make or discuss policy, Lord Governor. I enforce the will of the duke of Hesperus. And that will, currently, is to render aid and assistance to Jasek Kelswa-Steiner and to Skye.”

Good answer. He was a better politician that Tara would have given him credit for, or was a good enough soldier to simply fall back on his orders.

“I’m sure frustrations are running high on both sides of the border,” she said in an attempt to mollify both men. She warmed her hands on her coffee mug. Her eyes begged Jasek for help, even though she hated herself for the need to do so. “Sniping at each other does nothing to solve our immediate problems.”

Jasek stood just inside the large doors. He nodded to Niccolò, who invited Legate Eckard to the supervisor’s station, where the most recent estimates on the facility’s repair capability were being discussed. Tara had no doubt that several necessary questions would be answered regarding logistics support.