Page 110 of The Queen and the Half-blood
Reluctantly, their bodies tight with tension, her escort drew back to the distance she’d stipulated. They didn’t look happy about it though.
Turning to face the walls once more, Lara inhaled deeply. “Alar mac Struana!” Her shout carried through the heavy air. “Show yourself!”
Her voice echoed off stone and then died away.
Only silence answered.
Her gaze traveled the ramparts. She was too distant to pick out details. She had no idea where Alar was, but she felt the weight of his stare upon her all the same. He was up there all right—determined to ignore her.
Spots of cold rain splashed upon her face then, the day growing darker still. The rain was nearly upon them. She ignored it.
“Come down and speak to your wife, Half-blood!” she shouted once more. “I’ll wait you out, coward!” Her voice echoed once more, mocking her now. “I’ll stand here all day and night if I must!”
And she would.
“Well, you’ve pissed her off.”
The amusement in Beathan’s voice made irritation spike through Alar. The chieftain might be enjoying this, but he wasn’t. Lara needed to retreat, to move back to safety. He couldn’t protect her any longer. Not from up here.
He spied three figures standing a few yards back from the High Queen, as well as a massive wolf with its moss-green coat. None of them were close enough to defend her.
Why the fuck were Bree, Cailean, and Roth letting her do this? It was irresponsible.
His heart started to thump against his ribs.
“What will you do?” Lyall growled next to him.
Alar didn’t answer. For once, he didn’t have one.
“My archers have longbows that will reach her,” Beathan spoke up once more. “Just say the word, and they’ll bring the bitch queen down.”
“Call her that again, and I’ll cut your throat,” Alar snarled, rounding on him.
Silence fell on the wall. Beathan stilled, his dark brows shooting up to his brow line. Long moments passed, and then the chieftain’s lip slowly curled, scorn flaring in his blue eyes.
Alar ignored him. Instead, his gaze remained on the woman cloaked in green standing alone on the hillside beneath the fort.
“Tell me you didn’t fall for her?” Lyall murmured.
His pulse leaped into a gallop. “I didn’t.”
“Liar.”
He was, but it didn’t matter. He had to let everything go now.
The rain swept in then, heavy, cutting swathes of it, hammering the walls and those standing upon them. And although it was only early afternoon, the world turned dark.
Time stretched out. The clouds lowered, and after the initial deluge, the rain settled into a steady, drumming rhythm.
And still, Lara waited.
“Well, as pleasant as this is, I’d prefer to be helping myself to Og mac Alpin’s mead and seeing if he’s got any pretty daughters,” Beathan said eventually. Rain was running down the chieftain’s face and dripping off his nose. Likewise, Alar was soaked. However, he barely noticed.
“He does,” Lyall quipped. “Two of them.”
The chieftain flashed him a grin. However, his expression turned into a grimace when it shifted back to Alar. He then wiped the rain out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “How much longer are you going to drag this out?”
Alar cut Beathan a scowl. The man’s whining was starting to vex him.
