Page 68 of The Queen and the Half-blood
He snorted. “I didn’t force myself on them … they’d never have accepted me if I had. Instead, I earned their respect.”
“And you rallied them?”
“I did.”
Lara propped herself up onto an elbow, eyeing him. “Do you think they’d have ever united without you?”
“Probably not.” His tone had cooled.
“And they want this war?”
He glanced her way, and his grey eyes glinted in the shadows. “They want to live in peace in The Uplands as they once did,” he replied, his tone cutting. “If fighting for you will get them that, they will do whatever it takes.” His expression turned hard. “And so will I.”
Lara observed him, surprised by the vehemence of his answer. She’d clearly poked him in a tender spot. His loyalty toward his wulver kin, his drive to get justice for them, appeared to be a subject that made his temper flare. “The Uplands?” she said finally, choosing her words with care now. “They won’t remain in Duncrag then?”
“Some might,” he replied, looking away. “But the North is where many of their hearts lie.”
She took this in with interest, more questions bubbling up. However, his curtness made her hesitate.
Silence fell between them before Alar’s expression shuttered. “It’s been a long day,” he said, his tone softening a little. “We should both get some sleep.”
Alar laced up his vest, his gaze flicking to where Lara crawled from the sleeping nook. A thin tunic covered her modesty, although the curves of her supple body were clearly visible through it. His gut tightened in response.
A few nights had passed since their handfasting, and during each one, he’d been painfully aware of the woman who slept within arm’s reach in the furs.
The Hearthkeeper forgive him, he wasn’t made of stone. After their conversation the eve before—after he’d told her yet more details about his past—he’d lain awake for a long while, fighting the urge to roll toward her, to sink deep into that soft body again.
Fortunately, he’d restrained himself. He had more important things to worry about right now. Fucking his wife needed to be low on his list of priorities. He knew that, but that hadn’t stopped him from sleeping fitfully and waking earlier than usual. However, studying Lara’s pale face, she appeared to have had a much rougher night.
He frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“I sometimes have prophetic dreams,” she admitted huskily.
He stilled. This lass was full of surprises. “Really.”
She swallowed before nodding. “I had one when Bree first arrived … seven crows sitting on a yew tree. This one was the same.”
Alar’s heart kicked as he finished lacing his vest.
Like most folk, he knew of ill omens. That one warned that someone near Lara guarded a dangerous secret. It had been accurate too—for Bree had once been a Shee spy.
Lara reached for a woolen shawl then and wrapped it around herself. It was cold inside their alcove, for the lump of peat in the hearth had burned down.
Alar moved to the fireplace and took a brick of peat from a basket before adding it to the glowing embers. Moments later, it started to smoke. However, he pretended to study it so that he didn’t have to meet Lara’s eye.
Many things about his wife unsettled him. The way she’d made the fire flare on their wedding night was one. And now he’d just learned she had seer’s abilities. There was far more to this woman than met the eye—which made her dangerous. “Do you think there’s another Shee spy under this roof?” he asked after a pause.
Lara winced. “I hope not … or Mor will already know that we plan to strike soon.”
“You should discuss this dream with your chief-seer.” Alar straightened up and turned back to her. “He will, no doubt, have ways of assessing your household.”
She nodded. “Aye … you’re right. I will see what Ruari has to say.” She drew her shawl tighter around her then. “Either way, it’s a warning … one I shouldn’t ignore.”
“No,” he replied softly. “You shouldn’t.”
“My Queen,” a male voice traveled into the alcove, slightly muffled by the heavy curtain that blocked the entrance. “A missive has come for you … from Braewall.”
Alar stiffened. He recognized Captain mac Tav’s voice. The captain had come upstairs to deliver the message himself. His gaze flicked to his wife. Lara wore a startled expression. Dressed in nothing but a thin tunic and shawl, she wasn’t in a fit state to receive visitors. So, nodding to her, Alar crossed to the curtain and pushed through it.
