Page 14 of Rebellion's Fire

Christian’s spine tingled. That was Adam MacHeth’s soft, casual voice, so at odds with the violence of his eyes. And his hands.

She turned, following his voice to the roof of the hall where he stood with his bow stretched and aimed at her husband.

“How did he get up there?” she wondered aloud. “Heleft.”

“Of course, he didn’t,” Eua said with contempt. “He just moved the horses out of sight to see what kind of a man he was dealing with. Now he knows.”

And he’d placed his men in cover around the stables and the hills, from where several more were loping closer.

William, it seemed, hadn’t looked hard enough for his elusive enemy. He seemed stunned. If he or any of his men so much as reached for a weapon, he risked an arrow in the heart.

Donald, suddenly freed from everyone’s hold, gazed up at the roof. “Where in hell have you been?” he asked.

“Oh, around. The islands, Argyll, Wester Ross, you know. Somerled sends avuncular love.” With one speedy, somehow shocking movement, he jumped from his perch on the roof and landed with surprising lightness beside his brother. “It seems I came home just in time.”

“Apparently so. I hope you treated your hostage rather better than Sir William treated his.”

Every eye turned on Christian. She froze.

“Of course, he did,” called someone—the man called Findlaech, she thought, who’d brought the news of Donald’s capture to his brother. “But then, she’s much prettier than you are.”

A gale of laughter rushed around the MacHeth men, including Donald, who bowed to Christian with not-disrespectful irony. Uncomfortable, she looked for the joke, which was probably that Donald’s beauty had been at least temporarily spoiled in the fight, or by its aftermath, judging by Donald’s words. Of the Gaels, only Adam didn’t smile.

“My brother Donald mac Malcolm,” he said as if introducing him to Christian, although he didn’t so much as glance her way. His chin lifted, and he raised his voice. “This is Cairistiona, daughter of Rhuadri, the Lady of Tirebeck.”

Christian frowned with incomprehension. He spoke in Gaelic, to his own people, those he’d brought with him and those who, like Eua, had already been here. It was almost as if he was according Christian his protection. What she couldn’t understand was why.

Neither could Donald, judging by his slightly bemused expression as he gazed at his brother. Without another word, Adam strode forward. Donald kept pace, although the men who’d come out of cover from around the outbuildings and surrounding hills didn’t yet lower their weapons.

As he passed William, Donald said in French, “Pray we never meet again.”

At that, a ferocious grin split Adam’s face and vanished. As they drew alongside Eua and Christian, Donald murmured, “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Many, many things,” Adam replied, his watchful, erratic gaze coming to rest on Christian for a moment. She glared back. He nodded once and passed on.

The brothers walked out of the enclosure, apparently talking together as if they were at some social gathering, while their men trained their weapons on Christian’s husband and his soldiers. Her heart seemed to slide up into her mouth when she realized they could still kill everyone.

The MacHeth brothers could easily have intended it. William had broken the agreement, tried to cut off Donald’s fighting hand when he’d imagined he was safe to do so. This was their land. All of it was theirs, and de Lanson’s alien invaders had taken a slice. The King of Scots had told William he could be Earl of Ross if he could subdue the natives. They had no reason to let him live, to let any of his people live.

The men of Ross began to back away, bows and spears still raised. Every few steps, a few lowered their weapons and loped off, until they’d all faded beyond the enclosure and the whole troop vanished in a rush of mud splatters.

Christian’s shoulders sagged. “What a very strange day,” she remarked, then took a deep breath and walked forward to meet her husband. She knew what was coming, and it wouldn’t be good.

*

“Can you ride?”Adam’s words came out in little more than a breath once they were clear of the gates.

Donald nodded. In truth, he ached all over from battle wounds, particularly the one in his side, and from Lanson’s furious beating once he’d realized he’d have to give up his prize. But none of that, not even the humiliation of the position he’d so stupidly got himself into, seemed to matter right now. His heart sang because he was free. He wanted to laugh because Adam was back.

One of young Cailean’s men was running toward them, leading Adam’s big grey horse which, it seemed, he hadn’t managed to kill in the last eighteen months. Well, most of his fighting with Somerled had been from the sea. The other, smaller horses trotted after the grey as if they knew their place.

“It was nicely done,” Donald allowed, trying not to wince as he hauled himself into the saddle of the other beast presented to him. Even so, he noted and approved the caution of Adam’s men, many of whom still stood facing the gate, bows and spears at the ready. “Only, flattered as I am, why did you throw in Tirebeck?”

“Tirebeck is hers,” Adam said from the saddle. He was scanning the horizon, still eternally watchful because he never knew when the visions would show him something that wasn’t there. He kicked forward, not at a gallop but a mere canter, which allowed Donald to just about hold on and ride beside him as they spoke through the rushing wind.

“Then sheisRhuadri’s daughter?” Donald asked.

“Her name is Cairistiona.”

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