Page 19 of Rebellion's Fire

Alys interrupted. “My lady, it is not fitting that I—”

Christian couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Whatis not fitting?”

Alys’s face flamed.

Christian said, “I’ll keep no one here against their will. If you are unhappy, you may leave. With any escort Sir William can spare for the purpose. Now, Eua.”

Ignoring the others, Christian sat down at the big table and prepared to consult Eua, who sat beside her, eyes bright with delight, although whether in having her enemies bested or in seeing her lady’s unexpected mettle wasn’t clear.

The Norman women shuffled from the hall, although Alys’s muttered “Sir William shall hear of this!” told her the matter was not closed.

Chapter Six

Gormflaith, daughter ofMalcolm MacHeth, hated waiting, and yet it seemed to be how she spent most of her life. Waiting for her father—whom she’d never met—to come home. Waiting to be married, waiting for another woman to die so that she could marry Harald Madaddson of Orkney, whom she loved with a passion despite having met him only twice in her life. She felt a little guilty about this, since she’d no personal reasons to hate the current Lady of Orkney—nor love her either—so she simply waited.

Sprawling alone in the tall grass half a mile from her mother’s favorite hall, she lost herself in contemplation of the surrounding hills and glens, soaking up the rare spring sunshine. Idly, she chewed a blade of moist grass and waited, more immediately, for her brothers to come home. Donald had gone to meet Adam, returning from fighting beside their uncle, Somerled of Argyll and the Isles. They should have been back two days ago or, at least, sent word if their plans had changed. Donald was reliable that way. Adam was not, of course. He was much more erratic, and he could easily have swayed Donald, or got them both into some terrible trouble…

Which theywouldhave heard of. There was no point in conjuring up dangers for them just to pass the time because she was bored with waiting. It had been more than a year, nearly two, since she’d seen Adam, who was never boring. She missed his massive smile and his odd, forthright speech. And his even odder pronouncements, although he’d learned to keep those to himself since childhood. She wanted the warmth of her whole family back around her, even her father, who sometimes seemed more legend than reality.

Through the long grass, some movement caught her eye. There, in the distant woods, light shimmered and moved between the trees. She caught the odd flash, as if the sun reflected on armor or a sword.

Slowly, she drew the blade of grass from her mouth and sat up. Her heart began to drum. Could the King of Scots’ army really have come so close without warning? For a moment, she was torn between running to raise the alarm at the hall and the curiosity which urged her to wait and see who emerged from the woods.

The moving light in the trees formed into shadows. Men on horseback…

A horse moved into the light. It was gray, and its rider wore no armor. And right behind him, came another rider, and another. They carried no banner, but in Ross, they didn’t need to. Surely, Gormflaith knew that gray horse, the easy, apparently careless seat of its rider, as if he was one with the animal… Adam. And beside him, definitely, Donald.

From all over the woods now, men emerged into the open. And some of the horses pulled something behind them, something huge…mounted on a cart? Or no, just on rough wheels.

A ship.

Laughter bubbled up in Gormflaith. Leaping to her feet, she grasped her skirts in one hand and flew toward the hall.

“They’re back, they’re back!” she called to everyone she saw on her way, and to the men and maids busy in the hall’s yard, before she burst through the doors and yelled the same to her mother.

The Lady of Ross was with her women at the big high table, sorting clothing into piles for mending or giving away. Still fair and slender, with no gray visible in the golden braids which occasionally peeped under her veil, Halla, daughter of Gillebride, always looked every inch the great lady.

“Who is back?” she inquired calmly.

“Adam and Donald, and they’ve brought a galley!” Gormflaith laughed. “Why would they bring a galley inland? To convince the king the land is ours? Like Magnus Barelegs tricking his predecessor in Kintyre?”

Her mother stilled. Something in her eyes lightened. Her shoulders lowered a fraction of an inch, the only sign that she’d ever been worried. “No one else would,” she said wryly. “But then wearetalking about your brothers.” She dropped the woolen gown on the table. “Have them open the gates. Make refreshments ready.”

The Lady of Ross never needed to raise her voice. Men and women scuttled to obey her. Just for an instant, Gormflaith envied her such effortless authority. Only it couldn’t always have been effortless.

Halla, the sister of Somerled of the Isles, had come here as a young girl from Argyll, had borne three children in four years to her turbulent lord, and reared them alone as their father languished in prison for raising rebellion against the King of Scots. For more than twenty years, she’d managed the affairs of the earldom in the teeth of the king’s denial of her right, had worked for her husband’s freedom, and held the whole province behind him even in his absence. As they grew older, Donald and Adam had taken some of the burdens, but these particular wild, grown-up sons must have brought her as much trouble as respite.

Gormflaith wished for strength like that. For Harald of Orkney, she would be a rock, his right hand. Only she didn’t think she could be these things if he wasn’t actuallythere. Not fortwenty years.

Gormflaith almost skipped back outside. Only at the door, she waited for her more regal mother. The lady never leaned on anyone. Gormflaith knew in her heart that wasn’t good or right, and so she slipped her hand inside her mother’s as she’d done as a child, and as then, her mother’s fingers closed around hers.

But Gormflaith was no longer a child, and now the comfort was mutual. Although Adam and Donald were home, no one knew in what state or at what cost. And Adam… Who could tell what two seasons’ fighting with the ferocious islesmen had done to his strange soul?

Most of the household had already spilled outside from whatever task or leisure was theirs, including the house guards and most of the maidservants, Father Patrick, her mother’s chaplain, and Muiredach, the harpist. Added to which, people had run in from the fields, from workshops and kitchens, to welcome them home.

By the time the crowd spilled through the gates, Findlaech was lying in the galley with his arms folded across his chest and his mouth open to receive the ale being poured into it by one of his welcoming brothers. Adam’s head was turned to watch the antics, a faint smile curving the side of his mouth that was visible to Gormflaith. Donald seemed a little more focused on his forward journey. Gormflaith’s anxiety had all been for Adam, but now she saw that Donald, who’d only been gone a week, rode with an odd stiffness. The frown pulling at his brow, the thin line of his lips, told of pain.

Instinctively, Gormflaith tightened her fingers. Her mother, who would see at least as much as she did, drew her hand free. There would be no anxiety shown to the world, no hint that Malcolm mac Aed’s heir was anything other than hale and hearty. But the tension was back in the lady’s shoulders, a new fear. There were always new fears.

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