Page 20 of Rebellion's Fire

At least the men seemed entirely unconcerned. And Donald managed a smile. “My lady mother,” he called in jovial tones. “Adam’s brought you a galley.”

“How useful,” the lady responded. “Does it come with the drunk?”

Like an arrow, Findlaech shot upright and leapt out of the galley, amidst a hail of laughter. While this drew the eyes of most, only a few feet in front of her, Gormflaith saw her brothers dismount together, Adam from the less usual side so that they both landed between their two horses. There was a little clumsy stumbling, since their horses were so close together, and it may have been that Adam supported Donald for the merest instant. Gormflaith’s heart tightened with dread. But when they emerged from between their horses, they both walked upright with several inches of space between them.

There was sweat and blood on their clothes, but at least none of the latter looked wet or new. And whatever was wrong with him, Donald was coping. And Adam… Beneath the wild beard, he looked as he always had—unfocused, unquiet, and yet curiously intense.

Appearances lied, of course. Adam was one of the most focused people she’d ever encountered, although one could never be quite sure exactly what he focused on. He could also be remarkably peaceful or devote himself entirely to fun. Bombarded by a thousand childhood memories, Gormflaith let her mother attend to precedence and threw herself into Adam’s arms.

He seemed slightly taken aback, and in truth, he often avoided physical contact. Probably because it frequently set off the waking dreams which had sometimes scared him as a child. Now, however, after the barest instant, his arms closed around her in a hug, and when he drew back to look at her, his eyes smiled with pleasure. Adam was glad to be home.

Until the relief flooded her, she hadn’t understood how anxious she’d been at this point. He could so easily have preferred the freedom of plundering with Somerled. He’d always seemed to be looking for something.

“You’re well?” she breathed, grasping his rough face between her hands to keep his attention. It was an old trick from childhood. “And Donald?”

He nodded once and stepped out of her reach, his gaze tugging leftward to their mother. Donald, formally embraced in the intervening moments, stood aside, walking around his brother’s back toward Gormflaith.

The Lady of Ross extended her hand to Adam, who took it in his large, unclean fingers. He moved as if to kneel, but almost convulsively, his mother drew him to her. His eyes closed as his head bent, and he held his cheek to his mother’s.

“He’s well,” Donald murmured in Gormflaith’s ear as he gave her one brief, careless hug, which was all that a week’s parting merited.

“And you?” she breathed.

Unobtrusively, he touched his side. “Healing.” He turned to his mother. “Shall we go in? We’ve had many unlikely adventures, which include putting the king’s man in Tirebeck—”

“And capturing a galley,” the lady interrupted.

“No, no, the galley’s ours,” Donald said. “We just didn’t know what else to do with it.”

“Oh dear,” said his mother with a sigh. “Come inside, then, and tell us the worst.”

*

“Why?” the Ladyof Ross said, as baffled, apparently, as Gormflaith. “Cairistiona certainly has a right to Tirebeck, but to allow the king’s soldiers there is lunacy! Once you and Donald had united your forces, you should have taken it back before they got the chance to settle in. He’ll build a castle there now.”

While the men drank and feasted among the rest of the household, the family sat at the big front table as usual. Now the storytelling was done, amidst much joking and laughter, and Muiredach had taken to his harp, making the strings dance with joy, it was time for the more serious business of explanations and plans.

Adam shrugged. “Maybe,” he agreed without obvious interest. “Castles can be taken, too.”

“With greater losses,” the lady pointed out, frowning her disapproval.

“Then you do plan to take Tirebeck back?” Gormflaith asked, looking from one brother to the other.

“Of course,” Donald said.

Their mother shoved her cup across the table in a gesture that would have been petulant in anyone else. “Then why in God’s name did you give them it in the first place? A straight exchange, Donald for the young lady, would have sufficed!”

Donald, who seemed more comfortable now he was sitting still, waved one hand toward Adam, who gazed into his cup as if it held the truth of all philosophies. In the expectant silence, he raised his eyes, glancing from Donald to their mother, perhaps reconstructing the recent conversation.

“It prevents Lanson from raiding around the country for a home.”

“Destroying his army, killing him, would have done that job equally well,” their mother retorted. She was not Somerled’s sister for nothing. “It’s not like either of you to avoid a fight.”

There was a pause. Adam may have been waiting for Donald to answer. When he didn’t, Adam said, “The King of Scots sent him to see what he could do against us. He has a reputation, well earned by all accounts. Perhaps the king thought Cairistiona would win allies for him, enough to build a force that could defeat us. The king doesn’t want to mount a major attack against us if he can avoid it. Particularly not if that leaves the western coasts open to Somerled.”

Adam paused again, raised his cup, and drank, almost absently. Beside him, Donald was looking tense again. Taken together, they were a warning of bad news.

Adam said, “Somerled won’t attack the west coast this year. The King of Scots is as free as he’ll ever be to send the whole royal army against us.”

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