Page 26 of Rebellion's Fire

“I do,” Christian acknowledged while wondering what kind of woman would marry a priest. But even as the thought entered her head, she recognized it as stupid prejudice. Without following all the rules of the Church in Rome, the bishop was, surely, a good man, as well as an educated and intelligent one. As was his son. The wife and mother was likely to be good, too.

When she emerged from the church, Christian invited the waiting women and her escort to take care of their own spiritual well-being. But no one, not even Eua, took her up on her suggestion. She suspected the Normans didn’t regard Symeon as a true priest. However, instead of confession, they all repaired to the market.

There was certainly enough variety there to attract the attention of Christian and Felicia, who’d been either traveling or trapped in rural security since leaving Perth. One booth carried some decent linen, so Christian ordered a bolt and some embroidery silks and left Felicia poring over rather coarse wool in bright colors. Eua was still at the stall opposite, buying salt and other dull household necessities. At least William had dispensed silver for the purpose.

The next booth was surrounded by barrels. The owner, a slight, sallow man, very neatly dressed in a dark tunic, called to her in Gaelic. “Wines of quality, my lady,” he insisted. “From France. If you please…” He offered her a cup.

She was about to shake her head in refusal when the scent of the wine hit her nostrils. Raising her eyebrows, she inclined her head and accepted the cup. She took a sip.

“Is there much call,” she asked curiously, “for wine of this quality around here?”

“You’d be surprised,” said another soft, casual voice beside her.

She froze. Because it sounded like Adam MacHeth.

Chapter Eight

Slowly, she turnedher head and looked up, and her heart turned over in fear. Surely in fear.

Undeniably, her captor of only a week ago, Adam MacHeth. But he stood before her now at the curtained doorway of the market booth, in a red-brown cloak fastened with a silver brooch and flung back over one shoulder to reveal a long, dark green tunic. A silver-and-enamel buckle adorned his belt. His hair, cut and combed, no longer looked unkempt, and his beard had been trimmed back almost to the skin, so that the lean, angular shape of his face was apparent. He was not, she told herself, a handsome man, but the black hair, the wild eyes, and the unexpectedly refined features did make him dramatic. He was not a man one would easily overlook. Whatever his dress.

His eyes held hers without blinking.

“I will come back for you…”She said, “I have six men-at-arms within calling distance.”

“Five. One of them is guarding the boat. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not.”

Although he must have perceived the obvious lie, his eyes didn’t mock her. They looked serious as they gazed at the visible side of her face. She darted a quick look up to left and right, trying to see past the people to her men-at-arms. She thought she glimpsed their armor at either end of the market. To her right, Eua and Felicia seemed to have joined forces in admiration of some jewelry. Perhaps her plan was working.

“So, you’re here to buy wine?” she said with derision, meeting his gaze once more.

“I probably will. Have another taste. It’s good.” He took the cup from her numb fingers, passing it to the merchant, who needed no further urging to fill it to the brim from the barrel inside and bring it back to her.

She thought of hurling it at Adam MacHeth—pointlessly rude and far from ladylike in these surroundings. She thought of turning up her nose and refusing, or instructing the merchant to give it to Adam instead. But for some reason, this situation seemed stranger and harder to deal with than being forced to ride captive across the country with this man and his band of outlaws.

So, trying to look haughty, she took the cup and let the wine touch her lips. In truth, it was good, so she allowed a tiny trickle into her mouth.

“Two casks for your hall, lady?” the merchant suggested. “Just to let your lord try it. I’m sure he’ll want to order more next time I’m passing.”

In truth, there was no money for wine. From frugal necessity, all her household would drink ale brewed at home. Guests of wine-drinking station were highly unlikely.

“I’ll think about it,” she said distantly. Then, since the man’s face fell, she added, “It’s an excellent wine.”

Instantly, he was wreathed in smiles once more. Adam MacHeth regarded her with a strange quirk of his lips. She couldn’t work out whether or not he was laughing at her, but from nowhere, she realized that he was the one she could question about her past without losing dignity or face. Although not quite sure why, she needed to understand her broken connection to Tirebeck, to know what had driven her parents from here. Perhaps it would help her to stay.

Her breath caught. “A word, sir, if you please.” Before she could change her mind, she turned and walked into the booth.

Inside, an upturned cask had become a table between two rough stools. The booth was plunged into gloom as the curtain closed out the sunshine. Setting down her cup, she sat on one stool as if perfectly at ease and lifted her gaze to Adam MacHeth.

He stood just inside the curtain, watching her with a curious, wary expression that told her she’d surprised him.

“I congratulate myself,” she said sardonically. “I understand it isn’t easy to surprise a man with second sight.”

He stirred, walked past her to the back of the booth. “Who told you that?” He reached up to a shelf, taking down a flagon and a cup.

“Is it true?” Christian asked.

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