Page 27 of Rebellion's Fire

“Is what true?” He set down the cup and poured wine from the flagon.

“That you have second sight. Or are you just a berserker like the old Vikings?”

He eased his large body down onto the stool. His knee brushed against her skirts. “A lady of your education knows there’s no such thing as second sight.”

She smiled deprecatingly. “And you despise ladies of such education.”

His eyebrows flew up. “I don’t despise you.”

For some reason, that brought color seeping into her face. To cover it, she lifted her chin in challenge. “Then you’re a berserker after all?”

“Why should you think that?”

She shivered, seeing again the men she knew cut down by his sword, trampled beneath his merciless boots. “The way you fight.”

His eyebrows twitched. “That.” One dismissive hand seemed to wave her accusation out through the closed curtain. “It’s a mask. Not unlike yours.”

She stared at him, wondering what on earth he’d ever had in his life to hide from on the battlefield. She had to press her lips together to stop herself from asking. She hadn’t come in here to discover such things. Giving herself time to regroup, she raised her cup and sipped.

“Why did you let us have Tirebeck?” she asked abruptly.

He stirred. “For my brother.”

“You’d have got your brother back just for me.”

“That’s not what you said at the time. According to you, I wouldn’t have got a chicken for you, never mind the Earl of Ross’s heir.”

“But you didn’t believe me. Why then give us Tirebeck?”

“Tirebeck is yours.”

She set down the cup, meeting his whirlpool gaze. For some reason, that wasn’t so difficult now. “To keep us contented. To keep the king unsuspicious and unaware of whatever it is you truly intend.”

A smile flickered across his face. He didn’t look afraid.

“Galleys,” she said.

Neither of them blinked. Without looking at it, he swirled the wine in his cup. “I apologize for exposing myself. What is it you really want to ask me?”

The heat of embarrassment surged through her body at the memory of his. Hehadseen her in the boat. But, determined not to back down, she hung on to his dark gaze. “How did the old hall at Tirebeck burn down?”

His gaze dropped to his wine. His hand stilled, then raised the cup to his lips. He drank and lowered the cup before he looked at her again. “Rhuadri burned it. The day you left.”

Her father had burned it himself? She frowned in the effort of memory. After all, she’d only been three years old. “The day we left? Why did we leave?”

Adam shrugged.

“You don’t want to tell me,” Christian discovered.

“You don’t want to know. It wasn’t that fire that injured you.”

Before she could prevent it, her hand flew up to her mask. Old Eta, the fisherman’s wife, had mentioned another fire, too.

He said steadily, “You were knocked into the hearth fire during a fight. When you were a baby. More than two years before you left.”

Her ears seemed to sing. All the blood that had rushed into her face drained away. She’d always assumed it was the fire she remembered that had injured her. The memory was associated with such fear and pain. No one had told her otherwise until now. She lifted the cup to her mouth and lowered it again untouched.

“Who?” she whispered. “Who was fighting?”

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