Page 30 of Rebellion's Fire

Cailean wasn’t quite sure what to make of that either, but before he could ask for confirmation, something moved at the top of the wooden structure, distracting his attention. The man-at-arms stepped back from the opening, and a veiled woman took his place. Veiled and covered on one side of her face.

“It’s the lady,” Cailean said.

Adam didn’t reply, but then his eyes were at least as good as Cailean’s.

She divided her attention between the view and something inside that might have been at her feet. She seemed to laugh, causing an unexpected wish in Cailean to see the effect close up. He’d only seen her determined not to be frightened, her fine half face stiff with a different kind of mask.

She bent and lifted a child in her arms so that he could see over the wooden rampart. The boy crowed with delight. He was Loegaire and Eua’s son, but clearly the lady had a kindness for him. She set him down, let him run out of sight, presumably to one of the three other sides of the tower.

Something in the lady’s tolerant smile as she turned away to follow him reminded Cailean of his own childhood, his own mother who’d died giving birth to his youngest sister. Memory tugged at his heart, half pleasure, half pain. The lady would have made a good mother.

“She has no children of her own,” he said aloud.

“She will do,” Adam said, his voice still vague.

When Cailean glanced at him, the lord’s eyes were glazed in that disconcerting way that made Cailean wonder if anyone was at home behind them. Or if so, who.

He shivered. “She said she was barren.”

Adam blinked, dragged one hand through his hair, and turned away. “She also said Lanson would give nothing to get her back.”

“Lanson doesn’t lie with her,” Cailean volunteered, catching up with Adam as he strode through the wood back the way they’d come. “He lies with one of her women.”

“Who has no children either.” Adam swiped his hand across his forehead and nose, scattering the raindrops which had gathered there. “You’ll be wanting to get home to your people.”

Cailean blinked, forcing himself to catch up with the change of subject. For a while, he’d agonized that being left here to observe was merely to get him out of the way with an unimportant task. But Adam had come twice in person to hear what he’d learned, and in between those visits, there had been messengers. And now Cailean was reluctant to give up his post. “I’d rather be here when the action starts.”

Adam cast him a quick sardonic smile. “We won’t leave you out. I’ll send one of the men to relieve you, probably by tomorrow morning. It’s not a punishment. Thought you might prefer to join an attack on some royal demesnes—double-pronged, from land and sea.”

Cailean flushed. His greatest fear had been that he wouldn’t be considered a worthy enough captain, that the young lords would want a more experienced man in this position when the action began. He never doubted that when the time came, they would take back Tirebeck. But his heart swelled with pride that Adam wanted him in the coming action first.

Considering all the doubts and sheer bafflement that suffused his feelings about Adam, he couldn’t quite understand his desire to strive and succeed for him, personally. Not any more for the MacHeths in general or the legendary earl, or the Lady of Ross, or even the woolly concepts of fame or justice. For Adam, who barely noticed his existence beyond the intelligence he could provide.

Or so he’d thought until this moment.

Adam gave a low whistle, and there came a responsive whinny from his horse, who seemed to behave much like a dog with his master. In a moment, the big grey came trotting through the trees, and Adam caught the reins before swinging up into the saddle, enviably quick and agile, and rode off without a further word or even a backward glance.

The normal courtesies of greeting and farewell simply passed by Adam MacHeth. He arrived, said or did what he came for, and departed. None of the men took it amiss or even seemed to notice. Maybe that was why it had become Cailean’s ambition to make the young lord notice him above the others, even with one word.

It might even have been why he made the unforgivable mistake of walking out of the wood at the foot of the hill, lost in thought—and straight into one of Lanson’s mounted patrols.

Clear of the trees and the large dollops of water they occasionally released onto his head and shoulders, he shook himself like a dog before he glanced up, and only then saw the column of armored men coming straight for him.

There was nothing for it but to keep walking as if he had every right to be there. At least he wasn’t wearing a cloak. To blend in, he’d wrapped himself in a rough wool shawl borrowed from the shepherd. Now, he kept his head turned away, veering to the right to avoid the soldiers in as natural a way as he could manage. He might even have got away with it, for the sword on his back wouldn’t have been visible to them until they rode past and then happened to glance back, which they were surely unlikely to do for so unimportant and solitary a figure.

Only, as bad luck would have it, the knight at the head of the troop was the same captain who’d commanded Cairistiona’s escort when they’d taken her.

“Wait, there!” the man shouted in English.

Pretending not to understand, Cailean kept walking, his heart thudding. He could brazen this out, he could… But a word from the knight brought two mounted soldiers into his path, and he looked up, trying to appear both surprised and vacant.

And then the knight himself was there, staring down at him.

Perhaps it was inevitable that the knight’s failure in letting his lady be taken had burned the faces of each of his attackers on his memory. But it was damned bad luck.

“I know you,” the knight said grimly.

Cailean leapt backward, reaching for his sword, but the sound of it scraping from its scabbard already screeched in his ears. The knight had seen it and seized it as he moved. With his left hand, Cailean grabbed for the dagger at his belt.

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