Page 34 of Rebellion's Fire

Adam wasn’t sure it was pity, but something roiled in his stomach, intense and bitter, at the thought of her with such a man. At least it concentrated his mind.

*

Word of hispresence at Tirebeck would be all over Ross by morning. The servants who set up the tables in the hall for dinner, most of them local, knew he was there. They cast him long, surreptitious glances, and one maid even brought them a flagon of water under his guard’s nose. The guard didn’t care, so long as they stayed sitting down and chained. Eua, who supervised the setting of the tables, looked worried.

By nightfall, Donald would be mounting a rescue. He’d be here, probably, by first light. Adam doubted he’d even try to buy Lanson off—capturing MacHeths had become far too frequent a pastime.

Perhaps it was time to retake Tirebeck. It would, probably, bring the royal army at last, but Donald mac William in Moray was offering at least passive support, and Fergus, the powerful Lord of Galloway, had expressed veiled interest in talking. With Fergus threatening in the south and Somerled at least hostile in the west, in their own country the MacAeds could surely win a good enough position to negotiate…

On the other hand, Somerled wasn’t yet sure of the Isle of Man, and Fergus of Galloway was hardly a certainty. Adam preferred to stick with the original plan and lose as few men as possible until it was necessary. Which meant getting out of here before Donald arrived at dawn.

The hall door slammed open to admit Lanson once more. He ignored his prisoners beyond a smirk in their direction as he strode through the tables and servants to the back of the hall from where a door led, presumably to his bedchamber. A little later, a woman entered the hall—the fair, pretty thing who’d tried to tell Cairistiona what to do when Adam had first captured them. Now, as then, she was dressed, so it seemed to Adam’s perceptive gaze, in a finer gown than her lady’s. The ribbons in her golden fair hair were shimmering silk. She flitted along the length of the hall and disappeared into Lanson’s bedchamber.

“Blatant,” Cailean observed with contempt. “His lady is due more respect than that. The man is a pig.”

Adam stirred and swallowed a wince. “Pigs are loyal creatures. Tell them we need to piss.”

Obediently, Cailean called the message out in French to their new, more careful guard.

“Be my guest,” the guard invited.

“Outside,” Cailean said. “The chain doesn’t stretch.”

The man grinned. “Neither it does.”

Cailean swore at him in Gaelic. Adam merely heaved himself to his feet. They’d had the same argument before and lost, but right now, he only wanted the excuse to stand up. The table at the head of the hall was set for four, but despite the gathering household, including Cairistiona’s other women, there was no sign of the lady. At least she wasn’t obliged to see her woman go in and out of her husband’s chamber. He wondered how much it hurt her. Or if it relieved her to have his attentions elsewhere.

“I have little value as a wife.”She ignored it, he guessed, never appeared to see it, never deigned to comment or even scold. But it had hurt her to speak the words to him. It had taken the last of her pride.

He turned his back on the company, although he had neither the need nor the intention of relieving himself. But no one else came through the hall door. Instead, the door at the other end opened. Adam turned in time to see Lanson and the woman emerge from the private chamber and take their seats side by side at the high table.

“Begin!” Lanson roared impatiently.

“Sir, the lady is not yet arrived,” Henry pointed out into the sudden silence.

“Then we’ll begin without her.”

From her seat with the other women, Eua waved the servants to bring in the meal. From the tight set of her lips, she didn’t approve either. Which was also interesting. As he’d guessed from their brief conversation in Rosemarkie, Eua had taken sides among her enemies.

From what Adam could make out, the food was plentiful enough, but not overly luxurious. There was ample bread and fish, and poultry with spring vegetables.

Beside him, Cailean’s stomach rumbled. “Do you suppose they’ll give us any?”

“Unlikely,” Adam replied. Although he wasn’t hungry, he needed food for strength. And Cailean, still growing, must have been ravenous.

The hall door swung open, and someone swept inside.

Adam’s gaze stuck to her. Cairistiona. Wearing a gray cloak spattered with mud. Clearly, she’d been out somewhere on the land. Every face in the hall turned toward her. Talk fell away to a murmur. Cairistiona’s feet faltered, then almost immediately carried on, making her way through the tables without looking to right or left.

Henry pushed back his chair and stood, glaring at the men-at-arms until they also stood.

“Please. Sit,” Cairistiona said clearly. Her head was high. As she allowed Henry to take her cloak and took her seat between him and Lanson, there was no sign that she perceived any insult. Her husband ignored her. Talk started up again.

As Henry civilly passed her food—what was left on the serving plates—Adam continued to watch her half-masked face. She looked serene. And yet she held her body as stiffly as she had in the beginning of their first encounter when she was afraid of him. But not later and not in Rosemarkie. She’d been more comfortable with strangers, abductors, and outlaws than here in her own hall.

No wonder. This was her daily torture, her ritual humiliation, taking second place to her attendant. How long had it been like this for her? Women were forced to suffer in ways men never even thought of.

His gut twisted. A woman already humiliated and belittled was unlikely to have enjoyed the added insult of a stranger’s rough embrace, and yet he’d put her through that, too. There had been no need. He’d just wanted to kiss her. Had wanted it since he’d held her before him in his saddle and dreamed. Maybe before that when he’d first seen her half face held together with determination and desperate humor. Her taste still seemed to linger on his lips. Like the wine…

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