Page 40 of Rebellion's Fire

Christian stood wherehe’d left her, just to one side of the door. She seemed unable to move, apart from to close one hand over her heart as if she could slow down its beating.

There were no guards at the gate. He might get outside the enclosure before the shout went up from the castle. But the more she strained her ears, the less she seemed to hear. No footsteps. No shouts. No clattering of horses’ hooves across the yard.

How could he—they, for surely Cailean was with him—not be seen from the castle? From the tower, you could see all over Tirebeck, right down to the sea. There was no way anyone could reach the cover of the forest or the hills without being observed.

Surely the men on watch couldn’t be asleep? William commanded a much more efficient force than that. Distracted? She’d heard voices, faint, without urgency or threat, when she’d opened her door, but surely none of the Tirebeck people could hold the guards’ attention as long as this without raising suspicion?

With every beat of her heart, they could be farther away. Or an instant closer to recapture. And anyone caught aiding them…

I’m aiding them. By keeping silent, I’m aiding them. Have I picked my side in this war?

No, she was still picking her way between, trying to keep Tirebeck safe and her loyalty to the king intact. But something still kept her rooted where she stood. Guilt. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the wall.

She’d never undressed for bed since leaving the hall, merely paced her own tiny house, mulling over what should be done about Adam MacHeth’s presence here. Anxiety for his health, fear of discovery, guilt over her own silence, and divided loyalties all seemed to take second place to a kind of delighted excitement. As if she liked the danger. Or this unexpected new reunion with her erstwhile captor.

Adam MacHeth was like no other man she’d ever encountered; he was strange, unpredictable, and she couldn’t help liking that. And his odd, almost expressionless humor. And his rare, elusive smile. But these were not reasons to let him kiss her…

She slid her hand higher from her breast and touched her lips. He followed his instincts, did Adam MacHeth, not convention. So, he’d kissed her in the dark.

Of course, he had kissed her in the light, once, but that had been to conceal her identity, hadn’t it?

Her danger here was dwelling on the trivial and forgetting the surrounding importance. Adam MacHeth was escaping. She’d been about to help him do it when she’d discovered, by being bundled back inside her house, that he’d already done it for himself. With, she was sure, the aid of her people. And with or without their aid, he seemed to be succeeding.

All Christian could do now was retire to bed and wait for others to discover the escape.

She would never be Lady of Tirebeck while the MacHeths lived. That Adam was fueled only by opium right now and just as likely as not to die by morning did not make her feel better.

*

Henry woke beforedawn, very conscious that with their MacHeth prisoner, the watch had to be fresh. Rank provided him with the sleeping space of his choice, close to the fire and with an illusion of privacy provided by the main table. He sat up and lit the lamp he kept by him for the purpose. He hated tripping over bodies in the dark—especially bodies which swore at him without realizing who he was. Rising, shivering, he made his way to the man nominated for the next watch and shook him.

“Thomas. It’s your watch.”

The soldier groaned but hauled himself upright, rubbing his eyes. The glow from the lamp spread over his erstwhile pillow, a rather luxuriant, if muddy, fur-lined cloak.

“Found it in the forest,” Thomas said sheepishly. “Must be the prisoner’s. Can I keep it?”

Henry shrugged. “You found it.” He was about to stand and return to his own space to pack up his things when the lamp caught a glint amid the cloak’s fabric. Henry blinked, then paused, frowning, and reached down to touch the brooch which had been used as a fastening. Rather fine for a man of Cailean’s standing, it must have been a gift from his lord, for it had an ornate letter “A” picked out in inlaid gemstones.

“A” for Aed, the ancestor for whom they were named. There was, Henry had discovered, some prophecy about him that lent mystical support to the MacHeths’ claims to the Scottish throne. Or it could be “A” for Adam.

Something tugged at his memory, twisting his stomach.

“He wasn’t wearing a cloak,” Henry said.

Thomas stared at him. “Well, it’s not the servant’s!”

Henry closed his eyes in the effort of memory. “When the servant cut Cailean’s bonds, what was he wearing?”

“I didn’t see. It happened so fast…”

“I think we’ve been duped,” Henry said grimly. “Get a bucket of water and throw it over the servant. We’ll ask the lady to identify him with his mud scraped off.” He stood, holding the lamp high to the annoyance of several sleeping soldiers, and gazed over the recumbent forms to the two at the back, a huddle of chains and blankets.

If the servant really was Adam MacHeth, then an attack was surely inevitable. The men had to be roused. As Thomas scuttled off to the well, Henry went directly to the prisoners. If he just heard the man talk, he’d know…

If the mancouldtalk. There had been copious amounts of blood, and although he’d carried Cailean on his back, everyone had known his wounds were severe, much more so than Cailean’s. No one had cared much because he was only a servant. But if hedied…

At least the lady, in her kindness, had tended the servant’s wounds, too, though even she hadn’t seen through the mud and blood and silence to her erstwhile captor.Ifit was he.

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