Page 58 of Rebellion's Fire

Cailean gazed afterthe vanishing horse and riders with, he suspected, his mouth open. “So that’s it,” he murmured.

“What is it?” Sigurd asked impatiently, looking in the same direction.

“Nothing,” Cailean said hastily.

But Sigurd wasn’t stupid. Adam rarely picked stupid people to help him. “You think he wants her for himself,” Sigurd said.

“Don’t you?”

Sigurd shrugged. “He could have Tirebeck without marrying her.”

Cailean gave a lopsided smile. “That’s the thing, my friend. I don’t think it’s about Tirebeck. I don’t know that it ever was.”

Sigurd stared back at him. “He just wantsher?”

Cailean said wryly, “There’s no ‘just’ about Adam mac Malcolm. Now shut up before Fergus comes ’round.”

*

Many things aboutthis whole adventure bothered Christian as Adam’s horse carried them off the track and into the hills. For one thing, she felt far too safe and relaxed considering whose company she was in and whose arms held her in the heaving saddle. She tried to keep her mind on the practicalities.

“Won’t Fergus suspect the others, punish them when he wakes up?” she asked.

She felt Adam shake his head. “Cailean will be tending his wound and know nothing of any girl. Honor and alliance will be preserved.”

“Oh good.”

Something brushed her hair. It might have been his mouth, smiling, but he didn’t otherwise respond.

She looked into the wind, clinging to the horse’s mane. “How did you find me?”

She wasn’t even sure that she meant to speak the words aloud, or that he’d hear her.

“Sigurd saw him take you and sent a messenger to me. He found Cailean and me already on the road in search of Fergus. We knew which way he’d come. And we know shortcuts.”

Christian didn’t understand any of this—not why Fergus had abducted her nor why Adam had put himself out to rescue her. But right now, it didn’t seem to matter. Though her head still ached, she felt warm, and, wrapped in Fergus’s blanket and the odd familiarity of Adam MacHeth’s arms, she felt suddenly very sleepy.

*

Fergus woke witha stinging pain in his head. Not the dull ache of overindulgence, but the sharp discomfort of a wound. The senses born of a lifetime of battle and difficult situations told him he wasn’t alone.

That was good. The girl should still be here. He’d no time to worry now about what had hit him. A fire had been lit close by. He could smell it, hear its crackles, feel the faint comfort of its heat. His head was pillowed on something soft—a blanket or a cloak maybe. And someone began to bathe the side of his head.

Fergus released the dagger hilt he was clutching and opened his eyes.

Not the girl.

In the light of flickering flames, he beheld the concerned face of a young man. With a struggle, he even remembered him. One of the MacHeth followers. He’d seen him in the hall, been in his company hunting and drinking. Cailean? Close by, another man stood holding two horses, Fergus’s and another.

Fergus swore under his breath. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded, throwing off the lad’s hand and sitting up.

“What girl?” Cailean asked. “What happened?”

Fergus was now in a tricky situation. He could anger his allies by admitting to stealing a woman officially under their protection. Or he could pretend she was someone else, although he was pretty sure he wouldn’t fool Cailean that way once they found her. He could kill Cailean, of course, but it would come back on him, for the lad did seem to be important to the MacHeths.

“I’m not quite sure,” Fergus said, touching the side of his head. “There was a girl beside me and then something hit me on the head…and when I woke up, you were bending over me. How come you’re here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Cailean said evenly. Clearly, he wasn’t intimidated by Fergus’s status or reputation. In other circumstances, Fergus might have admired that. Right now, it was annoying.

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