Page 61 of Rebellion's Fire

Everyone, including the king, had known that when they waved William off with gifts of extra armor and weapons. They’d pinned their hopes—last-gasp hopes—on Christian winning over her own people. Even Christian had understood that when they’d set out.

But it had always been a doomed adventure. The people of Tirebeck might fight for her against the King of Scots, Fergus of Galloway, or any invader she could imagine. But they would never lift a finger against the MacHeths.

“Do you really see an end to this?” she asked. “Do you really believe you can harry the king into releasing your father?”

“Yes. One way or another.”

“Is that hope or foresight?”

“Both.”

She wanted to ask him about the future of Tirebeck, the people there, and William. But words never came. Perhaps she didn’t really want the answer. Perhaps it seemed like…cheating. She gazed silently into the flames, controlled and safe, and yet in constant motion, consuming, dying, being reborn. She could almost imagine tiny people dancing there. Perhaps that was all foresight was: imagination.

History, now, she could ask him about that, although perhaps it was equally open to interpretation.

“Do you know why my parents left Tirebeck?”

He was probably asleep. Part of her hoped he was. The fire, the abduction, the casual recue, all seemed curiously unreal. There was only the fresh, stinging air on her face, the warmth from the crackling fire and the blankets in which she huddled. And Adam MacHeth’s even breathing at her feet.

A faint movement disturbed her feet, as if he’d stirred. “Rhuadri, your father, never left Tirebeck.”

She frowned. “No, that isn’t right. I remember him being there on the journey…”

“Do you? You were three years old.”

She opened her mouth to say she remembered perfectly, but the memories she carried were already flashing in front of her mind, and her father’s face was hazy. Not in Tirebeck, she could remember him there, big and smiling, lifting her high. And angry, he’d been angry, too, though not with her. She could see his distinctive face in those memories, bright blue eyes, a shock of thick blond hair, and a mouth with a slow, curving smile.

She couldn’t see these things on the journey. It had all been too confused, but he’d been there. She knew he had, though her mother had never said.

A hall, so like the one that had so nearly burned down tonight, in flames as she’d ridden away in her father’s arms, the smell of smoke still burning her nostrils.

“He was there,” she repeated.

Adam shifted position again. “He can’t have been. Rhuadri died in the fire. You and your mother escaped to the south.”

Startlingly, he spoke almost directly above her. She jerked her head around to see him sitting up, gazing down into her face. Something twisted in her stomach and dived lower. Worryingly, she didn’t recognize it as fear.

“Then why do I remember him on the journey?”

Adam shrugged. “Because you wanted him there. And there was a man with you, taking care of you and your mother.”

“A servant?” she wondered.

Adam was silent a moment longer. “Ranulf.”

“Oh no. We met Ranulf later. I remember…” What did she remember? A tall soldier coming to their home, her mother’s happy welcome. Not a first meeting, a reunion. Things, a few things, began to make sense. “He was a good man,” she said, staring up into Adam’s unfathomable eyes. “Since I’ve come home, several people have told me that about my father. No one says anything about my mother. She left him, didn’t she? She took me. And went with Ranulf.”

Her breath caught. “Oh no.” Without thinking, she grabbed Adam’s wrist. “Please tell me Ranulf didn’t burn the hall…” She couldn’t believe such a thing. Ranulf had been good to her in his distant way, and in her own way, she loved her stepfather, even after he’d given her to William.

She could almost imagine flames in Adam’s eyes. Her head was full of fires.

He said, “I told you. Rhuadri burned his own hall.”

Her lips fell apart. There seemed to be nothing she could do about that. Adam’s gaze followed them.

“Why would he do that?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “And there’s no point in guessing.”

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