Page 73 of Rebellion's Fire

“I remember seeing what it left behind. In part, at least.”

“Is it why my mother and I left?”

The lady hesitated. “Not exactly. Rather, I think, the fact of you leaving made your father burn the hall.”

“But I remember it happening. I saw it.”

As the harp strings sounded in a ripple of music that sent shivers up Christian’s spine, the lady gazed at her, not entirely comfortable. Then she nodded. “Yes, you rode away from the fire with your mother.”

“And my father?”

The harp swelled into melody, as sweet and soothing as the lady had requested. Christian hoped it wouldn’t make her cry.

“I suspect he was already dead,” Halla said, not ungently.

“But I think I saw him. In the flames.”

“You remember that? The servants said you ran back into the burning building to find your father. Your mother managed to drag you away just before the whole roof collapsed.”

Christian looked at the food still in front of her. “Then my father killed himself.”

“I think he did, though I’m not sure he intended to die.” Halla’s tone was oddly comforting, down-to-earth, factual, and yet not without sympathy. Over the years, she must have told many people about many losses, many tragedies. “He just couldn’t stop your mother from leaving with you. He didn’t want to when she confessed to adultery with Ranulf.”

“Tell me,” Christian said. Her voice sounded harsh to the point of rudeness, but if the lady noticed, she ignored it, merely inclined her head.

“Ranulf came to Ross to arrest my husband. I don’t know why he went to Tirebeck, for Malcolm wasn’t there. He was hiding in the hills. Perhaps Ranulf meant to force Rhuadri to give him up. I don’t know. We do know they fought, and in the turmoil, you were somehow thrown into the fire. That was when your mother rescued you and managed to stop the fight. I believe both men were horrified by what had come of their actions. So Ranulf left.

“But he came back, several months, maybe a year or more later. After Malcolm mac Aed was taken. Perhaps he’d been so smitten with your mother that he came back to win her. Maybe there had been something between them before when he’d first come. I don’t know. But when your mother decided to leave with Ranulf, your father fired the house. Nobody knows why. To be sure she never came back? Just because he was so angry? Or perhaps it was a game to make her order his rescue.

“Whatever his motive, he stayed in the burning hall while they prepared the horses. He can’t have expected you to run in to find him. Nor could your mother. When the servants could drag him out, he was dead.”

Christian swallowed carefully. It didn’t hurt as much as it might. She’d already pieced together something of the same story from the bits of memory that had come back since the fire, and from Adam’s snippets.

“Well,” she managed, her voice sounding only a little hollow to her own ears. “Thank you. Now I finally know.”

*

Pleading tiredness, Christianretired early. Gormflaith conducted her with icy civility to the door of her own chamber once more and left her to return to her place and, possibly, a family discussion about Christian’s fate.

Christian had no intention of allowing the MacHeths to decide that.

Inside the room, the same maid who’d gone to attend to the baby was making up an extra pallet. She smiled at Christian without shyness or insolence and indicated the larger bed, clearly Gormflaith’s own.

“For you,” the maid said.

Christian sat down on the bed. Since it was no part of her plan to alienate the servants, she said, “Thank you. I seem to have unwittingly disturbed the whole household.”

The girl laughed. “Bless you, lady, this household isalwaysdisturbed by something. You are a welcome guest.”

Christian watched her work for a few moments. She had to almost sit on her hands to prevent herself from rising to help.

“What is your name?” she asked at last.

“Eithine.”

“You have children?”

A huge smile swept the girl’s face. “I have a baby son. You probably heard him demanding his own dinner. Little Adam won’t feed from anyone else.”

---