Page 74 of Rebellion's Fire

Understanding sang in Christian’s ears, drowning the merry music from the harp in the main hall.

Adam. The baby was called Adam. The Lady of Ross’s indulgence to her servant was, then, easily explained. The child was her grandson. Adam’s son.

What had she expected? That his peculiar gifts, his strangeness, made him celibate? His position alone would have made him hard to refuse, but the proud way Eithine said her child’s name spoke of nothing but adoration. Christian could understand that. What she couldn’t understand was her own reaction. Adam MacHeth, for his own reasons, had tried to forge a bond with her, a bond she refused to acknowledge now and never would.

But perhaps she’d said the name aloud, for Eithine’s smile had slipped slightly. “I thought he would be Malcolm for the earl, but Donald mac Malcolm chose Adam. He missed his brother.”

“Of course, he did,” Christian said faintly. Stupid. Adam had been with Somerled for the best part of two years. So young a baby could not have been his unless he’d brought mother and child home with him from the west. Eithine’s child was Donald’s. And why in God’s name did she care? Whatever foolish fantasy she’d been half indulging to add excitement or romance to her dullness had always been ridiculous, whatever mistresses or children he did or did not have.

“And Adam mac Malcolm guessed his name just by touching him,” Eithine informed her with pride. “He’ll have a long and happy life.”

An old woman at a Rouen fair once told me the same thing.Christian kept the sardonic thought to herself, and a moment later, Gormflaith entered and dismissed Eithine with not unaffectionate familiarity.

Eithine would never be Gormflaith’s sister, and yet she was more than a servant. Here in the north, the niceties of legitimate birth were unimportant, and Eithine’s child could well be lord here one day. But when Donald married…would Eithine become to his wife what Alys was to Christian?

No, the Lady of Ross would never allow it. For the first time, Christian began to see what her own pride had allowed. Hurt and humiliated, she’d chosen to pretend she cared less than William. She’d chosen to seize what comfort she could in privacy and allowed Alys to encroach the position that was hers. Even in Tirebeck where she’d deliberately set out to be the lady, she’d allowed Alys not to command, perhaps, but still to take her place in matters Christian thought unimportant. She should never have allowed Alys’s feet to get so far beneath her table or her sheets. It was William who should have gone elsewhere, not Christian.

Though when she returned home, she would not be in a strong position to lay down the law with William. She doubted he’d cast her aside, though. Not until he’d defeated the MacHeths.

Her stomach tightened. She needed to plan…

*

Christian assumed she’dbe far too churned up to sleep. Used now to sleeping alone in her own little loft, she was aware of every breath Gormflaith took in the pallet against the other wall. But the other woman’s presence was hardly a comfort. In fact, it would be easy to be flattened, overwhelmed by the blows of the last day.

Christian was alone in the lair of the notorious MacHeths, no matter how civilized that had turned out to be. When Gormflaith blew the candle out and the household quietened for the night, Christian could still hear his deep voice among all the others leaving the hall. Her throat constricted, but she would never weep for him.

Not while his sister lay across the room.

It was her last conscious thought before she woke to daylight breaking through the gaps in the shutter.

She sat bolt upright.Damnation.She’d meant to have risen and dressed by now, to have borrowed a horse before most of the household was abroad and be already on the road back to Tirebeck. A quick glance showed her that Gormflaith was gone from her pallet. Christian hadn’t even heard her move.

“Last up,” she muttered to herself. “Good beginning, Christian.”

She had nothing else to do but carry on with her plan. So, she leapt up, splashed water on her face, retied her mask, and, after a fruitless search for her own gown, donned the borrowed one with her veil and sallied forth to establish how quickly she could leave.

At once, she saw the lady at the big table with Adam, Donald, and several other men whose faces she knew. They all turned toward her as one, except Adam, who took a second longer.

Well, that took care of her preferred plan of slipping away unnoticed, but perhaps that had always been overoptimistic. Blatancy would have to do.

“Forgive me,” she said brightly. “I can see you are all busy. I came only to give you thanks for your kind hospitality and beg you for the loan of a horse to Tirebeck.”

There was an exchange of half-annoyed, half-amused glances in which Adam didn’t appear to participate. He straightened, gazing only at Christian.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Tirebeck is coming to you, and we can spare no horses or guides.”

Christian blinked. “Tirebeck is coming to me?” she repeated. Her blood chilled. “Oh, no.”

“Your husband misled us. He left only a few men at Tirebeck. The rest have marched on us. And found us.”

“A pity you didn’t seethiscoming,” Donald said grimly.

“Maybe it’s as good a time as any,” Adam muttered. He seemed restless, shuffling his feet as if he wanted to be off somewhere. Slaughtering her people, no doubt. “Sheis here and safe.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” Christian snapped. “And your problem is easily solved by returning me to my husband. There need be no bloodshed over a misunderstanding.”

“I believe,” the Lady of Ross murmured, “that they understand each other pretty well. It was always going to come to this. But you’re letting him choose the time, Adam. We—”

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