Page 80 of Rebellion's Fire

Adam went down under him, still clutching his sword. Lanson pushed himself up, straddling Adam’s hips.

Adam said, “I’m going to marry her and give her children, heirs to my father.”

Lanson, sword raised for the kill, paused and stared into his eyes, wondering, perhaps, where the words came from. Adam couldn’t blame him for that. Even he wasn’t sure whether he was taunting or prophesying. Taunting, surely, for it was Donald who would marry her. And yet the mists were falling over his eyes, inconvenient as ever, superimposing confused dream images over the reality of the present, which was Lanson about to kill him.

He struggled to see Lanson’s face, Lanson’s sword, for the other battles raging across his vision. Almost worse was the little voice in his ear wondering what it would be like if he did marry her, if he took the dreams of her as his own and made her his and not Donald’s. Desire, even love, had nothing to do with marriage arrangements. He’d kept her for Donald, but Donald would never have her if he gave in to the dream and let Lanson kill him.

He flexed his fingers, grasping the hilt of his sword tighter, peering desperately through the swirling images, which only grew stronger. He couldn’t even see Lanson’s sword anymore for the face that stood out in his dream. Lanson’s face.

Someone was roaring. Dream or reality, he neither knew nor cared. With a mighty effort, he threw himself forward, sweeping up his sword in a powerful arc across the throat of his dream attacker. Something spattered on his face. The weight on his hips shifted and the mists cleared to show him his own bloodstained legs. Across one lay the headless corpse of William de Lanson.

Adam stopped roaring.

Someone, Findlaech, stood in front of him, holding up Lanson’s head, yelling out the victory. Then Donald was there, grinning, pulling him to his feet.

“Overdramatic but well done. Did you have to give us such a fright first?”

“Apparently,” Adam managed. “Is it over?”

“It’s over.”

Adam dragged his bloody left hand across his face. “She left the hall. She got to Lanson, tried to stop the battle, and now she’s on her way to Tirebeck. You have to find her.”

Donald glanced around him, then grasped Adam’s shoulder as he began to walk off in the direction of the horses. “Adam.Youhave to find her.”

Adam stared back at him, struggling to put the images and the feelings into words. “She’s…important.”

“I know,” Donald said, too gently. He wasn’t understanding.

“To the family,” Adam said urgently. “To the people. To happiness. Her birth makes her yours.”

Donald pushed at his shoulder, giving him a shake that hurt his wounded arm but kept his attention. “Adam. Forget your calculations for once. She was always foryou. She’s your obsession. Everyone can see that. And besides, much as I love you and much as I admire your spirited lady, you don’t get to choose my marriage alliances. I’ll wait for our father’s release.”

Adam felt his breath catch. The visions were never written in stone. They were of possible futures, sometimes even of possible pasts that had never happened. In recent years, he’d imagined he could tell the difference, which was why he followed his head in this matter and worked toward Cairistiona’s marriage to Donald, their father’s heir.

But his head had never been clear around Cairistiona. Part of him was afraid of that, of being lost in her. Had there not been just a hint of relief amidst the pain in his heart when he’d decided Donald should be her husband?

It needn’t be that way. He, Adam, could try for that happiness. As it had been in the dreams, which just maybe he shouldn’t have discounted… He closed his eyes. He wanted this too much and wasn’t even sure why.

“Find her,” Donald said, releasing his shoulder at last. “I’ll take the news home.”

Adam dragged his eyes open again. “I killed him so she wouldn’t blame you.”

“I know. To a woman like her, it’s an obstacle, but not insurmountable. For you.”

Adam let out a long, shuddering breath. With it, a deluge of tensions and anxieties seemed to break.

“Send Findlaech with the prisoners who’re able,” he said and walked away, whistling for his horse. His thigh hurt, making it hard not to limp, but his head, at last, was clear.

*

Christian heard thenoise of the battle with despair. The MacHeths had been right. She couldn’t halt this. When men truly wanted to kill each other, no one could stop it. Her stupid fantasy of building peace and understanding between the MacHeths and the king through her presence was revealed as just that. Naive, stupid, tragic.

She halted the pony and gazed around her. She couldn’t see the fight, but she could still hear the screams and the clash of steel.

Gaston, the man Henry had sent with her, had stopped, too. He said, “Sir William never fights unless he can win.”

It was true. William was a mercenary to the core. However badly outnumbered his troops here, he could still win from the right position. A handful of mounted, armored knights could still annihilate a much larger force of infantry. They just rode them down and slaughtered them. None of this made Christian feel better. For anyone.

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