Page 91 of Rebellion's Fire

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Perhaps it washer habit of caring for sick and injured soldiers, but the moment his hand clamped around hers, she caught the fear, the vulnerability emanating from him in waves. A quick glance at him and his blank, unfocused eyes told her he was sunk in dreams, perhaps dreadful ones. Perhaps he just didn’t want to disgrace himself at his own wedding. Social fear, however trivial, was something she understood well enough. That moment accomplished what all the bishop’s noble words had failed to. The event was no longer solely about her. And Adam, splendid as she’d never seen him in silk and gold, was holding on to her for strength.

Pure instinct caused her to grip his hand. “Stay,” she breathed, “Stay with me.” She didn’t even think, until later, of the possible misconstruction of her words. She just meant stay in the here and now. Didn’t she?

She said, “I will” mainly to get it over with. Adam wobbled on his feet, his arm pushing against her shoulder. Somehow, she stayed upright and so did he, but worryingly, each time she glanced at him, his eyes remained wild and unfocused. His breath came quick and short, though somehow, he made his responses, and she even fumbled with his hand to help him place the ring of roped gold on her finger.

Dear God, what am I doing?

Perhaps deliberately, Symeon cut his words as far as possible. When it came to the embrace, Adam barely touched her mouth, his cold lips mumbling something that sounded like “Lie down.”

His family knew. She saw it in the lady’s eyes, in Gormflaith and Donald’s, in their tense posture. She looked no further, just exchanged one glance with the Lady of Ross, who embraced them both and pushed them toward the bedchamber before turning to bid everyone sit for the wedding feast.

The fact that their hands and arms were still entwined as they covered the short distance to the bedchamber probably looked more amorous than anything else. She understood his need, his family’s need, to hide his weakness.

She opened the door, pulling him inside and kicking it shut much as he’d done yesterday, and stumbled with him to the bed. He fell with relief but still didn’t let go of her hand, and she all but fell with him, leaning over him in worry.

“Adam, what is it?” she whispered urgently. “What do I do to help?”

He dragged their joined hands to his cheek, and after a few moments, his eyes closed.

With her free hand, she felt for the pulse at his throat—galloping and warm—and touched his shoulder, his cheek. “Adam.”

“You didn’t let me fall,” he said hoarsely. His eyes opened, clear and brilliant, focusing entirely on her. “You kept me here.”

“Were you dreaming? Was it awful?”

He cupped her cheek with his free hand, staring up at her. “God, no, it was beautiful. Mostly. It just wouldn’t stop. Images, sounds, fly through me so fast I can barely see them, but you were there—all the yous that have been and will be and might be according to what we choose now. I chooseyou, Cairistiona. I always did. Not for your blood or your land or your husband’s Norman soldiers. For you. And you chose me.”

She swallowed, gazing down at him as she acknowledged the truth.

“What does it mean?” she whispered.

“That we have something rare and good.” Without releasing her gaze, he dragged their joined hands between them. “I take you, Cairistiona.”

She’d already made the vow before God, in worry and inattention. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain. And yet with the words came a huge, churning sense of stepping over the dark precipice of the unknown, that after they were spoken, her life, her world, would never be the same again.

“I take you, Adam.”

*

“What if thatkind of vision took you during battle?” Christian asked as he helped her refasten the gown he’d so recently removed. This had been no slow, coaxing loving like last night. Defenses down, she’d welcomed him openly, and they’d come together with swift almost fierce passion that burned too brilliantly to bear for long. Christian, to whom this kind of pleasure was still new and wondrous, still felt dazed as the memory of their wedding guests forced itself into her mind, and she tugged at him to make him rise and dress in haste.

Only then did she begin to think of the implications of so debilitating a dream.

He said quite casually, “If it happened in battle, I’d die.”

“But even the lesser dreams…it’s like reality slips for you, and I’m fairly sure it happens frequently. Doesn’t it happen in fights, too?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Yes. Sometimes. Findlaech watches out for me. Some of the others, too. They never talk about it, and neither do I, but I know it happens. Findlaech has saved my life many times over.”

She turned to him, pinning her veil in place with the pretty band Gormflaith had lent her. “They think a great deal of you,” she observed.

“I’m my father’s son.”

“It’s more than that. You know it is.”

His hands fell to his sides, his fingers twisting together uncomfortably. “If they follow me, and I try not to get them killed for no reason, that is enough.”

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