Page 92 of Rebellion's Fire

She reached up and smoothed his hair, smiling a little ruefully.

“What?” he asked. “Do I look as if I’ve just tumbled my wife?”

She blushed and laughed and pushed him toward the door. But as she waited a discreet length of time to join the party, his words echoed in her mind.“My wife.”

She was Adam MacHeth’swife. Daughter-in-law to the prisoner of Roxburgh.

If her loyalties had been divided before between her people and her king, how much more complicated were they now?

Chapter Twenty-Three

The king’s courtwas in Edinburgh when news of the latest MacHeth raid reached it. Fergus of Galloway was enjoying a convivial evening there with several high-ranking earls who opined gloomily that it would be Perth itself that attracted MacHeth attention soon. Coastal attacks and northern raids would not be enough for them if something wasn’t done.

“Don’t run me through here,” Fergus said with only partially pretended caution, “but couldn’t the problem be solved by simply releasing Malcolm MacHeth? He’s been captive for twenty years. There can’t be much fight left in him.”

“There’s plenty left in his sons,” Ferchar of Strathearn said dryly.

“You don’t think they’d stop if their father was freed?”

“When they openly want the downfall of the king and the crown for themselves? No, I don’t! And if I were you,” the earl added, scowling at Fergus over his cup, “I’d stop suggesting such a course. It could be construed as treason.”

Fergus wasn’t often surprised, but the last word gave him an unpleasant jolt. “Treason?” he repeated. “I’m only discussing options to prevent any more such depredations by Malcolm MacHeth’s sons!”

He saw the look exchanged between several of them and had to fight to maintain his expression of, he hoped, slightly amused surprise.

“There are rumors,” Strathearn said, “that you are not long returned from Ross.”

Fergus laughed. “You can’t rule a country based on rumor,” he said with just a hint of contempt. “Anyhow, what of Ross? How fares this knight of the king’s and his Ross-born lady?”

“The MacHeths seem to have acknowledged the lady’s right, for they don’t appear to have objected to his presence. On the other hand, I haven’t heard he’s taken anything from them either, and he clearly hasn’t killed the troublesome sons.”

Fergus nodded consideringly, as if this was news to him, and moved on to other subjects.

The next morning, it clearly behooved him to visit the king himself in private, which he managed by a request to discuss urgent affairs in Galloway. Since he’d never acknowledged the king’s right to interfere in Galloway, he was sure this would produce the audience he wanted, whatever the rumors about himself and Ross—and it did.

On his way through the castle’s massive halls, he contrived to run into the lady Mairead.

“More beautiful every time I see you,” he exclaimed, kissing her hand. “Tell me, do you still have occasion to visit Roxburgh?”

Although she smiled, her eyes grew wary. “When the court does. And of course, it has a bustling market. You might be interested in the French wine we found there.”

“I might have tasted it,” Fergus said. “And I believe we may have a mutual friend in the town.”

She widened her eyes but didn’t back down. “Oh? Who would that be?”

He leaned forward slightly, smiling. An observer—and there were a few—probably imagined he was flirting. “How is he after twenty years? Still angry and bellicose?”

“I don’t recognize your description.”

She’d been a child when Malcolm MacHeth had been taken. “I expect he’s mellowed,” Fergus suggested.

Mairead blinked, as if this was very far from the Malcolm MacHeth she knew. A pity, but at least Fergus was aware of what he had to work with.

He smiled again and passed on, sure that Mairead wouldn’t repeat his questions to anyone for fear of Fergus revealing what he knew of her visits to Malcolm MacHeth in Roxburgh.

The king received him in his private room, and in the circumstances, Fergus decided to get straight to the point. He didn’t particularly like what he was about to do, but he could not have his loyalty doubted or his plans thwarted at this stage. There had to be sacrifice, but it wouldn’t be him. And the MacHethshadfoiled his plans to bring Malcolm Canmore’s great-great-granddaughter into his family. Whatever the polite fictions Fergus had gone along with, he knew.

“Forgive my half-truth, Your Grace,” Fergus said at once. “I’m naturally happy to discuss Galloway with you at any time, but my true reason for this private audience is one that requires rather more discretion.”

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