Page 10 of A Constant Blaze

Halla’s breath caught. “Cairistiona is right.” Without yet fully understanding, the first seeds of a new plan began to germinate and grow. “So,” she said slowly, “we mustdothe expected…to cover theunexpected. Sweyn, I need a man to send to Somerled. And another to Lady Mairead. We need to move quickly before they have time to think about this.”

“Move where?” Gormflaith demanded. “What are you doing, Mother?”

“I’m going to write your father,” Halla said, far more calmly than she felt. “To tell him hemustbe released at all costs.”

Her gaze focused on her daughter-in-law. This would need Cairistiona to make it work. No one else would be safe with the King of Scots. No one else’s word could possibly count.

“You were the Lady de Lanson,” Halla said. “You wereforciblymarried to my son but have always remained loyal to the King of Scots. I’m afraid it’s time you reported all this to His Grace, in person.”

*

As Halla formedher plan into words, it sounded more ridiculous than audacious. And yet neither Adam nor Findlaech shouted it down. Although Adam was clearly trying to think of an alternative that didn’t involve Cairistiona going to the king. But for the aftermath, for the sake of peace, the seeds only Cairistiona could sow were very necessary. It struck Halla that her son was still unsure of his wife. He might have trusted her not to betray him, but he didn’t trust her to come back. It would have been laughable if Halla hadn’t felt his pain as if it were her own.

That Adam loved Cairistiona was beyond doubt. And yet, he still seemed blind to the true extent of Cairistiona’s devotion tohim. A devotion Halla understood only too well. Perhaps the coming adventure would open his eyes to reality.

As they talked and planned and argued, the weight of decades seemed to fall away from Halla’s shoulders. Because at last, she wasdoingsomething, not just waiting. All her rigid self-discipline, the myth she had deliberately built of the Lady of Ross, was pushed aside, releasing at last the wild young girl who had first come to Ross to marry Malcolm MacHeth, the young earl.

She’d been fourteen years old when her father had bundled her into a ship with Somerled and told her she would be a great lady on the mainland of Scotland. She’d railed and fought and kicked at her brother until he’d ordered his men to take it in turns holding her still. She’d jumped over the side twice and had to be rescued by islesmen who were fast growing tired of her. And she’d wept silently after they’d landed and walked inland, because she could no longer see the sea. Even the mighty Loch Ness hadn’t made up for that. It smelled wrong.

By the time they’d reached Ross, she’d cheered up to merely sullen. But no one could resign her to her fate until she met Malcolm MacHeth.

Chapter Three

At eighteen yearsold, Malcolm, son of Aed, Earl of Ross, was already the veteran of one failed rebellion and was still in the midst of another, which had already taken the life of his older brother, Angus, the Earl of Moray. And yet Halla’s brother, Somerled, with ambitions to make himself lord of all the Isles, was clearly backing the victory of the remaining son of Aed, giving her, Halla, in marriage as proof.

To say that Halla resented being a political pawn would have been an understatement. Like many a young bride, she was afraid—only Halla would never admit to that.

Although she wouldn’t speak to Somerled, she ran wild with his islesmen, joining their archery contests, running them ragged when they were trying to protect her. To the vocal outrage of her women, she’d bundled her skirts into the trunk the men carried through the glens for her, and wore the rough wool and leather tunics of a soldier, which made walking, running, and climbing much easier.

Not that her aim had ever been to speed the journey to its end. In fact, she did her best to slow everyone down as she extracted what she knew would be her last days of fun. Even then, Halla had been a realist. She knew she would marry the young earl, but she didn’t have to like it.

And so, when the men rested at the foot of the waterfall that afternoon, she wandered away, climbing the wooded hills they’d just passed through until she could no longer see her escort. Which meant they couldn’t see her. They intended to press forward and make camp in a few hours, and tomorrow, they expected to meet with the men of Ross. Halla planned to make sure there was no further progress today.

Following the sounds of the waterfall, she jumped over a burn and climbed higher. As she climbed, she realized she could hear distant voices over the rushing of the waterfall and paused. These rocks must look down on her own escort.

If Somerled saw her up here, it might be fun to play hide-and-seek with whomever he sent to fetch her. Or it might be over too quickly. She glanced upward, and there on a ledge, she saw a man gazing downward. He seemed very still but from here, he was too well covered to make out his age or station. He could have been a farmer, a woodsman, a Ross spy. But more importantly, he hadn’t seen her.

Following her curiosity, she crept back the way she’d come for a few yards, then climbed, in order to come at him from above. Only when she could see him clearly did she draw the bow from her shoulder and thread it with an arrow, taking careful aim.

He crouched on the rocky ledge, looking down on Somerled and the men below. A quick glance showed her they were moving, preparing to leave, and looking for her, probably. Well, discovering the spy was a new variation on the adventure.

She returned her gaze to the watcher but could tell very little about him except that his hair was very black. He wore no hat or cloak, but a sword and a bow both hung across his back together with a small bundle wrapped in a blanket. He wore a belt she imagined was thick with daggers.

“Who are you?” she demanded, abruptly enough to startle him.

Only, he didn’t start. He turned his head, and she saw that he was young. He eased his position, resting his back against the rock and lazily drawing one knee up to rest his elbow on. Now she could see that he did indeed carry two daggers and a purse at his belt. He was handsome, too. Devastatingly so, if one looked too long. Raven-black hair swept back from a high forehead, dark, deep-set eyes, strangely emphasized by the thick, arching brows. Refined, even features. He might have been eighteen or nineteen years old, no more. Annoyingly, he didn’t look frightened.

“That’s a big bow,” he observed admiringly, “for such a small girl.”

“It’s a big arrow, too.”

He surveyed the weapon critically. “You hold it well. How is your aim?”

“Let’s find out,” she invited. “Where would you like me to hit you?”

“I’ve never been target practice before.”

“Maybe you’ve never been caught spying on islesmen before. Did your earl send you?”

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