Page 24 of A Constant Blaze

Adam halted at last at the head of Malcolm’s horse, and slowly, almost reluctantly, brought his strange, unquiet gaze to his father.

The men on foot were catching up by then, but one could still have heard a pin hit the ground amongst that group of normally boisterous, noisy soldiers. Or so it seemed to Malcolm until he realized rain clattered against steel helmets and shields, and the wind gusted and growled around them while he stared at his son.

It came to him quite suddenly that he didn’t care if Adam was mad or strange or not. Who loved him or not. He was his son, his blood.

Malcolm’s breast heaved as he stared at his son. Involuntarily, his hand lifted from the reins, reaching, and Adam seized it in silence, pressing his lips to his father’s knuckles. Almost in wonder, Malcolm touched the bent head with his free hand, stroking, clutching the wet hair in his fingers.

And still, no one seemed to breathe, until Adam flung back his head, his smile dazzling.

“Thatis how I saw it,” he said, and under his father’s still-fascinated gaze, he turned his head and raised his voice. “Malcolm mac Aed is returned! The Earl of Ross is coming home!”

And the cheer broke and soared so loudly, they might have heard it from Edinburgh to Perth. The men surged forward, surrounding Malcolm, acclaiming him, as if he were some legend reborn that many had never expected to see again.

The Malcolm they’d taken to prison over twenty years ago would have rejoiced in this display. Now, he’d no idea what to do with it.

Of course, it wasn’t all for him; it was because at last the MacHeths were reunited. Or nearly so. In Ross, Halla and Gormflaith must have been waiting with desperation to know if the plan had succeeded.

His gut twisted with longing and something else he had no name for. Shaking it off, he found himself beside Mairead.

“It seems this cause is won,” he said. “Thanks to you. What will you do now?”

“Go to Kingowan and search for another,” Mairead said lightly.

She wore women’s clothes again, but for the first time since he’d known her, she looked tired. The droop of her shoulders seemed just a little hopeless.

Was that his fault, too? “I hope you find it,” he said gently.

Mairead smiled, straightening her shoulders, but whatever amusing retort she was about to make remained unspoken as Adam suddenly materialized between them, his hand on Christian’s bridle, although his head turned toward Mairead.

“My thanks,” he said, “to the cleverest baggage in Scotland.”

Mairead laughed. It almost sounded like relief, as if Adam had given her the path she needed. “If I didn’t love you, Adam mac Malcolm, I’d kill you.”

It caused Malcolm a twinge. Not quite jealousy, because it was clearly an old joke between them rather than a declaration to rile Adam’s wife. But he envied them the banter, an art he’d never lost in prison and yet which eluded him in his first days of freedom. It almost felt as if he’d left his true self in those clothes they’d bundled up in the bed to look like Donald.

Mairead’s gaze flickered to Christian, and she nodded in what looked like farewell before she pulled on the reins to turn her horse.

At last, Adam looked up at Christian.

His eyes searched her face, almost devouring her. Then, uncaring of who saw, he bent his head and laid his cheek on her thigh. As she stroked his soaked hair and his dripping face, they might have been quite alone. Rain glistened on Adam’s eyelashes.

“Shall we go home?” he said huskily.

“Yes, my love,” Christian answered. “Let us go home.”

Which was when Malcolm knew for certain that he couldn’t.

Chapter Seven

Halla had spentover twenty years waiting. Why should the last couple of weeks have been so hard?

Perhaps because she had less to do, with nearly all the men being away with Adam. Of her children, only Gormflaith remained at Brecka, and all she could speak about was her father and the plan to bring both him and Donald home. And it seemed Halla had ruled his country too well. There was little more to do than the everyday demands to ensure the proper running of farms, markets, dairies, and tribute; little thought was required to care for the people as she always had, to administer the justice that had become second nature.

Wherever she went, journeying between her halls around Ross, even visiting Bishop Symeon in Rosemarkie, everyone knew that the earl was returning, and their excitement infected whatever calm she had achieved. She just had to live with the constant knot in her stomach, the constant fear that Donald would be left behind, that the plan would go awry and she’d lose both of them. Perhaps even Cairistiona would be imprisoned, and Adam would never forgive her.

Or everything might work. In a couple of weeks, in one week, a few days, tomorrow, they might all be home. Malcolm MacHeth might be home.

Sometimes, the thought made her heart drum like a young girl’s about to receive her first kiss, drowning even her fear for Donald. And so, she returned to Brecka in a state of veiled panic, knowing in her heart it would be the first place they would come. It was where she had first been brought as a bride, the place she now regarded as home.

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