Page 27 of A Constant Blaze

Mairead sighed with relief, then struggled to sit up. She felt dizzy still and held on to Grizel. “What is he accusing me of? Adultery? Treason?”

“Just disobedience,” Grizel said anxiously. “So far. But he asked me about you…and other men.”

“What did you say?”

“That I’d never seen nor suspected any man save himself in your bedchamber. Nor known you to visit any man.”

It was as well she never took Grizel with her when she did so. When she’d visited Malcolm in Roxburgh, Grizel and the men-at-arms always left with her publicly and were abandoned somewhere discreet until she was ready to rejoin her husband or the king’s court.

“He knows, though, doesn’t he?” Mairead said. The question was rhetorical.

“He knows there must be some purpose to your disobedience,” Grizel admitted with a nervous blink. “I could not tell him what.”

“I think I might like to go back to the Isles,” Mairead said dreamily.

Grizel’s jaw dropped. “And leave your lord?”

Mairead looked at her. “I have not always been honest with my lord, and for that, though I’ve done him no ill, I always felt I owed him something. It was why I came back against my own and John’s better judgment.”

“And now?” Grizel asked with foreboding.

“He struck me,” Mairead said again. No doubt it was his right as seen by most men and most women, too. Even by the law. But Mairead had always seen things differently.

“It makes no difference,” Grizel said, sighing heavily. “We are locked in here.”

*

As if shehad reverted to childhood, Gormflaith held tight onto Halla’s hand as they walked out of the hall and into the yard, which was already lined with house guards and servants. The whole household had turned out to welcome the earl home. Halla had no doubt that their path had been followed and cheered for miles.

The big gates stood open, ready to receive as many of the host as could fit within the stockade. Arrangements could easily be made for the rest.

From the hiss in Gormflaith’s breath, Halla realized she was squeezing her hand and deliberately eased her grip. Neither of them said anything, nor did either of them let go. In normal circumstances, Halla would not have allowed such a visible sign of dependence, of weakness.

Adam and Donald rode through the gates first, slowing to a trot.

“Thank God,” Halla whispered. “Thank God.”

A huge cheer went up from the Brecka people. Anxiously, Halla scanned her sons for signs of injury, but tall and straight, neither showed any of the signs she’d learned to look for. No tightness of lips, or fixed smiles, no stiffness or covering each other’s weaknesses from the men. If Fergus or the king had hurt Donald, then he’d healed.

As riders surged in behind, Halla couldn’t bring herself to look. She was vaguely aware of Cairistiona, of her Norman bodyguards, of Findlaech, and other well-known and trusted officers. No one else leapt out. No tall, dark figure who rode with such strength and grace he seemed to be part of the horse. But of course, he could be grey now, and ill or lame…

Forcing herself, she walked forward on shaking legs, just as she’d done at their wedding. But it was Donald who fell into her view, Donald whom she hugged convulsively.

“You are well?” she whispered. “Unharmed?”

“Just angry with myself.”

She drew back, searching his face. “Well, there, it worked out for the best, didn’t it?” Her eyes slid over Adam, who was kissing her hand to avoid looking at her and then at last upward and deliberately over the mounted men.

No. Oh no.

Her throat constricted. Her ears began to sing. “Where is he?”Not dead. Not dead after all this…

Donald cleared his throat. “My father says he will be home very soon.”

“Then he came with you? He is free?” Halla said, uncomprehending.

“He came with us into Ross,” Donald said awkwardly. “He begs your forgiveness, but I think he needs…he needs time.”

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