Page 36 of A Constant Blaze

Sweyn and several of the house guards stood straight and alert in the yard, two of them on either side of the hall door, where they must have always been, even while she’d imagined her father to be a threatening stranger. She could tell at once that he’d already made their acquaintance, for they deliberately stared straight ahead as he walked past beside her.

Eithine was discovered sweeping out the main guesthouse while her child sat in the sunshine, playing with a tiny puppy. As her father crouched to compete with the pup for the baby’s attention, Gormflaith beckoned Eithine who, blushing and tongue-tied, could barely take her eyes off her legendary lord.

“A beautiful girl and a beautiful child,” her father remarked as he and Gormflaith strolled together around the yards and houses that made up her home.

“Eithine’s going to marry the blacksmith,” Gormflaith told him.

“But Donald is not yet married. Nor are you.”

And she was already older than her mother had been when Malcolm had been captured.

“Choices are limited,” Gormflaith said wryly. “Which of the great houses of Scotland wishes to ally with the outlawed MacHeths?”

“You may look as far and as high as you wish,” her father said.

“To Orkney?” she said quickly.

He blinked. “Harald Maddadson?”

She couldn’t help smiling at his quick understanding.

“It would be a sound alliance,” he allowed. “But why him?”

“I met him once,” she said simply.

Although she quite expected scorn or at least ridicule, her father merely searched her face and nodded as if this was perfectly reasonable.

“I heard his wife had died,” he said casually.

Gormflaith stopped in her tracks. “Really?” she said breathlessly.

He raised one eyebrow. “What an unfittingly gleeful expression.”

“I know, but I never met her, and I can’t help it. I never heard anything about her death.”

“Lots of news comes to Roxburgh. Some of my guards liked to talk.”

She suspected he’d charmed them as he was charming her. And yet it was so natural, she didn’t mind. He’d missed his feast, and yet she found she was glad to have him to herself, just for a little.

*

Malcolm had hadno idea how he would feel in Brecka, but he hadn’t expected to be comfortable. The lovely girl who was his daughter changed that. Friendly and naive, unworldly and yet wise, she was a wonderful surprise, distracting him from the changes of the decades, from the absence of Halla.

They ate together at the big oak table on the dais, with the men-at-arms and other members of the household in the main part of the hall. The atmosphere of slightly nervous awe had begun to melt into one of genuine warmth as Gormflaith encouraged their easy customs of conversation between the dais and the rest.

“Who plays the harp?” he asked as the instrument caught his eye once again. “Do you?”

“A little. Muiredach taught me.” She frowned suddenly, turning to gaze around the hall as if searching for someone. “Where is Muiredach? Sweyn, where is Muiredach?”

“He rode out with the lady,” Sweyn called back.

“Oh.” She remained still, her knife poised just above the chicken she was cutting.

For no obvious reason, Malcolm’s heart began to beat faster. “Muiredach is the harpist? Does he often travel with your mother?”

“Sometimes,” Gormflaith said. “If she’s going far, or to a feast or a wedding. But there is nothing like that. And she only took Astrid and two of the men.”

“And Muiredach.” Something twisted inside him that felt laughably like jealousy. “Tell me about him. How long has he been with you?”

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