Page 40 of A Constant Blaze

The harpist carried on, although the words of his song changed to a rapid catalog of sweetly sung insults. A moment later, an arrow whined through the air and landed just in front of him. The music and the voice cut abruptly. The harpist fell to the ground and for a moment was lost in the grass and brush at the side of the road.

“Oh no,” Mairead said, distressed, but then she saw the figure scramble to its feet a couple of yards away and run like a hare—a curiously effeminate hare—into the darkness. The sentries laughed, calling lewd suggestions after him until someone else, perhaps their captain, shushed them. A few moments later, a door crashed below and several men ran from the house and across the road after the insolent harpist. They’d probably catch him.

“Pity,” Mairead said, sinking down on the seat. “I liked him.”

“You have support in the community,” Grizel said warmly. “I hope the lord heard.”

“It might be better for our troubadour if my husbanddidn’thear,” Mairead said ruefully. “He hasn’t forgiven me yet.”

“Forgiven you what?” Grizel asked.

“Whatever it is he truly thinks I’ve done.”

“You do go off on your own,” Grizel pointed out. “Often. It isn’t…fitting.”

While the wind rustled the ivy on the stone wall, Mairead regarded her maid. Was she wrong about Grizel’s devotion? Was this the way Brian and Fergus and the king meant to gain her confession?

“You do know the MacHeths, don’t you?” Grizel whispered. “I saw Adam MacHeth kiss you the night he robbed us. You didn’t mind.”

“Who would?” Mairead said lightly. “Every woman should kiss Adam MacHeth at least once. Trust me, it’s an experience. He does it very well.”

The ivy leaves, or perhaps nearby trees, waved and rushed harder, blowing against the wall outside. Only there was no wind.

“How can you—” Grizel began passionately before Mairead seized her hand and squeezed, nodding at the window. Something definitely clumped against the wall. More like a boot than an ivy leaf. Then, as both women stared, it touched the shutters, too.

Mairead stood, dragging Grizel back with her. Silently, she pointed toward the corner where she’d thrown the laundry pole earlier, and as Grizel hurried across to fetch it, Mairead reached for the nearest heavy object, which happened to be the lamp they’d never got around to dousing.

They were safety measures because Mairead liked to be careful when she could. But in fact, whoever was releasing the shutters was likely to be a friend. Even if it was her husband’s men, which was the likeliest scenario. It was just like him to have her released when he imagined she was asleep, and tomorrow he would pretend he’d never held her captive at all. And she would play the game as he wished. For now, at least.

But just in case he’d decided to have her murdered instead…

The shutters opened, one at a time, and someone catapulted himself headfirst through the window. The man fell onto the window seat, already trying to right himself as he bumped onto the floor.

In the glow of Mairead’s lamp, an extraordinarily handsome man sat on the floor and gazed up at her. His eyes were a bright, clear blue, his face lean and almost ascetic, the fine bones of his forehead and jaw emphasized by the light and shadow surrounding him. No one she’d ever seen before. There was no way to tell if he was a friend or foe.

He gazed at her, unmoving, for several seconds before dragging his eyes free with what looked like considerable effort and taking in the figure of Grizel in her shift, laundry pole still held high and threatening.

He looked back at Mairead. “Greetings,” he said mildly.

“Who in God’s name are you?” Mairead asked, lowering neither guard nor lamp.

“Muiredach.”

“Just Muiredach?”

“I don’t imagine you’re interested in a list of my ancestors. They’d mean nothing to you.”

“Perhaps not, but I am interested in why you climbed in my bedchamber window.”

“I thought it was the only way to see you. If I’m wrong, please forgive me.”

Mairead leaned her head to one side. “And why, exactly, are you so eager to see me?”

For answer, he delved into the little purse at his belt and shook something out into his palm. Opening his fingers, he showed her a ring of jet and emerald.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his face. “Where did you get this?” she asked evenly.

“From a soldier called John, who said you’d given it to him.”

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