Page 48 of A Constant Blaze

As he’d hoped, he found fresh tracks leading to Kingowan that he imagined were Fergus’s.

Mairead’s husband, clearly, had ambitions to be a great man. He’d built himself a substantial stone house, with defensive wooden ramparts all the way around. In time, surely, he’d turn it into a proper castle. Malcolm watched it from the cover of the trees, letting his horse chomp idly upon the grass and leaves it could reach. Some of the leaves were beginning to fade and fall as autumn deepened. It seemed a lifetime since he’d watched the seasons change in his own country.

A couple of men strolled around the ramparts in either direction, pausing for a few words whenever they met. One upper window was still shuttered, presumably Mairead’s.

Malcolm was no saint, and Mairead was both brave and beautiful. He’d been tempted many times to take her in his prison cell. She’d been willing, eager even, but some chivalrous or fastidious instinct had held him back. She’d been his son’s lover, for one thing. For another, she’d reminded him just a little of Halla.

Halla, whom he’d finally held in his arms once more, in the dark. Halla, who hadn’t known him. He couldn’t deny it hurt. But she’d come to Angus to pay her debt to Mairead, to payhisdebt. He didn’t know what it meant. His need to speak to her, to be with her, felt like pain. And yet something equally powerful held him back. Malcolm, who’d never in his life given in to trepidation, had the horrible feeling it was simple fear.

Movement at the house dragged him out of his reverie. Someone ran down the front steps as a horse was brought around. Fergus of Galloway was preparing to mount. Hastily, Malcolm threw himself onto his own horse and rode hell for leather through the trees, swerving around so that he could come at Fergus from the south before the Lord of Galloway could turn off toward the priory.

Perhaps it was the exhilarating speed of his ride, but his whole hand itched to draw his sword, to pay Fergus back for this petty revenge on a brave lady, to punish him for betraying Donald as he had. But he was no longer the reckless youth who’d plunged his country into war for a crown. And so, he merely pretended to be, slowing as he approached Fergus and snatching off his hat with a grin. He let his face fall as if he’d just recognized the Lord of Galloway, and hastily slapped the hat back on his head, spurring his horse back to a full gallop—though not before he’d seen the astonished recognition on Fergus’s face. And a sudden start of fear. For that instant, Fergus thought he was dead. And Malcolm was fiercely glad.

Malcolm galloped on down the road, knowing he’d left Fergus only two choices: to pursue Malcolm on his own or to get help from Kingowan. After all, just by his presence in Angus, Malcolm was breaking the terms of his release. He’d promised to stay in Ross for a year.

Go to Kingowan. Go to Kingowan.As he flew past the house, he allowed himself to glance back over his shoulder. Fergus was galloping in his wake, not yet at the house.

“Be sensible for once in your miserable life,” Malcolm muttered aloud. “You know you’ll never beat me on your own.”

*

“Is she asbeautiful as everyone says?” Halla asked as they rode through the woods toward Kingowan. Deliberately, she kept her voice idly curious, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at Muiredach in case he guessed her true interest.

“The Lady Mairead?” he said, equally casual. “Yes, if you like redheads.” He paused as if suddenly ashamed of such grudging praise. “She is beautiful, even with the bruise, but I think it’s her sheer vitality that is so winning.”

Of course. There would have to be more than mere beauty to win Malcolm. “Beauty, courage, and vitality—that is quite a combination of charms. I suppose she has also wit and learning.”

Now she did feel Muiredach’s gaze on her averted cheek and knew she should never have brought up the subject.

“Wit, certainly,” Muiredach said with a shrug. “If she has learning, it’s less obvious.”

Halla was relieved to glimpse the house at Kingowan through the trees and stopped to examine it as minutely as she could through the distance and the obstacles. She pushed nearer, narrowing her eyes.

“Something’s wrong,” she said at last. “I can’t see any guards. It’s a trap.”

“Not necessarily,” Muiredach argued. “They might have gone inside, or ridden out for any number of reasons.”

“Do you want to call it off for today, lady?” one of the soldiers asked, apparently disappointed.

Slowly, Halla shook her head. “We have what we want—no guards to see what we do. We have to try. But at the first sign of trouble, I’ll give away my identity and lead them north before doubling back.”

“Then you’re not going into the house in search of Fergus?” Muiredach said in clear relief.

“I doubt he’s there. I expect they’ve all gone hunting.”

“Hopefully leaving the Lady Mairead unguarded. So, lady, you’ll wait in the cover of the trees while I climb up for her? Tomas can bring the maid to you—”

“Not quite,” Halla said. “Someone has to be inside the house to make sure there is no attention on Mairead while you free her. We agreed on that.”

“Yes, but that was before we knew the soldiers would be gone anyway!”

“We don’t know that they’ve gone. I’ll go in and give you the signal as agreed.”

Leaving Muiredach clearly unhappy, Halla rode sedately down the road toward the house, accompanied only by one man-at-arms. Muiredach kept pace with her, using the woods and then the long grass as cover.

A servant opened the gate and let her in. “Please give my compliments to your lady, and ask if I might beg refreshment from her. My name is Halla, daughter of Gillebride, and I’ve been traveling a long way to meet my husband in Moray.”

“The lady is not here,” the servant said with a flicker of his eyes. Like most, he didn’t like lying. He probably didn’t care for what was happening to his mistress either. “But come and rest in the hall. The lord will be back soon.”

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