Page 49 of A Constant Blaze

Halla inclined her head graciously and urged her horse after the servant. When she dismounted, she bade Tomas stay with the horse for she would not be long, and asked the servant if he would kindly bring refreshment out to man and beast.

“I don’t wish to tarry,” she explained. “I want this dreadful journey over as soon as possible.”

In the main hall, a rather slimy individual rose to greet her. Sharp-eyed and servile, he bowed low and introduced himself as the lord’s secretary.

Halla again gave her name and story. “I am sorry to miss the lord and lady of the house. The king himself told me of their hospitality, so I hope they will not think ill of me for claiming it without their presence.” Well, the king’s words had been reported to her via Mairead and Adam.

The secretary immediately looked impressed by the mention of the king, but before he could inquire further, Halla asked if the lord and lady would return today.

“The lord has ridden out on important business of the king’s,” the secretary said with a smirk. “I don’t imagine he’ll be long. He’s gone off to capture Malcolm MacHeth.”

It was as well that the MacHeth name was so infamous. It probably provided reason enough for her blanched cheeks and the sudden tendency of her body to sway like a suddenly rootless tree.

“God save us,” she got out, pacing away from him. “I thought that crisis was over. I thought the king freed Malcolm MacHeth and his people disbanded.”

“Indeed. And he is meant to stay in Ross, not ride around Angus, threatening the king’s servants.”

“Is that what he’s done?” It was a mistake, surely a mistake, the sighting of a threatening stranger at a time when every danger was given the surname MacHeth. Either way, she was here to free Mairead and mustn’t lose sight of that.

“He won’t be given the chance,” the secretary said with a sneer.

“Forgive me,” she said seriously, “but does the Lord of Kingowan have enough men with him to fight, let alone to capture Malcolm MacHeth?”

“Malcolm is alone, and my lord has his entire following with him.”

It couldn’t have been better, save for the dreadful fear clawing at her stomach that Kingowan truly was chasing Malcolm. To have him taken from her before they’d even met again…

But that was ridiculous. Malcolm had no reason to be here. Except Mairead.

Mairead was young and beautiful and brave, and she alone had comforted him in the final year of his imprisonment. No wonder he hadn’t come home.

The pain of it, even half-expected as it had always been, weighed down her limbs. Yet somehow, she managed to lift her hand, as though in nervous fear, and push the shutter over the window, blocking out the chilly breeze.

The secretary’s hand almost closed over hers as he gently drew back the shutter once more. “You have nothing to fear, lady,” he said confidently.

She had hoped to have time and leisure here by herself to make the signal. As it was, she had to sit and accept the refreshment she had asked for, and hope that Muiredach had seen the shutter close, however briefly.

*

In her lockedand darkened bedchamber, Mairead paced like a caged animal. Last night’s encounter with the strange if handsome harpist already felt like a dream. If it wasn’t that Grizel had clearly had the same dream, she would have discounted it all as nonsense. As it was, she’d packed Grizel off to do the laundry as planned. Only moments later, she’d heard some commotion both inside and outside the house. At one point, she was sure she heard Fergus of Galloway’s voice, both eager and angry.

I was right. He has accused me of visiting Malcolm and no doubt arranging Donald’s escape. I need to be away from here before they kill me.

But then she heard her husband’s barked orders, sounds of rushing feet and clanking weapons from all over the house, and she was tempted to batter down the window shutter that Muiredach had rebarred. She was afraid Muiredach and his mysterious ally had been taken or were about to be. Her life was worth nothing now, yet for some reason, she felt worse for the harpist, who had no connection to her, no reason to help her. And yet he would die for her if she didn’t manage to escape and somehow save him, too.

Her increasingly wild plans were interrupted by the sounds of men and horses leaving at speed and galloping north along the road to the coast. No one came to her door. She heard no screaming. Surely, if there was additional danger here, Grizel would have come back to warn her. No, this could be merely another distraction to allow Muiredach to climb up to her again.

Excitedly, she strained her ears, listening for sounds of his climbing. But she heard nothing. Eventually, she returned to her abandoned needlework—not her strong point; the stitches were ungainly, but at least it gave her something to stab. In spite of herself, her ears strained for sounds outside, or for Grizel’s returning footsteps. Perhaps Muiredach had just been part of some elaborate plan of her husband’s—or Fergus’s, more like—to make her incriminate herself.

She was sure she heard a strange woman’s voice at one point, but nothing more interesting until a rustling, tearing sound against the wall outside, followed by a grunt and a bump as if a boot had hit the wall. Mairead sprang to her feet, her heart beating hard.

Muiredach. It had to be. She felt stupidly helpless, just waiting. She’d begun to understand what Malcolm MacHeth had contended with for over twenty years. Some men in his position might have assuaged such feelings of powerlessness by exerting bodily control over Mairead. God knew she wouldn’t have minded. But Malcolm was different. Even if the bond with his wife had loosened, he’d never have taken her, justbecausehe no longer controlled the rest of his life.

The bar was wrenched off the shutters, which flew open with a little too much enthusiasm. Muiredach wobbled precariously until Mairead threw herself forward and seized him by the shoulders, and the two of them almost fell back into the room.

“God, have I hurt you?” Muiredach said anxiously, perhaps because her shoulders shook beneath him. She slid her arm down from her face to show him that she was laughing, and his handsome face broke into a grin, not entirely free of admiration. His face was only an inch from hers.

“Well,” she said, just a little breathlessly, “comfortable as this is, don’t we have a wall to climb?”

---