Page 51 of A Constant Blaze

“Then he did not come with you?”

“Like you, I have grown used to traveling unencumbered by husbands.”

Sheer emotion broke from Mairead in a choke of laughter. She hadn’t expected to like the Lady of Ross. She wasn’t even sure she did. “I have no words for my gratitude.”

“Nor do I,” the lady said graciously. “I propose we ride on to the next village, and let them see you going northward. And pray your husband is still halfway to Moray.”

“There is something else,” Mairead said, turning to ride beside the lady. “I’m sure I heard the voice of Fergus of Galloway in the house. He is probably with my husband.”

“He was staying at the monastery,” the lady said calmly. “Let us hope he has gone home.”

“Part of me wishes he will still be there so we can kill him in his bed.”

The lady shrugged. “His betrayal of Donald made it possible for you to free both my son and Malcolm mac Aed.”

“You give me too much credit, lady,” Mairead muttered.

“No,” she said, spurring forward.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mairead demanded as she found herself riding by Muiredach.

“Tell you what?” Either he was playing for time to think or he wasn’t paying attention.

“That your ally is the Lady of Ross.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

She stared at his profile, letting her horse find its own way to the road. “And you wanted to punish me for being her husband’s lover?” she said boldly.

“I didn’t know that you were. Until now. Rumor links you rather with Adam mac Malcolm.”

Anger and something very like disappointment fought their way through her. “I see now that the lady is worth ten of a man who relies on stories.”

He turned and met her gaze, his own mild, but surely veiled, just like the lady’s. “Why should that surprise you? Stories are my life, or at least my profession. I am the lady’s harpist.”

Chapter Thirteen

Halla saw atonce that Mairead had not been expecting her. She supposed Muiredach had deliberately given her that advantage, though it didn’t feel like one. Mairead was everything she’d feared. Beautiful, mysterious, fascinating…and young. Her bravery and loyalty had never been in question. How could Malcolm, imprisoned alone for twenty-two years, not have fallen in love with her?

Which, of course, made it more likely that he really had come south to rescue her, if not to be with her on some more permanent basis, and that it really was Malcolm MacHeth whom Mairead’s husband pursued. Headlong flight in their wake would achieve nothing. Even if they captured Malcolm, what good could two men-at-arms and a harpist do against twenty or fifty men, or however many Brian of Kingowan had with him?

And so, ignoring the clawing fear in her stomach, as she’d learned to so long ago, she rode through the next village. The people working in the ridged fields all stared and waved at Mairead, who smiled graciously and put one conspiratorial finger to her mouth to plead their silence. Some laughed with delight, although some, inevitably, would tell her lord when he inquired for her.

A little later, they turned west and, avoiding settlements and woodsmen, rode hard for the priory. Erring on the side of caution, Halla insisted that she and Mairead and the maid enter alone via the women’s private door.

Astrid all but fell on her neck in welcome, although she quickly remembered her manners and curtseyed with all respect to the Lady Mairead. Ursula, summoned to bring them food, smiled with delight at Mairead and promised her all the sanctuary she wished.

“Any sign of your male guests?” Halla inquired as the lay sister began to bustle away.

“I believe both are still out, my lady.”

“The secrecy of my guest’s presence is vital,” Halla reminded her.

“I know. Bless you both.”

“Who are they?” Mairead asked bluntly when they were alone.

“One is certainly Fergus. The other may or may not be a friend, but we cannot afford to trust him.” The latter was as much instruction to herself as to Mairead.

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