Page 55 of A Constant Blaze

“You don’t know that,” Gormflaith said anxiously. Although she had needlework in her lap, she hadn’t glanced at it since Donald came home. “He seemed very sure of keeping himself and our mother out of trouble.”

“But still he left Ross.”

“Someone has to rescue Mairead of Kingowan,” Gormflaith said reasonably.

“Not our mother! Nothim. Gormflaith, I don’t think I could bear it if he were taken again. And ifshe—”

“You should have more faith in him,” Gormflaith interrupted.

At least it stopped him pacing to turn and scowl at her. They’d all been brought up on legends of Malcolm MacHeth, but the truth was, they didn’t know the real man well enough to have genuine faith in his judgment or his abilities. Neither of them felt able to say so.

“We don’t even know if Mairead is truly captive,” Donald muttered.

“You spoke to her man,” Gormflaith pointed out. “You know he speaks the truth.”

“As he knows it, perhaps.” Donald flung himself down at the table, his fingers tapping in restless thought until, abruptly, he jumped to his feet again. “I’ll take the men south and find out what’s happening.”

“You can’t!” Gormflaith exclaimed. “It would end our agreement with the king.”

“Our father’s just broken it anyway,” Donald growled.

“I don’t think we should rush into anything,” Gormflaith pleaded. “Trap or not, we could make everything worse by blundering into the king’s territories with an army!”

“But we have to know, be able to act if necessary.”

“We need to speak to Adam,” Gormflaith said, and Donald stopped pacing again to glance at her.

“Good idea. We’ll leave at dawn for Tirebeck, and you may stay there with Cairistiona, if you like, while Adam and I go south.”

“Perhaps,” Gormflaith said doubtfully. “If we all still think that’s best when we’ve discussed it.”

*

If the situationhadn’t been his own, Malcolm would probably have found it laughable. Here he was, over forty years old and courting his wife of more than two decades in the heart of his enemy’s territory. Worse, having failed to recognize him from the outset, now that she did, she would not admit it, nor even believe, apparently, thatheknew whoshewas.

Perhaps she’d spent too long around that harpist and his silly songs.

By the morning, Fergus still had not returned to the priory. Malcolm rose with the bell for early morning prayers, dressed, and went to saddle his horse to see if he could find out what was going on. He was just leading the beast out when two lay brothers burst through the gates, yelling in utter panic, “The MacHeths are coming!”

Malcolm couldn’t help grinning.My friends, they’re already here.Hastily, he straightened his face once more and tried to look concerned. Still leading his horse, he walked across to the racing men, calling to them to stop their mad dash into the chapel.

“Wait, there,” he commanded. “What makes you think so? Did you see them?”

“No, sir. Word from Montrose is that they’re marching south and laying waste—”

“Reliable word?” Malcolm interrupted.

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Because I heard the king had released Malcolm MacHeth and the men of Ross had all gone home.”

“Well, if they had, they’ve come back again! The king should never have trusted them, should have captured the whole lot!”

The prior himself led the monks from the chapel and listened to the no doubt embellished tale of marauding MacHeths.

“They’ll be heading for Kingowan,” the prior said, frowning. “Where is Sister Ursula? Ask her to bring the Lady Mairead to me, at the lady’s convenience.”

Malcolm frowned. This wasn’t right.

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