Page 56 of A Constant Blaze

Abruptly, he tied the horse to stop it from wandering and strode across to the main guest quarters. Here, he all but ran into a tall man exploding from his cell with his tunic still half over his head.

The man stopped dead with surprise, his arms still up around his ears. Warily, he eased them down, letting the tunic fall into place. Malcolm could see him missing the weapon he’d failed to carry in his haste.

“Muiredach, I believe,” Malcolm said mildly.

The man was handsome, with a sort of pleasing, ascetic look. Like a fallen monk who regretted his sin. But he wasn’t afraid. “Do you?” he said.

“I do. Harpist to the Lady of Ross.”

The man just gazed at him, neither denying nor confessing anything. At least she had a protector with courage. “Who are you?”

“Malcolm mac Aed. It’s time we talked to my wife and the Lady Mairead.”

Muiredach’s jaw dropped. His eyes widened like saucers and sudden color flooded his face. And yet still he wasn’t sure. “I’ll ask them to send someone to the women’s house—”

“No need. Come.”

Malcolm strode off toward the refectory. He didn’t much care if Muiredach followed him or not. If he didn’t, he wasn’t worth having around. The refectory was deserted, those not about their business panicking outside while the prior tried to calm them down.

As he approached the tapestry, Muiredach caught up with him. Muffled women’s voices could already be heard beyond it. They must have spilled from their respective cells to hear the news.

“Will they hear us through the hanging?” Muiredach asked.

“Yes, but what’s the point?” Calmly, Malcolm lifted the edge of the tapestry he’d detached from the wall last night and swung his legs over the balustrade.

The voices stopped. Four women in various stages of dress stared at him, and at Muiredach, who appeared silently at his side. Halla, without veil or overgown, took his breath away. She stood at the door of the first cell, one hand against the jamb, as though holding herself up. Her golden hair tumbled to her shoulders, much as it had when she’d been a young girl, shining and glorious. Her beauty took his breath away, as it always had. And yet there was…more. Fine, fascinating little lines fanning outward from the corners of her eyes. Wise, mature eyes. Her gaze was rooted to his.

For an instant, he was sure something like fear flickered across her face—Halla, who was never afraid—and then her eyelids came down and her head lifted, and when she opened her eyes, they were direct and clear and utterly unafraid.

“What do you want?” she asked calmly. As if they’d only parted an hour ago.

And the funny thing was, at the sound of her voice, he almost felt they had.

*

It was thefirst time she’d seen him in twenty-two years. They’d spoken through barriers, walked in the night, even kissed in darkness, and she’d never seen his face. Not properly. Now, she couldn’t look away, not even if her life depended on it, because he gazed only at her.

The strong, handsome youth she’d married had grown into an impressive man, tall as he’d always been, a little broader perhaps in the shoulders and chest. But she’d felt that power in him last night, close against her back, her hips, her legs.

His face was still Malcolm’s face, though perhaps a shade heavier, a shade harsher, and without the bronze of a life spent mostly outdoors. No longer young, he had deeply etched lines around his eyes and mouth, and the beard she’d felt last night covered his lower jaw and chin. But his countenance was still firm and beautiful. And calm. Much calmer than she remembered. Her turbulent husband who had kissed another woman last night. Or thought he had.

Or had he?

Twenty years of ruling and commanding cut through her confusion to her rescue. Somehow, as she’d always done, she gathered herself through the doubt and pain and sheer, wild excitement and asked negligently, “What do you want?”

He laughed. And it had been so long since she’d heard that bright, uninhibited sound that it almost undid her. Fortunately, Mairead chose that moment to be roused from her astonishment.

“Malcolm mac Aed!” she exclaimed, stepping forward as if she couldn’t help herself. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”

Malcolm spared her a warm glance and a smile that almost shattered Halla’s fragile composure. He walked forward, his gaze clashing once more with Halla’s as he advanced upon her. “I hear the MacHeths are coming.”

She swallowed, covering her panic by standing as still as a stone. “We hear that, too. Did you bring them?”

“Of course not.” He came to a halt in front of her.

They knew—Astrid and Muiredach and probably Mairead—they all knew that he hadn’t come home, that this was their first reunion. White Christ, did he think so, too? Which of the women here had he imagined she was last night?

Her hand jumped when his warm rough fingers closed around it. She had to fight to maintain her polite unconcern as he lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

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