Page 61 of A Constant Blaze

Mairead inclined her head mockingly. “Did he really teach Adam mac Malcolm to play the harp?” she asked.

“And Donald and Gormflaith.” Astrid turned her deceptively sleepy gaze on Mairead. “You find our Muiredach as fascinating as we do. Rumor says he’s the son of an Irish king. Or perhaps an escaped slave.”

“And what does Muiredach say?”

“To me? Nothing of that. Though he may have told the lady.”

“He is very…devoted to her.”

“We all are. And you have risked more than most for her.”

In truth, the risks she’d taken had been for Adam, and for Somerled. And then for Malcolm himself. But she allowed there was something about the lady to inspire such devotion, even in Mairead, who had always been aware that if she had been able to make Malcolm’s wife vanish in a puff of smoke, she would have done so.

Malcolm returned as silently as he’d left and sat down at the fire by Halla’s side. Neither of them said anything. And yet Mairead saw, as she always should have, that removing Halla would change nothing for her. It made her throat ache, but for some reason, it was bearable.

Considering they were in enemy territory, surrounded by the king’s men and not necessarily friendly raiders, the camp was surprisingly relaxed. They all ate together, although the soldiers took it in turns to stand and watch and listen, at least until the lady requested Muiredach to play.

Without a word, he rose and unwrapped his harp from its blanket. By the glow of the fire, Mairead found herself watching his long, strong fingers pluck the strings as he played. The movement and the music were strangely hypnotic, and she continued to watch his hands as he sang softly of long-ago magic and love and battles.

Only once did she raise her eyes to his shadowed face. His gaze moved on from hers almost at once. And a moment later, the song changed to one of quick humor and dance, which had everyone tapping their feet on the grass and swaying to the rhythm.

When it was finished, Malcolm said, “I see that you’re more than worth your supper. My house is clearly honored by your presence and your music.”

Muiredach inclined his head, almost like one great man acknowledging the compliments of another. Perhaps the notion of him being a king’s son was not so far-fetched.

“For now,” Malcolm said, “we should sleep. I’ll watch the first few hours and then wake Tomas.”

No one, even the lady herself, seemed to think of disobeying him.

*

Halla hadn’t beendozing for long when Astrid’s elbow dug her in the ribs. The woman had only been turning over in her sleep, but it jerked Halla’s eyes opened instantly.

She faced the badly tied opening in the tent, through which she could see the almost-full moon and bright stars, some occasionally obscured by passing clouds. Beneath them, the campfire still burned. By its glow, she could make out the huddled, sleeping figures of her guards and Muiredach. She knew it was them because the still, sitting figure silhouetted against the flames was Malcolm’s.

For some time, she lay still, just watching him, wondering how she felt and why it hurt. It wasn’t so different from those early days when she’d first met him and he’d fascinated and provoked her in equal measure. Only she was no longer a child. And she no longer knew what Malcolm was.

Her heart beating hard, she rose carefully, taking her blanket with her, and slipped out of the tent, retying it behind her. He didn’t move as she approached and sat silently beside him.

More than twenty years of words struggled to be said, and yet none of them would come out. She couldn’t even look at him, although she heard his even breathing as if it were her own. She inhaled the very scent of him until her eyes stung and her throat ached.

He said, “I don’t know.”

Slowly, she turned her head to face him. “What?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t come home at once. I thought only of you, and yet I couldn’t face you. Not as I was.”

“How were you?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know. I still don’t. I just wasn’t…me.”

She understood something of that: he’d got too used to solitude to be suddenly in the constant company of the rambunctious men of Ross. He’d been overwhelmed by sudden freedom, his sons, the lifetimes that had passed without him. Perhaps he’d even felt some weird loss of control. His own actions had got himself in prison, and yet he was suddenly freed by those of others, none of his own.

She swallowed. “I know. I knew it at the time. I just… I’d imagined you would still do it, for Ross and for Gormflaith, if not for me.”

At last, his eyes lifted from the flames to her face. “I wasn’t…worthy. And in my selfishness, I thought of others only as they affected me, not as I affected them.”

Something caught in her throat. She didn’t know if it was tears or laughter. “Worthy? When have you ever beenworthy, Malcolm mac Aed?”

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