Page 80 of A Constant Blaze

“Into warriors, perhaps. They are their own men.”

That was undoubtedly true. Malcolm hadn’t expected to enjoy being with Adam quite so much as he did. Quick and mercurial and undoubtedly strange, he fascinated his father. But he was also entertaining company, witty and quick-tongued enough to cover those moments when he didn’t quite seem to be there. On the journey, Malcolm had been relieved to see the men accept him with more than a little pride. Now he saw there was at least as much affection. As if Adam knew, from instinct or study, how to bind by charm. As Malcolm himself had always known.

Only after Christian and the women had retired, and some of the men had fallen asleep where they sat did Adam say, “You don’t believe in my sight.” Leaning forward, he poured wine from the jug into both their cups.

Malcolm considered. “I’ve found it hard tolike,” he amended. “Belief is something else. I believe in your intelligence and your grasp of the world and our place within it.”

“How?” Adam countered. “You barely know me.”

“I heard a lot. In prison. And then there was Mairead, who thought so highly of you. And I spent more than two weeks in constant company with your brother, which was…illuminating. But you’re right. We barely know each other. Tell me about it.”

“The sight?” Adam’s gaze drifted away. He raised his cup and drank, almost as if avoiding speaking. Only when it was empty did he lower it and refill it. Donald had said he never spoke of it, so Malcolm was prepared to be deflected. Then Adam began to talk. “It can come upon me any time, sometimes all the time. I can’t see what’s here for dreaming of what has passed. Or what will come.”

Slowly, Adam raised his eyes to his father’s, as if he needed him to understand this. “Each battle, each raid I survived were all miracles in their own way. Without Donald, without Findlaech and some of the other men, I would be dead many times over. I only killed de Lanson because I was dreaming the moment of his death at exactly the same time. I thought…I always knew I shouldn’t live long with this gift. I just had to survive a little longer to bring you home. Beyond that, I didn’t much care.”

Malcolm stared at his son. There was no question now about belief. He had no idea how anyone could live with what Adam did, let alone make it work for him as he had. To be fighting blind… For an instant, fear for his son paralyzed him.

“Your mother knows this?” Malcolm managed at last. White Christ, how had she gone on with such knowledge, such fear? The depths of his son’s loyalty, his courage, staggered him.

“She suspects.” Adam stirred. “The thing is, Ican’tdie now. I have Cairistiona. And soon, we shall have a child.”

Malcolm reached up, grasping his son’s shoulder, half in congratulation, half in promise. For Adam’s words weren’t so much a warning as a plea for a break in the constant warfare whichwouldkill him in the end. He had less chance than anyone and surely, he’d used up all his luck.

“You’re the seer,” Malcolm said quietly. “What do you see?”

Adam smiled. “Now? Peace. Mostly, peace. For a little.”

*

They set outfor Brecka the following morning in the rain and mist, which finally cleared at midday, gradually revealing patches of moorland and hill and gently steaming lochs, until the whole sky was finally blue and the sun shone down on the glory that was Ross in the autumn, all red and brown and gold, glistening from the earlier damp. Now even the streams sparkled.

They made better time, then, pushing the horses because Malcolm wanted to reach the hall before nightfall. Although he treasured every new moment with Gormflaith and Adam, every inch of him screamed out for Halla. Not just to be with his complete family at last, but to hear her voice, touch her, make her his in the peace of their own bedchamber.

In the end, they rode down on Brecka so quickly that the house guards began to close the gates in panic before they realized it was the earl himself. Malcolm wanted to laugh from pure happiness, because now, at last, he was coming home. His mind, his body, his whole being sang with anticipation.

Donald and the household stood outside the main hall to welcome them. Donald had little Adam in his arms, bouncing him. It was a precious sight. Along with the child in Christian’s belly, it spoke for the future of the MacHeths. Reining in his horse and dismounting, he looked in vain for Halla.

The people cheered as if this was indeed his first homecoming. Malcolm acknowledged it, raising one hand and then throwing his gloves in the air.

He seized Donald by the shoulders and kissed the laughing baby, who seemed quite unperturbed by the noise. “Where is your mother?”

Donald stopped smiling. “Um…she’s gone.”

Blood sang in his ears. The bottom fell out of Malcolm’s world all over again, leaving it black and empty.

*

Revenge,he thoughtblankly.She’s done it for revenge to show me how it felt for her when I didn’t come home.

Dear God, hadn’t he acknowledged it enough, apologized enough? He’d been so sure she understood, that he was forgiven. That they’d passed such silly matters and found the beginnings of something rich and exciting. Yet it seemed he didn’t know her at all, for she’d undoubtedly gone, either to punish him or because, in spite of everything he’d persuaded himself to believe, she no longer loved him.

There had been no need to pretend. That had been simple cruelty on her part.

But even as the thought struck him with unpalatable self-pity, he recognized that none of that was Halla. She would shout at him, verbally annihilate him, hit him, shoot him. At a pinch, now she was so dignified, she might hunch her shoulders at him. Cold cruelty was not in her nature any more than the cowardice of running away.

Relief flooded him so hard now, as he walked into the hall, that he had to sit down on the nearest bench.

He fixed Donald with his gaze. “Gone where?”

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