Page 65 of A Constant Blaze

She was right. Malcolm always had his reasons. Halla just didn’t always agree with them.

The Norman, who appeared to be a personable young man, removed his helmet and bowed as they approached.

“This is Bernard de Brus,” Malcolm said, “Captain of the king’s garrison at Alyth. Sir, my wife, and this is the Lady Mairead of Kingowan, as you may know.”

It was cleverly done, covering his wife’s lack of name with one the soldier was likely to know. And Mairead’s beauty was bound to help.

It did. Although he bowed again to Halla with great respect, as he turned to Mairead, he said, “I have seen the Lady of Kingowan before, though I can’t hope she remembers me.”

“No, you can’t,” Muiredach said unexpectedly. Mairead blinked at him in surprise. Muiredach himself looked momentarily appalled at the words which had seemed to spill involuntarily from his mouth. “She has a shocking memory,” he murmured.

De Brus looked inclined to be amused. “And you, sir, are?”

“Muiredach.”

De Brus glanced from him to Malcolm and back. “You don’t look like a crusader.”

“I’m not,” Muiredach said blankly. “I’m a harpist.”

“A harpist,” de Brus repeated.

“Even crusaders need music,” Malcolm said mildly.

“Indeed.” De Brus looked around him. “Where are your men?”

Malcolm lifted his arm, encompassing the present company and the two men leading the packhorse toward him.

De Brus’s mouth fell open. “You intend to capture a band of raiding MacHeths with two fighting men and a harpist? What conceivable difference could these make to my force?”

“You’d be surprised,” Malcolm said. “If theyareMacHeths, we won’t need even two men.”

De Brus glanced at him, frowning. “You have some kind ofholdover the MacHeths?”

“Some,” Malcolm admitted.

The frown deepened. “Whoare—?” De Brus broke off, the dreadful suspicion arriving on his amiable young face with a jolt. “Oh no.”

He reached for his sword so quickly that Halla had no time even to utter a warning. But Malcolm, it seemed, knew his man, and had a dagger at the Norman’s throat before the sword was half out of the scabbard at his back. De Brus stilled, breathing heavily with fury and frustration.

“Don’t,” Malcolm said. “It would break all the rules of hospitality.”

“You think to ransom me?” de Brus demanded with contempt, although he released his sword hilt and his arm fell back to his side.

“Would I get much for you?” Malcolm asked, as though interested. He sheathed his dagger.

“No.”

“Well, we’ll stick with the first plan.”

De Brus turned his head, regarding him. “You shouldn’t be here. If you are who I think you are, you’re meant to be in Ross. And we had confirmation from Moray that you crossed into Ross more than seven days ago, so you’re not still on your way.”

“I left again,” Malcolm admitted.

“With that gang of ruffians at your back?”

“No, I left all my ruffians in Ross. This was a purely personal matter.” Malcolm’s lips curved. “I had some trouble with an errant wife.”

“He doesn’t mean you,” Halla told Mairead, watching as Malcolm untied her horse and glanced back at de Brus.

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