Page 58 of Ashes of Betrayal

Clenching his jaw, Cailean reluctantly drew two of the knives from the belt slung across his chest. An instant later, the scrape of metal against leather warned him that Bree had also drawn a weapon.

“Listen to your mother,” His gaze swept over his nephews’ rigid faces. “Or this won’t end well for you.”

26: SUMMONED

THE MOMENT THEY stepped onto the wynd outside the dwelling, Bree turned to her husband.

“Cailean,” she said softly, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. Instinctively, she knew she had to be gentle with him, for she sensed his brittleness, like a sheet of hide left out too long in the sun.

“Aye,” he replied hoarsely. He blinked then as if he was having trouble focusing on her.

Bree swallowed. She didn’t know what to say. Words couldn’t fix what was broken. Nothing could. “The Gods played a cruel trick on you today,” she whispered.

The weak mid-morning sun gleamed on the sweat that still slicked his face and bare arms after his fight. His chest rose and fell sharply, revealing that he was in the grip of strong emotion. She wasn’t surprised. The scene she’d just borne witness to was harrowing indeed.

She’d thought blood would be shed in the end, for the glint in those lads’ eyes had been murderous. However, the sight of their uncle’s blades, and her own, had checked them. And when their mother had started to weep—deep, harrowing sobs—they’d lowered their weapons.

Cailean and Bree had left the cottage without another word.

But now, Cailean had halted in the middle of the lane and stood there, as if his feet had just grown roots.

“The Gods aren’t to blame,” he replied hoarsely. Lifting a hand, he dragged it down his face. “I brought this on myself.” He broke off then, cursing. “I can’t believe she’d fall for Eilig … after everything that prick did.”

“Time changes people, Cailean,” she whispered.

A nerve flickered under his right eye. “Aye … some more than others.”

Silence fell between them before she gently squeezed his arm. “What now?” They needed to continue this discussion, for the pain inside her husband had to be lanced or it would poison him. Nonetheless, this wasn’t the time or place.

He heaved a deep, ragged breath. “Now, we leave … let’s get back to the ale-hall and collect Feannag.”

“Mac Brochan.” A gravelly male voice intruded then, making them both turn. A group of leather-clad warriors, domed iron helmets jammed onto their heads, stood behind them.

Bree’s stomach clenched. Releasing her husband’s arm, she stepped back from him. Shades, was the Fort Guard going to arrest Cailean for killing the fight master?

“What?” Cailean snapped.

“King Ailean wants to see you,” said one of them, a tall, rangy warrior with a leathery face.

“Now?”

“Aye. You’ve been summoned.”

Bree fought a frown. So, they weren’t going to question him about Eilig?

Cailean didn’t reply immediately, and Bree wondered if he’d refuse the order—not a wise idea since they were outnumbered and surrounded by high stone walls. Getting out of Cannich wouldn’t be easy.

All the same, she readied herself to act, her pulse quickening. If her husband decided to slash his way out of this fort, she’d fight at his side.

Moments passed, and eventually, Cailean muttered a curse under his breath. He then turned to Bree, his gaze meeting hers. “Wait for me at the ale-hall … this shouldn’t take long.” He stepped in close then, lowering his voice as he added. “Perhaps the overking has learned why mac Brude marches north.”

Stepping inside the smoky hall of the overking of Cannich’s broch, Cailean choked down his churning irritation.

Ailean mac Nairn was vexing at the best of times. Even so, there was a part of Cailean that was curious to hear what he had to say. As the High King’s chief-enforcer, he’d once been the first to know when something was afoot. But now, he was in the dark—and it frustrated him.

Focusing on the looming conflict also helped distract him from the self-loathing that had dug its teeth into him like a rat and wouldn’t let go.

Watch yourself with mac Nairn, he warned himself as he crunched across the dirty rushes toward where the king awaited him on the high seat.He can be a tricky bastard.

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