Page 103 of Bride of Mist
“What do you mean, ‘as far as ye know’?” the tall lad ground out. “Where is she?”
Dougal blew out a defeated breath and told them the only truth that would save his clan. “I don’t know.”
Despite Adam’s brave countenance, a soft sound of despair came from his throat.
“Why should we believe you?” the older lad snarled. “You nearly killed my sister in the tournament.”
Dougal’s shoulders sank. “And I’ll ne’er forgive myself for that.”
“Nor will Rivenloch,” Adam sneered. “When our clan army arrives—”
“Adam,” the tall lad cautioned.
But it was too late. The lad had already leaked the truth.
“They’re not here yet,” Dougal realized. The lads had come alone.
The older lad compressed his lips.
Adam, mortified by his slip, blurted out, “But they’ll be here soon. Give us Feiyan now.” He grabbed Urramach’s reins out of his cousin’s hand. “And we’ll give you back your horse.”
The tall lad clapped a restraining hand on Adam’s shoulder. He was old enough to understand, even if his cousin wasn’t, that against an army, a horse was worth far less than a hostage.
The desperate young lad wrenched free. “Let me go, Gellir. She’s not your sister.”
Dougal realized then that everything Feiyan believed—about her worth, her invisibility, her significance to the clan—was completely wrong. These two lads—a cousin with courage beyond his years and a brother not yet able to grow a beard—loved her so much they’d purchased his horse and traveled halfway across Scotland to rescue her.
“Adam.” He met the brave lad’s worried gray eyes, so like his sister’s. “Gellir.” He faced the lad who bore the proud name of his legendary Rivenloch grandfather. “My name is Dougal. I know ye don’t trust me. I don’t blame ye. I can explain. And I intend to. Everythin’. But at this moment, Feiyan may be in danger. There’s no time to waste. I need your help.”
Chapter 26
Know your enemy.
Sung Li’s wisdom echoed in Feiyan’s ears as she entered the great hall of Castle Darragh.
It was risky to confront a target face to face. But in order to launch a successful assault against a laird who commanded an army of mercenaries, she needed to get the full measure of the man. Learn what drove him. Find out how competent he was. And where his weaknesses lie.
Besides, she was confident she’d be forgotten an instant after she was seen.
The castle perched dramatically on a cliff overlooking the sea.
The great hall, which took advantage of that view, was surprisingly beautiful. It was not quite as magnificent as Rivenloch’s, of course, which was lined with the colorful banners of defeated armies and lit by dozens of sweet beeswax candles.
But it had arched windows on the west side to welcome in the sunlight reflected off the firth and a grand hearth on the east side to chase away the chill. The chalk-bright walls were painted with figures of sea creatures—fish, whales, shells, selkies—in shades of blue and coral, intertwined with strands of golden kelp and deep red dulce.
She found an unassuming place by the hearth to study the denizens of the keep.
Servants bustled about the hall. Lighting tallow candles. Stirring the fire to life. Strewing fresh rushes atop the old. Coming and going from the kitchens with clapbread and ale. They served the steady stream of castle folk arriving for a quick bite of breakfast before beginning their morning chores.
Several mercenaries arrived and left. Like rats infesting the sparkling hall, they slunk through the rushes with dull eyes and primitive instincts, heading toward the food. The sharp tang of tarnished metal, unwashed bodies, and rotting teeth wafted past her.
A motley army of mercenaries such as this presented a unique challenge.
She’d seen men like them before. Bitter. Empty. Lacking souls. They had no home. No clan. Nothing to live for. So they had no fear of death. Caring for no one, they served only to kill. And that made them extremely dangerous.
She hoped the clan folk of Darragh were up to the task of facing them down. When the time came for confrontation, would they have the strength to defy the mindless murderers? Or would they shudder and crumble at the last moment, like a wall beneath a trebuchet?
A trebuchet. Feiyan wished she had one of the rock-throwing war machines.
