Page 104 of Bride of Mist
Her wee cousin Ian, a brilliant inventor, had made a miniature trebuchet. A full-scale version of that would have been useful in the coming battle. It was a pity there had been no time to assemble one.
On the other hand, Castle Darragh was an impressive keep. It would be a shame to slight it. Besides, if things went according to plan, Dougal would triumph and take over as laird.
She even dared to imagine she might one day rule beside him…if he ever forgave her for betraying him.
With that in mind, she continued with her scheme to gather information about the castle and its laird.
Weaving her inconspicuous way through the crowd, she crossed the hall and slipped into the kitchens. A maidservant emerged with a tray full of clapbread and butter.
“Here, I’ll take it,” Feiyan said smoothly, holding her hands out for the tray. “Ye’re wanted in the chapel.”
“The chapel?” The young woman blinked in surprise, but surrendered the tray and hied away.
At the bottom of the steps, Feiyan found two wee lasses playing with cloth dolls.
“Good morn,” she whispered, bending to speak to them. “’Tis my first day bein’ a maidservant. I’m supposed to take the laird his breakfast. Ye seem like clever lasses. Can ye show me the way?”
They jumped up eagerly to help, leading her up the winding stairs and pointing at the chamber door before giggling and running back to the great hall.
When they’d gone, she knocked softly on the door and called out, “Breakfast for the laird.”
“Come in,” someone said.
Despite her determination to remain nonchalant, when she entered the room, Feiyan caught her breath. In the shadowy chamber, the man lounging in his leine in the enormous bed looked so much like Dougal, it made her heart ache. He had the same black hair, the same wide shoulders, the same strong jaw and fierce gaze.
And yet she could see immediately he was nothing like his brother.
Dougal’s mouth tended to drift into an easy smile. Gaufrid’s seemed fixed in a permanent sneer.
Dougal’s eyes shone with intelligence. Gaufrid’s glittered with menace.
Dougal moved with commanding grace. Gaufrid puffed out his chest like a pigeon.
She closed the door with her hip and glided into the chamber. With sidelong glances in the dim light, she catalogued everything in the room. A massive oak chest hugging one wall. Red velvet draping the bed. Glowing coals on the hearth. Rose-painted shutters over the window. A lidded chamberpot under the bedside table as well as a curtained garderobe. An iron sconce with an unlit candle. A bare claymore propped beside the door.
Flanking the laird’s bed were the two sharp-eyed sycophants. They must be Fergus and Morris, the Fortanach brothers, though they hardly looked like brothers. One was built like a wild boar, the other like a lean wolf. Their pale faces were freshly shaved. They wore ocher-colored coifs over neatly trimmed brown hair. Their expensive clothing was muted in color, as if to denote humility. But their good grooming couldn’t disguise their oily manner. They alternated between hanging on Gaufrid’s every gesture and glaring in jealous threat at her.
“Open the shutters, ninny,” the boar snapped at her. “Would ye have the laird break his fast in the dark?”
Her jaw clenched. But she bowed her head, set the tray on the chest, and resisted the urge to stab the man with herbishouas she passed him on her way to the window.
“What will it be today, m’laird?” the wolf asked. “A game o’ dice? A visit to the stews?”
Gaufrid let out a noisy yawn. “I need to wet my whistle first.”
“Wench,” the boar demanded, “bring us ale.”
Shite. She didn’t have ale.
Hoping to distract them, she threw open the shutter.
The bright light of the rising sun pierced the white mist and stabbed into the chamber like double-edgedjian,slaying the shadows.
Blinded by the light, they bellowed in complaint.
Temporarily blinded herself, Feiyan never saw the blow coming as she whirled away from the window.
“Stupid wench!”
