Page 107 of Bride of Mist
“Then I want to go with him,” Adam said.
“’Tisn’t safe,” Dougal said. “I need ye to stay here. ’Tis my fault she’s gone. ’Tis up to me to get her back. I’ve done enough harm to your clan already. She’d ne’er forgive me if I dragged her kin into peril.”
“So youdoknow where she is.” The comment from Gellir was more of an accusation than a question.
“I suspect she’s on her way to steal into Castle Darragh.”
Gellir nodded. “Then you should make haste.”
Still disgruntled, Adam shoved his sword back into its sheath.
Then Gellir handed Dougal the reins.
Urramach tossed his head and whinnied, glad to see his master and eager to run.
“I’ll hurry back as soon as I can, I promise,” he told the lads who would one day soon—God willing—become his kin.
Then he swung up onto Urramach, which was no easy feat, considering the lads hadn’t purchased a saddle, and rode like the wind toward Darragh.
Chapter 27
It had never occurred to Feiyan, sneaking through the gates at Castle Darragh, that she might be found out.
For years, she’d mastered the arts of manipulation and clandestineness. Slipping in and out of chambers unnoticed. Following targets without their knowledge. Spying on suspects right beneath their noses.
She rarely failed to infiltrate and extricate herself without being seen.
But when the orange-haired maidservant recognized Dougal’s plaid, Feiyan felt like her cloak of covertness was snatched away, leaving her as bare and helpless as a newborn babe.
She tried a feeble falsehood. “This old thing?” she said, lifting a corner of the plaid. “’Twas my ma’s and her ma’s before her. I don’t know what ye’re—”
The maid gasped in surprise. “’Tisn’t true.” She held out a trembling finger. “See at the bottom? There’s a singed bit and a wee blood stain from his helpin’ birth a lamb a fortnight ago.”
Feiyan blinked. The maidservant certainly had keen powers of observation.
“Ye’re sure?” Gaufrid sneered.
The maid nodded fretfully. “He was wearin’ it when he rode to Kirkoswald.”
“How didyeget it, wench?” demanded the Fortanach brother who wasn’t clutching his bruised ribs.
She’d have to try another lie. “I-I found it. I didn’t know whose it—”
“Where is he?” the maid asked frantically. “What have ye done with Dougal?”
“I don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about,” Feiyan insisted.
The boar shoved the maidservant out of the way and seized Feiyan by the neck. “Who are ye?”
By the gleam in his piggish eyes and the increasing pressure of his meaty fingers, he was looking for an excuse—any excuse—to squeeze the life out of her.
Instincts took over.
Locking her fingers into a rigid weapon, she punched forward and caught him hard in the throat. He gagged and released his hold instantly. As he staggered back, struggling to breathe through his bruised windpipe, she stomped sideways on his knee. He howled as his knee crunched and collapsed, sending him to the ground.
The wolf, still suffering from her first attack, nonetheless came to his brother’s aid. No longer content to show his dominance with his fists, he drew a dagger. She backed out of range. He swiped back and forth with the blade, slicing the air with menace.
Observing his rhythm, she waited until he retracted his arm to strike and swept her dropped tray from the ground, raising it like a shield. Then, as he slashed forward, she swung the tray around, deflecting the dagger and smashing his knuckles.
