Page 138 of Bride of Mist
“Gaufrid, the Laird of mac Darragh.”
“Coward,” Hallie sneered. “He’s fleeing. Who’s that with him?”
“The Fortanachs,” Gellir told her.
“The ones who implicated mac Giric with the false banner?” There was frost in Hallie’s voice. She’d become especially protective of the clan, now that she’d married into it.
“Hold on,” Morgan breathed, staring intently at the group skulking toward the keep. “I know them.”
“Youknowthem?” Hallie asked.
“Colban.” Morgan nudged his friend. “Isn’t that…?”
Colban narrowed his eyes. “It can’t be.”
“Their name isn’t Fortanach,” Morgan said.
“Fergus? And Morris?” Colban whispered. As if on reflex, he reached over his shoulder, touching his back, and gave a brief shudder.
“How do you know them?” Gellir asked.
“They were in my clan,” Morgan told him. “They were mac Girics.”
“Were?” Gellir said.
Colban had gone pale. “They were exiled.”
“’Tis them, isn’t it?” Though Hallie pressed a tender hand on Colban’s shoulder, there was a deadly chill in her tone. “The ones who…the ones who whipped you?”
Gellir had heard a bit of the story, though Hallie didn’t like to talk about it. Her husband Colban, a bastard and an orphan, had been tormented as a child by a pair of older lads who thought he needed to be beaten into submission. They had been banished for their brutality. But Colban still bore the scars of their cruelty.
“They must have changed their name,” Morgan realized, “and found safe harbor with a kindred spirit.”
Suddenly, Gellir heard men charging up the steps. He turned away from the courtyard to greet them, raising his blade. Colban and Morgan followed his lead. But as they prepared to engage this new foe, he heard Hallie make a bone-chilling vow.
“Before the day is out, I mean to slay both of those villains.”
“Are we going to hide in the buttery for the whole battle?” Feiyan asked Dougal.
At least they’d have plenty to eat, she thought, scanning the array of cheeses stacked on the shelves. But surely she could be of more assistance. Dougal had a claymore with him. If he could get her some sort of weapon, they could both join the fighting.
Before he could answer her about the buttery, she added, “What the devil did you say to convince Laird Deirdre to trust you? And how did she sneak the entire bloody army of Rivenloch into the castle? What happened to the servants? Where are Gellir and Adam? And tell me again why you had to kill me?”
Dougal had smuggled her past the guards and into the buttery under his hooded cloak. Now that they were safely out of sight, Feiyan had questions.
He replied, not with words, but with a blinding smile that took her breath away. And suddenly she didn’t care about answers.
Once she gazed into his sapphire-blue eyes—eyes filled with relief and adoration—she melted into his arms. Sighing against his chest, she tipped back her head until their mouths met. The world glowed as they lingered over a kiss full of solace. And gratitude. And longing.
When they at last reluctantly drew apart, Dougal said, “Not the whole battle.”
“What?”
“Ye asked me if we were goin’ to hide in here for the whole battle.”
“Oh. Aye.” It seemed a distant memory.
“And as far as earnin’ Laird Deirdre’s trust,” he said, “I didn’t have to say much.”
