Page 149 of Bride of Mist
“Burn in hell!” yelled someone else.
“They’ll burn or drown!”
“To Lucifer with ye!”
“Despicable demons!”
“That’s for Kirkoswald!”
“Ye’ll meet the devil for what ye did!”
The strange fire blazed on and on. Burning as if by magic atop the water. Sending black clouds roiling into the sky to foul the bright blue.
The last thing he saw before he succumbed again to the shadowy relief of slumber was his beloved Feiyan’s face, wreathed now in a smile despite her tear-filled eyes. It was a face that would grace all his dreams. Dreams that could now come true.
“Welcome home, Laird Dougal.”
Epilogue
The victory feast at Castle Darragh might have been delayed a week while Dougal recovered and supplies could be fetched. Once begun, however, it lasted long into the night. All the mac Darraghs, all the Rivenlochs and mac Girics, all the crofters and villagers from the surrounding lands, and even a handful of reformed mercenaries crowded into the great hall.
Feiyan couldn’t have been happier.
The enemy was vanquished. The dead were buried. Dougal was well on his way to recovering from his wound. And her fears had been put to rest.
All her life, she’d believed she was of little import to her illustrious clan. Imagined she was hardly more than a wee cog upon which the machine of Rivenloch turned. True, without that cog, the machine might fall apart and cease to operate. But it was up to her to keep it running, smoothly and discreetly.
Dougal had shown her that wasn’t true. Feiyan might be smaller, less bold, less brazen than her cousins. She might fight her battles behind the front lines, using stealth and wit rather than might and muscle. But her efforts didn’t go unnoticed.
More than once, Laird Deirdre asked her to tell the tale of their encounter with the outlaws. Her cousins Jenefer and Hallie delighted in her account of Dougal catching a fish. And Gellir, Brand, and Adam couldn’t get enough of her descriptions of the fights she’d had with her bridegroom-to-be in the woods.
Halfway through regaling her uncle Pagan with the amusing story of how Dougal had tried to sell her housekeeping services to the innkeeper, she was interrupted by a dagger that landed with a jarring thunk in the middle of the high table.
Everyone shot to their feet, their eating knives at the ready, seeking out the one who’d flung the dagger.
“’Tis yours, I believe,” her brother Adam called out to Dougal.
“’Tis,” Dougal replied.
“What’s this about, Adam?” Laird Deirdre wanted to know, motioning everyone to return to their seats and put down their knives.
“I’ve returned what’s his,” Adam explained. “Now he must return what’s mine.”
“What’s…yours?”Laird Deirdre asked.
“Aye. Feiyan,” he replied. “My sister.”
Feiyan’s lips twitched. Adam’s face was set in a somber expression, but she saw a telltale glimmer in his eyes.
Dougal, who wasn’t yet aware of Adam’s impressive talent for deception, frowned. “Ye would stand between your sister and the man she’s chosen to wed?”
“Not me,” Adam said. “But she has to seek permission from the king.”
“Och.” Dougal nodded. “Aye.”
Dougal couldn’t know it, but an ancient clan like Rivenloch, guardians of Scotland, loyal warriors of the king for centuries, were unlikely to be denied their will when it came to marriage, especially when the alliance between east and west would fortify the southern border against invasion. The king would be mad not to wholeheartedly endorse such a marriage.
“Oh!” Gellir yelped. He’d been staring at the redheaded maid as she bent near to refill his cup, and he suddenly whipped around as if Adam had kicked him. “Right. As King of Scotland, I grant permission for you to wed.”
