Page 48 of Bride of Mist
“I need you and Brand to make all haste to Rivenloch,” Gellir said. “Tell the laird what has transpired here. Gather forces to go straightaway to the mac Darragh stronghold. We don’t know what we’re facing. ’Tis best to be prepared.”
Brand’s eyes glittered. “Come on, Hew! We’ve a war to wage.”
Hew straightened, placated by the prospect of an important duty. He gave Gellir a grim nod. “Don’t start the battle without us.”
With somber salutes, they parted ways.
When they’d gone, Gellir turned to Adam. “We’re a few days behind, but with the horse, we can travel twenty miles a day, make up for lost time.”
Adam nodded, then cast a glance at the ominous sky. “And if the weather turns, we can find lodging at an inn.”
Gellir grimaced. “I spent almost all our coin on the horse. We’ll need what’s left for food.”
“We’ll need no coin,” Adam said. “Leave it to me.”
They arrived at an inn by nightfall, just as a drenching storm was moving in from the west.
Adam proved true to his word. Whatever he said to the innkeeper, the man gave them a chamber, a hot supper, and hay for the horse at no charge. It was only when the man doffed his cap, made a quick bow, and bid Gellir “Good night, Majesty” that he realized Adam had somehow managed to pass Gellir off as Scotland’s new young king.
As they climbed into bed, the storm was rattling the shutters.
Adam’s brows lowered as he touched the bruise on his cheek. “I hope Feiyan’s all right.”
“Don’t worry.” Gellir punched the pillow and settled in for a good night’s sleep. “Your sister is a survivor. If she’s half as clever as you, she’ll be fine.”
Chapter 13
Feiyan shivered against the trunk of the damp oak as the wet ground seeped through her wool cloak.
Thankfully, mac Darragh had been able to find enough dry tinder to start a small blaze. But it would dwindle soon, now that he’d fallen asleep. The flames cast a golden glow on the Westlander’s handsome face as he began to snore softly beside the evening fire.
He believed he was safe, sleeping with theshoudaowithin hand’s reach.
He also believed his hostage was helpless, bound to the tree just a few yards away.
But he’d obviously never tied up a person before. When he’d secured the ropes around her, she’d simply arched away from the trunk, expanding her chest, puffing herself up to become much larger.
Now that he was deep in slumber, she sank back against the tree and let out all her air, loosening the ropes and squeezing out from under her bonds.
Whatever attack she planned, she would have to be quick about it. Gather her nerve and her weapon and do the deed swiftly before…
Graphic images of his murder—the blood, the struggle, the gurgling—flashed into her head like lightning, leaving a singed, metallic aftertaste in her mouth and making her feel sick. She paused to swallow it away.
She could do this. She must.
She closed her eyes and remembered her clan folk falling under his chopping claymore.
The helplessness of her young cousins as he slashed his way through their ranks.
The hollow ache in her heart when she thought Hallie was dead.
She closed her hands into determined fists. She never wanted to feel that again.
As silent as mist, she crept toward his satchel, where he’d stashed herduandao. The whisper of steel as she slipped the weapon out of its sheath made the only sound in the rain-sopped wood.
After that, three cautious steps brought her to his side.
She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see his handsome face. His chiseled jaw. His noble nose. His soft lips.
