Page 71 of Bride of Mist
“Alone?”
“I was already saddled and ready.”
“But the others followed soon after?”
That he couldn’t answer. He hoped so. But the more he considered how his brother had refused his request for knights to take to Creagor, the more he was convinced Gaufrid had never intended to lend him aid. Of any kind.
She continued. “Don’t you want to know the truth? Don’t you want to figure out who set the fire?”
He stopped to scowl at her. “I know who set the fire.”
“Do you?” She poked him smugly in the chest. “Or do you only know what you’ve been led to believe?”
He swatted her jabbing finger aside.
But she was like a persistent fly.
“Did you see the badge?”
“O’ course I saw the badge. They had it when they arrived at the castle.”
As they resumed walking, he could hear a pair of slow riders approaching behind them, gradually closing the distance. He stiffened, closing his fist around the grip of his dagger.
They might be Rivenloch men. If so, they would surely recognize the warrior lass. He only hoped they would call out to her first rather than run him down straightaway with their war axes.
Feiyan paid them no heed, continuing her questioning as they ambled closer and closer. “Can you describe the insignia?”
He tightened his jaw. The riders were only yards behind them. “I didn’t look at it that closely.”
“Aha!” she crowed, startling one of the beasts into a bray that nearly stopped his heart.
She turned at the sound.
While Dougal hastily concealed his face in the shadow of his hood, she gave a friendly nod. “Good day.”
As they passed, Dougal saw it was only a holy father on a mule, carting his belongings on a donkey.
Dougal released his breath and his grip on the dagger. Feiyan resumed her interrogation. “So you didn’t actually see the insignia.”
He glowered at her. “Look, I didn’t have time to study the thing. I was a wee bit preoccupied with a village bein’ on fire. But that doesn’t mean ’twasn’t mac Giric that did the deed.”
Feiyan suddenly grabbed his forearm to stop him and planted herself in his way. “Listen, mac Darragh,” she warned, furrowing her brows. “You and I, we’re on the same side at the moment. I may be able to help you. But you’ve got to be honest with me. About every detail.”
He didn’t particularly like the bossy minx getting in his face and dictating terms to him. Even if they did make sense. Even if she was offering to help.
“Perhaps we should be goin’,” he muttered, setting her aside and continuing on. “Get to Castle Darragh before your clan blasts my home to kingdom come.”
He’d heard the stories—that the Rivenloch army could explode trebuchets and loose fiery dragons that raced across the sky. He used to imagine they were exaggerations. But he wasn’t willing to wager his clan castle on that.
“Is that it?” she said.
“Aye,” he said. “I’d like to keep my castle in one piece.”
“Nay, I mean, is that it?” She pointed to a thatch-roofed building in the distance with smoke wisping into the sky. “The Stag’s Head?”
“’Tis.”
In the excitement of reaching the inn, the lass forgot all about her ridiculously desperate line of questioning, which was fine with him.
