Page 89 of Bride of Mist
Before he could ask her what her intentions were, she straightened and offered him her hand, saying, “I want your word on one thing.”
“Aye?”
“The Rivenloch forces live by a creed. Leave no clan warrior behind,” she said. “Swear you won’t leave me behind again.”
He gazed into her dove gray eyes and somberly took her hand. “I swear.” But even as made that vow, he knew he’d break it.
“Good,” she said, hauling him to his feet. “Now enough chatter,” she decided. “We have a crime to solve. And I have a new suspicion.”
She returned his dagger, and soon they were striding down the path again, as if nothing had changed. But in Dougal’s heart, everything was different.
He no longer thought of Feiyan as the enemy, a hostage, a wayward outlaw, an assassin. Now she was his to protect. All he cared about was keeping her safe.
Not that she needed his help. Though her weapons were hidden from view, he was certain she was armed now with her full deadly arsenal. He, on the other hand, had one jeweled dagger with which to defend her.
“There’s an inn not far from the castle,” he said. “We can stay there tonight.”
He was already formulating a plan to keep Feiyan out of harm’s way.
He didn’t want her anywhere near the castle.
Though Dougal no longer intended to use her as a hostage, he couldn’t say the same for his brother. If Gaufrid discovered the niece of the Laird of Rivenloch was within his reach, he might decide that ransoming her was a good way to refill the mac Darragh coffers.
So he absolutely intended to leave her behind. At the Ayr Arms. Where he knew she’d be safe. But until then, he’d go along with her plans.
“So what’s this new suspicion o’ yours?” he asked.
“First, I need to hear again about the two men who reported the fire.”
“What more do ye need to know?”
“Say it all over. From the beginning. No detail left out.”
“They staggered into the courtyard, covered in blood and ashes, sayin’ there was an attack at Kirkoswald.”
“They claimed they had just come from the village?”
He blinked. “How else would they know about the fire?”
“Right. And they’re your brother’s men?”
“Aye.”
She rubbed a pensive finger across her lips. “Loyal to the laird?”
“O’ course.”
“What are their names?”
“Their names? I don’t see how—”
“Indulge me.”
“Fergus and Morris Fortanach.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Are they brothers?”
“Aye.”
