Page 94 of Bride of Mist
Dougal stopped in his tracks, stunned.
An uneasy shiver slithered up his spine.
Whohadidentified it?
“Gaufrid,” he remembered. “They showed the badge to Gaufrid. ’Twas my brother who knew it.”
“Your brother?” Her eyes dimmed to a deep charcoal. “And is he the one who directed you to Creagor?”
He could only nod.
“But there’s the other puzzing thing,” she said. “Why Creagor?”
“’Tis the mac Giric stronghold, aye?”
“Nay.”
He blinked. “’Tisn’t?”
“The clan seat is in the Highlands. Creagor was awarded to the laird’sson,Morgan Mor mac Giric. And he just married into the Rivenloch clan. That’s who you were sent to face.”
Dougal rubbed the back of his neck. What had his brother done? And why?
Gaufrid had instantly recognized the clan crest. He’d known exactly where Creagor was. He’d known how long it took to get there. Three days’ ride, he’d said. He’d claimed he couldn’t spare his men to ride along with Dougal. And Fergus and Morris had been quick to back up that claim.
Gaufrid must have known Dougal would be facing Rivenloch.
And he’d sent him there alone.
Alone.
His suspicions were slowly curdling into an insidious scheme that was bitter to the taste and hard to swallow.
The three of them—Gaufrid, Fergus, and Morris—had set him up.
He should have seen it. He should have known not to trust anything they said. If he’d stopped for one moment to think, he would have noticed small details that didn’t make sense, asked questions that would have revealed the lie.
But his focus had been on Kirkoswald. On stopping the blaze. Rescuing the villagers.
As Dougal sorted through his recollections and tried to digest the incriminating facts, emotions struck him like blows of a war club. Disappointment. Dejection. Despair.
Just as he was defending himself against crushing self-blame, Feiyan gently confided, “I have to question your brother’s motives.”
So did he. And the sooner he found out, the better.
“I’ve got to get to Castle Darragh,” he announced. “Now.”
She seized his arm as he turned to go. “Nay.”
“What do ye mean, nay?”
“Don’t you see? ’Tis even more dangerous than we thought.” She lowered her voice to a murmur and lightened her grip on his arm, as if to soften the blow. “I fear he may have meant to get rid of you.”
Dougal gave her a bitter snort. “He’s always meant to get rid o’ me.”
The words were harsh and shocking when he spoke them aloud. But he supposed he’d suspected the truth for a long time now.
Why else would Gaufrid offer a prize to the man who could best Dougal in combat?
