Page 97 of Bride of Mist
He never found one. At least not one that was better than what she had in mind.
As they ate up the miles, following the sun, he suggested a plethora of tactics. Telling Gaufrid he’d successfully slain Morgan Mor mac Giric. Challenging the Fortanach brothers to a duel. Threatening his brother with an attack by the Rivenloch warriors.
All his ideas were confrontational, doomed to fail. And none would effect the lasting change that needed to happen if what she suspected was true—that his clan was being destroyed from the inside. The malignant cancer eating away at the legacy of Darragh must also be removed from the inside.
She just had to convince him of that. She’d be perfectly safe. She’d performed dozens of spying operations just like this one. She’d be in and out of the castle before he knew it.
There was no point arguing with him now. By his long stride and determined scowl, he was in full battle mode. Each mile they came closer to Castle Darragh, the more fierce he looked. Keen to fight. Eager to punish.
Later, she decided, after their bellies were full of warm pottage and crisp ale, when a cozy fire crackled on the hearth, when he collapsed onto a plush feather bed in naked, sweating, breathless satisfaction beneath her—satiated with pleasure, softened with love—then she’d be able to persuade him that her way was best.
That was her plan.
But the Ayr Arms was packed to the rafters with guests.
There would be no romantic candlelight tryst this evening.
Noisy patrons crowded the common room, jostling for space and sloshing ale on the weathered timbers. A rosy-cheeked serving maid with an empty tray elbowed her way through the milling bodies. A pair of well-dressed merchants chortled together, absently brushing Feiyan with their velvet sleeves, while Dougal negotiated for lodgings.
“Well, let’s see,” the innkeeper yelled over the din. “I’ve got a chamber with two pallets ye’d be sharin’ with eleven others. Or…”
Near the door, a trio of monks chortled into their ales. An ugly old man clutching a cat squeezed by her.
“There’s a wee bit o’ room by the hearth there,” the innkeeper said with a nod. “’Twill be a late night ere the crowd thins, but ye’ll keep warm enough. Or…”
“What aboutyourchamber?” Dougal asked.
“’Tis already taken, I’m afraid,” the innkeeper replied. “The wife and I will be sleepin’ with the hens.”
Out of the cacophony arose a familiar sound. A deep, unmistakable chuckle that pierced through the babble, making the fine hair rise at the back of Feiyan’s neck.
She searched the crowd for the source of the sound.
There. The tall lad with the dark, tousled hair.
Her eyes widened. Her breath caught. It couldn’t be.
But when he turned his head slightly, there was no mistake.
It was Gellir. Her cousin.
What was he doing here?
Quickly, before he could spot her, she turned away.
The innkeeper drawled, “There’s room in the barn.”
“We’ll take it,” she blurted out.
She plucked Dougal’s dagger from its sheath, popped loose a ruby with herbishou,and dropped it into the innkeeper’s palm.
“Let’s go.”
Dougal didn’t question her urgency. He immediately ushered her through the crowd and out the door. Only when they were outside did he wonder what had startled her.
It would do no good to tell him the truth. To let him see her worry.
So when she turned to him, she had her panic in check and her wiles engaged.
