Page 99 of Bride of Mist
And the voices were growing closer.
He cursed under his breath as he wrested into his leine.
Damn the conniving imp. He’d pledged his heart to her. Worse, she’d made him swear to never leave her behind, and she’d broken her own vow.
As the voices floated past outside, he recognized that of the innkeeper. “This way to the stables, Your Majesty.”
Dougal frowned. Your Majesty? The king? Again?
Once they’d passed, he went to the barn door and opened it a crack.
The tall, dark-haired lad might be Malcolm. He seemed about the right age. He wasn’t dressed in royal robes or wearing a crown. Instead, he’d chosen a fine woolen gambeson, one that would disguise him as a lesser-ranking noble.
The smaller lad might be his servant. He appeared younger than the king, though he too was clad in quality wool.
Still, it was curious there were only two of them. Had Malcolm indeed embarked on a clandestine tour of his lands? Or had he only fled his royal duties and run away from home?
Whichever it was, he was traveling west, straight for Castle Darragh. And somewhere between here and there, a willful lass with a bold tongue and a deadly arsenal was headed in the same direction.
Warring forces were about to collide.
Dougal slipped into his gambeson and braies, keeping an eye on the king.
At the stable door, the innkeeper bowed and left the lads to their business.
Dougal wasted precious moments rummaging through the straw, looking for his plaid, before deciding Feiyan must have taken it.
He tied on his once-jeweled dagger. At least the lass had left himoneweapon with which to defend himself.
He peered out the barn door again. The young men were emerging from the stables, leading…
His jaw dropped.
Urramach.
He snapped his jaws shut again, grinding his teeth in outrage.
They had his horse.
That wasn’t the king.
Too blind with outrage to consider the consequences, he burst out of the barn and confronted the startled lads.
“What the bloody hell are ye doin’ with my horse?”
“Yourhorse?” the tall lad replied, tightening his grip on Urramach’s lead. Then he muttered to his companion. “’Tis him. Mac Darragh.”
The younger lad faced Dougal fearlessly, straightening his spine and drawing his sword. “What the bloody hell have you done with my sister?”
Chapter 25
Feiyan pulled Dougal’s gray plaid closer around her face.
Past the mist, beyond the cliff, sounded the crash and hiss of the unseen sea. But before her, overlooking the firth, towered an imposing square stone keep. Surrounded by a curtain wall that was manned by at least six watchmen, Castle Darragh was well defended and nearly impenetrable.
Nearly.
But the magical morning mist kept her secrets. It softened the landscape, muting colors and obscuring her approach to all but the two guards at the gate.
