Page 109 of The Speed of Lightning
He pushed her hands away.Forget it. I’ve always been hopeless at language. It was a stupid idea.
A pitiful look crossed her face.Don’t say that. You’re very fluent in my signs.
Skepticism washed over him.How did I do learning the signs compared to Iain, or Rock, or Angus?
Birdy’s face stretched into a tight, unconvincing grin.Really well.
Odin’s beard, I was horrible, wasn’t I?
She shook with silent laughter.It was endearing. It’s still endearing.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN STILL?!
Hector pushed through the heavy oak doors, and Calum held it open for Freya. He hoped to catch her eye, but she kept her head lowered, murmuring only a quiet thanks as she passed.Cursed mind.He must master it—find some way to show her he wasn’t a lascivious clod. A ballad would win her heart, surely.
The rain-soaked day cast dim light across the polished flagstone of John Mór’s solar. The chamber was grand, yet restrained. Velvet-covered chairs lined the walls, as if waiting for judges instead of guests. Tapestries hung from the walls with motifs of the Irish coastline. The warm scent of beeswax drifted from a tall candelabrum whose flames glowed steadily against the gloom. At the far end, the would-be king sat behind a dark-wood desk, hands folded over ledgers and letters. Beside him waited Cota Liath.
The slender minstrel rose with lanky elegance, removing his chaperon with a flourish, its tufty plume swaying. “My lords and ladies.”
John Mór rose, extending a hand to Hector. “It’s been a success. I was just reading over the dispatches from the MacNeils, the MacQuarries, the MacFies, and the MacAlisters. They’ve pledged support for our cause and the continued fight against Stewart. Also the Campbells, though I’m wary of inviting them—they’ve always been keen to exert their own mastery of the west. Of course, there’s some lingering opposition, as I expected.”
A potent release of relief swept over Calum. The supporting clans were small, but well respected. With Chattan and the Campbells on their side, they might actually have a chance.
Hector nodded, his face neutral. “And what of the opposition?”
John sank back into his chair. “The MacDonalds of Lewis, who temporarily control the lands in escheat?1 around Garmoran and Castle Tioram, and Clan Ranald in Moidart have reservations about unseating the ruler. Still, they support the continued war against the Wolf given his increasing proximity to their lands. The MacDonalds of Islay, on lands around Findlugan and Dunnyvaig, have forced Dómhnall out. He’s withdrawn…”
The look on John Mór’s face was tight with agitation.
Léo’s brow quirked. “Not to?”
John Mór nodded. “Ardtornish.”
They were all staggered. It didn’t seem possible.
Iain drug a chair over plopping down and running his hands through his hair. “Dómhnall would put down a rebellion with an alliance with… the Wolf?”
Freya’s hand shot out, clutching his arm, her face pale. Her knees buckled and her head dipped forward. Calum caught her just in time, holding her upright. A sharp gasp escaped her lips.
The others surged forward, eyes wide, faces taut with concern, swarming around her.
David took her other arm, helping Calum steady her. “We have you, love.”
Angus jerked a chair from the wall, sliding it behind her legs. “Here, sit her down.”
Eoghan set a footstool beneath her feet, while Hector opened a window. Léo poured a glass of claret, lowering it toward her.
Birdy knelt, brushing the hair away from Freya’s pale, wide-eyed face.She’s broken out into a sweat. —Saints, Léo, she doesn’t want a tipple.
Léo looked offended. “It’s a trusted healing practice in Calais.”
Birdy loosened Freya’s cloak, fanning her face.Are you ill? Bother she can’t understand me.
Calum steadied her, wondering if she’d eaten that day. “Are you hale? What’s the matter?”
She began to tremble, shaking her head in disbelief.
“What have we done? I imagined the other clans would pledge their fealty, that Dómhnall would see reason and return the throne. That this would be bloodless. Not that… not that he would hold onto his title by allying with the very man who’s?—”
