Page 15 of The Crown of Moonlight
My cheeks grow hotter, and impulsively, I lean over and kiss Iain’s cheek.“Thank you.Truly.I can’t imagine what we’d do without you.”
“Well, and off with you now, then.”He looks down at the cobblestones and clears his throat.“But you know you’ve only to ask if there’s anything you need.I’ll be put out otherwise, whatever.At my age, a spot of trouble makes no matter of difference.”
I nod, and not trusting my voice, I turn and leave the stables.
Rab follows me across the courtyard, his presence a silent comfort.And since I’m liable to run into the visitors before I can reach the family quarters, I stop by the kitchens where Morag is kneading bread dough.
When I enter, she turns from the table where she’s kneading dough, and the head-to-toe examination she gives me is every bit as canny as Iain’s.Her hair has greyed rapidly these past months, and her arms are thick with muscle from the added work she’s had to take on.
“And where have you been, mistress?”Morag brushes flour off her hands and wipes them on her apron.“Here we’ve been wondering if you’re lying dead in the Wood somewhere and had no one to send out after you with the visitors here making trouble.”
I heave an inward sigh.“What sort of trouble?”
“Thinking themselves too important, to begin with.”Morag shakes her head.“I don’t suppose you want to tell me why you’re covered in blood?”
“Not at the moment.”I smile at her, already feeling guilty.“I’ve kept the visitors waiting long enough as it is, and then I have something urgent I have to tend to.I do need a clean dress first, if you can get one for me.”
Morag gives me a disapproving stare, then fetches a cloth and points me sternly towards the wet room.“You might as well give yourself a wash while I’m gone, in that case.You’d frighten children, the state you’re in.”
She crosses towards the threshold, then pauses in the doorway.“Not to poke my nose where it isn’t wanted,” she says without turning to face me, “but if either of the visitors has brought a proposal for you, then you should hear them out.You’ve too much on your shoulders as it is, and it could be a husband would ease the burden.”
I draw in a long, uneven breath.“You don’t think we can manage here on our own?I know you’ve all been doing too much…”
“That’s not it at all.”Now she does look at me, and there’s pity in her expression.“Maybe it’s time to admit the truth,” she says more quietly.“Even if you can persuade the council to accept you as High Chief, there’s still the law to consider.A husband could help you, love.A strong man who’d be willing to share the burden until the law is changed.Someone to help you rebuild.And you’ll be wanting a family sooner or later, won’t you?Listen with an open mind, that’s all I’m asking.”
I know she means well.Still, the idea of selling myself hits me like a blow.Morag’s jumped to the same conclusion about what the visitors want as I have, but instead of being angry, she’s telling me to give in.To give up.The thought of marrying Dughall literally turns my stomach.
Rab settles himself near the warmth of the ovens, his massive head resting on his paws.
I strip out of my clothes and wash.Unbidden, I remember the feel of the Ever’s arms around me, his warmth.The way he held me.The way he apologised when he was wrong.
I doubt Dughall has apologised for anything in his life.
Morag takes longer than I’d hoped, but she returns eventually with a clean skirt, bodice, and a scarf to cover my hair.I’m too hurt and furious to say much to her, and I refuse to marry anyone I don’t want.After throwing on the clothes, I hurry to the Great Hall, where the visitors are waiting.
I can’t afford to waste time while the Ever is alone and bleeding.
Chapter 8
Banners and Threats
Flora
S
eated near the hearth at the far end of the Great Hall, the two men are engrossed in food, ale, and an argument between them.I glance at the door to the small receiving room just beyond their table.As I expected, there’s an inch-wide gap between the door and the frame, and I’ve no doubt Faolan will have much to tell me about what was said before my arrival.
It’s still painful to greet guests here by myself, in this echoing stone chamber where my brothers used to chase each other amid the joyful voices and roaring fires of clan gatherings and the great feasts at Yule and Beltane.Cloth-covered tables would hold platters of goose and pheasant along with pitchers of mead.At Yule, the wall behind the high table was stacked to the rafters with gifts of preserves, grains, and cured meats to last those less fortunate through the winter.
These days, my mother sits alone in her solar, her mind muddled by grief.The empty tables stand pushed back against the walls, folded hangings rest in storeroom chests, and the dirty scarlet rugs remind me of blood crusted on a bandage.
Both of the men waiting for me are middle-aged and greying.I haven’t met either of them before.One has a cane resting beside him on the bench, and he looks as though he might have been a formidable warrior at one time.The other has the crafty softness of a weasel about him.
They’re slow to rise when I cross the long room to meet them, and whatever Rab senses from them doesn’t win him over.He growls faintly and presses close beside me.
I’m determined to be amiable.I express my sorrow at their losses before we exchange news of other Culodur dead.Then it doesn’t surprise me in the least to learn that the smug one is the Ceapaich heir’s steward.He introduces himself as Fergus and the other man as Tormod, and he sits back down without waiting for an invitation.
“By all means,” I suggest, taking the chair at the head of the table, “make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen.”
