Page 31 of The Crown of Moonlight
“Considering whether I’m keeping my oaths, yes.”
There’s shame in that these days, instead of the pride I used to feel.I hear the resentment in my voice, and the runes deliver a sharp lash of pain to punish me.
Flora brushes a fingertip over the bands, lightly enough to send a shiver through me.The oathbands spin faster around my arm.
“Do they hurt?And why do they move away when I touch them?”
“I’m not sure.They’re probably assessing whether you’re a threat—whether you’re likely to make me break my oaths.”
Everything about Flora treads in dangerous waters.
She frowns at the runes, then lays her palm briefly against my cheek.I don’t know why, but I’m afraid to move.Then, before I can formulate a coherent question, she breaks the contact and helps me put the final touches on the disguise.
Her head tips down at an angle as she works, exposing the hollow above her spine.I wonder how she’d react if I ran the pad of my thumb along that tender ridge, tracing the curve of her neck.Would she lean into the touch?
She retrieves the thin shawl from the back of the chair and drapes it around my head, pulling it low over my brows and tying it beneath my chin.
Any impulse I had to touch her vanishes.If there has ever been an invention in the history of the world that could emasculate a man more thoroughly than having a scarf tied beneath his chin, I haven’t found it yet.
Completing the humiliation, she tucks the ends back inside the bodice.
A gust of wind rattles the window, and beyond it, a raven glides on the current, darker against the thick smoke still rising in the distance.
“There, now,” Flora says.“You’re back to being a respectable lady’s companion as long as you don’t make yourself too noticeable when the soldiers are around.”
The word punches into me like a fist.
We’ve been focused on me, but the vile smoke outside is a portent of what’s coming to Dunhaelic.And if I can’t help but have thoughts of Flora in my arms, how will she fare with soldiers who’ve been ordered to punish the Highlanders in the most brutal ways possible?Flora’s household consists of women and old men, and I am weak and useless.
Once again, I regret my refusal to pay the exorbitant prices the other Riders paid for the risk of having yet more runes etched into their skin.I can think of dozens that might help us now.
Under the veneer of courage Flora wears, I can see that she is scared.That makes two of us—because I’m terrified for her.For all of them.
Flora leads the way as we climb the round stone staircase to her mother’s solar, and I pretend—if only for Flora’s sake—that each step isn’t heavier than the last.By the time we reach the top, it’s all I can do not to brace myself against the wall.
The chamber that opens off the stairway runs the length of the Lord’s Tower.Windows flank the hearth, and a large round window dominates the wall at the far end.The room should feel light and airy, but today, rain weeps from clouds the colour of smoke.Still, the windows on one side offer a broad view of the road that crosses the glen, and the opposite windows overlook the courtyard within the keep, providing a good vantage point for everything except the area nearest to the gate.
Flora’s mother sits on a high-backed bench across from the crackling fire, a heavy shawl of fine wool draped around her shoulders.She looks up from her embroidery as we step inside.
She’s younger than I expected.Her eyes are a similar grey to Flora’s, and her hair might once have been a similar colour, though the brightness is dimmed by grey.I’m curious about the woman who sits and chats and embroiders while her daughter struggles to do the work of many.
“There you are, Flora,” she says brightly.“And who is this you’ve brought with you?”
“Don’t you remember Rowan?Catriona’s niece from the north.”Flora casts me a faint, pleading smile.“She’s been your companion for ages, since well before Father left.”
“She has?How lovely.”Her gaze sweeps over me, and I struggle to hide my surprise.
“She can’t speak, but she loves to hear your stories,” Flora adds gently, folding the lie around her mother with an air of guilt she can’t disguise.
“I do love stories, don’t I?And company—it’s so dull with your father and the boys away.Come and entertain me, Rowan, dear.”She sets her embroidery aside and pats the bench beside her.“Or perhaps you’d like to eat a bit of something first?Morag brought far too much food this morning, and I don’t know what she was thinking.None of it is to my taste.”
“Morag is rushed this morning,” Flora says smoothly.“But she brought food up for Rowan as well.Perhaps that’s what has you confused.Rowan, you should eat while you can.”
She waves me towards a table where a plate holds oatcakes, a slab of yellow cheese, and a generous portion of smoked fish.A crock of butter and a jar of honey sit nearby.My stomach growls, and I catch Flora’s small smile.
“Should I fill a plate for you, Rowan?”she asks.
I shake my head, point to myself, gesture with two fingers walking, and indicate the table.
