a distant memory.
“And as far as earnin’ Laird Deirdre’s trust,” he said, “I didn’t have to say much.”
She raised a skeptical brow at that. “You attacked our clan. You nearly killed her daughter.”
“Your brother Adam explained. Once he told her my actions had been the result of a false banner played against mac Giric, she understood. And when he told her ye had plans to marry me—”
“What?” Feiyan’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. “You told her?”
“Adam told her.”
She caught her lip under her teeth. How could her brother have betrayed her like that? This was a disaster. “I don’t know how you do things in your clan, but in Rivenloch, we seek permission to wed. From the laird. And from the king.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No wonder she wouldn’t pay the ransom.”
“Och, ye o’ little faith,” he scoffed. “She knew ’twas a deception.”
“Are you sure?”
“O’ course I’m sure. Don’t ye realize it yet? Ye’re a precious gem in the crown o’ Rivenloch, Feiyan la Nuit, no matter how invisible or expendable ye think ye are.”
His words pleased her, even if they weren’t true. They warmed her heart and flushed her cheeks.
“Indeed, ’twas your laird who insisted I had to kill ye,” he added. “She didn’t want Gaufrid to have any leverage over her when she invaded.”
Feiyan nodded. She supposed that made sense.
“How did they do it? How did they get in?”
“There’s a secret tunnel at the back of the buttery, just there,” he said, gesturing with his head toward the place. “Last night, they climbed up from the beach. One by one, they traded clothing and replaced the servants.”
“And no one noticed?”
He shook his head. “Gaufrid wouldn’t recognize half the clan. The Fortanachs pay no heed to servants. And the mercenaries were asleep, restin’ up for the battle to come.”
“What happened to the real servants?”
“Some took refuge in the villages. The bravest remained. Most of them are waitin’ in the woods, armed with scythes and hayforks.”
Feiyan was impressed. For a man who preferred to meet his foe head-on, he’d managed a complex and brilliant deception.
“What about Adam and Gellir?” she asked.
“Adam the rat-catcher?” Dougal smiled. “He left last night after he collected the pointy-toothed ‘rat’ in Gaufrid’s chamber.” He nodded, indicating Feiyan’s bishou. “As for Gellir, he’s likely free by now.”
“How?”
“I let him out,” came a voice from the buttery entrance.
When Feiyan whirled and recognized Merraid, she took a judicious step away from Dougal. Merraid might only have a fleeting infatuation with the man Feiyan meant to marry, but it probably felt real to the lass. And if Merraid had freed Gellir, she owed the maid a measure of courtesy.
But Merraid swept into the room with a bright and dreamy smile. “Congratulations,” she gushed.
Feiyan frowned, not understanding.
Merraid raised her brows. “On your weddin’?”
Feiyan scowled at Dougal. “Does everyone know?”
Dougal shrugged. “Thank ye,” he said to Merraid. “So Gellir’s safe?”
Merraid’s melting gaze at the mention of Gellir’s name told Feiyan everything she needed to know. No longer infatuated with Dougal, she’d obviously fallen prey to Gellir’s charms, like so many lasses of late. Feiyan didn’t understand it. To her, Gellir was her serious, sullen cousin who lived for battle and hated losing to a lass.
Then Merraid’s gaze faltered. “I hope he’s safe. I gave him the sword like ye asked,” she said to Dougal. “He ran to the courtyard to join the fightin’.”
Feiyan took pity on the worried maid. “Gellir will be fine. After all, he survived a bout with Dougal and lived to tell the tale.”
Both of them lifted their brows at that. Dougal apparently didn’t remember, but he’d attacked Gellir at the Creagor tournament.
“There’s no one like Gellir with a sword in his hand,” Feiyan said.
“Unless ’tis ye, m’lady,” Dougal said. Then he turned to Merraid. “Were ye able to—”
“Och, aye!” Merraid exclaimed.
She lowered the satchel she’d been carrying, carefully emptying its contents onto the floor and unbuckled the belt fastened diagonally over her shoulder.
She’d brought the rest of Feiyan’s weapons. Her shoudao. Her duandao. And her sais. And buckled across her back was Dougal’s claymore, which Laird Deirdre had returned in good faith.
“Find him,” Fergus snarled as he burst through the keep doors into the great hall. Snagging Gaufrid’s upper arm to keep him securely at his side, he stabbed his finger at two of the guards. “Ye. And ye. Check the keep. He can’t have gone far.”
He scoured the great hall, which was teeming with servants. He cursed his