Bride of Mist (The Warrior Daughters of Rivenloch #3) - Glynnis Campbell Page 0,97
of breath made him instantly release her again, though something in her face said she wished he hadn’t.
“Those two men upstairs who spoke to you,” he murmured. “Who are they?”
“N-nobody.” She lowered her eyes.
“Don’t go to them,” he entreated.
“I’m a servant,” she mumbled. “I don’t have a choice.”
He clenched his jaw. “You always have a choice.” He could see his emphatic tone frightened her, so he softened his voice. “What’s your name?”
“Merraid.”
“Merraid,” he repeated. “How old are ye, Merraid?”
“Ten and five.”
He bit out an oath that made her flinch. What kind of monsters bedded a wide-eyed lass half their age? The thought sickened him, making him want to drive a dagger through their hearts.
“They’re swine,” he said. “They mean you nothing but harm. You stay clear of them. Promise me. Promise me.”
She looked at him now with a dazzled sort of adoration, as if he’d asked her to promise him her heart. “I promise.”
“Good.” He nodded, satisfied. “Because I can’t carry off this deceit if I’m fretting over what might be happening to you.”
She gave him a wobbly smile, a smile that would sustain him over the long and frustrating night ahead.
Chapter 32
“Wait!” Fergus called out from the hearth as the pair of filthy rat-catchers slunk toward the doors of the great hall. “Where are ye goin’?”
They froze.
The short one bobbed his head and replied, “We’re all finished, sir.”
“Ye’re sure ye got them all?” Morris asked.
“Och aye,” the lad replied, hefting up a hemp bag as proof. “Quicker than cats we are.”
“Because if I spot a single rat…” Morris threatened.
“Och nay, sir.”
“Where’s the redheaded lass gone?” Fergus asked.
The lad shrugged. “She bade us get rid of these straightaway.”
Fergus squinted at the tall rat-catcher, the one who wasn’t speaking. “What’s wrong with him?”
Fergus saw the man’s shoulders tense.
“He’s a mute,” the short one said.
Fergus frowned. Perhaps that explained the disquiet he felt, looking at the shrouded rat-catcher. He seemed different somehow, more threatening. But then Fergus had never gotten a good look at the man to begin with, since his face was hidden by that tattered hood.
After a long scowl, he waved them away.
He had more pressing matters to attend to, beginning with finding the wayward maidservant who’d given them the slip.
Laird Gaufrid was still at the high table, slumped over his pottage. He’d drunk himself into a stupor. Which was fine with Fergus. Gaufrid was much easier to manage when he was soused.
When it came to negotiating with Rivenloch over the hostage, Fergus didn’t intend to let Gaufrid’s cowardice, petulance, and childish pride get in the way of what had to be said.
That was why Fergus had had to take that business at Kirkoswald into his own hands. Left to his own devices, Gaufrid would have made a mess of things. Lacking ambition, the laird didn’t have the nerve or the guts to do what needed to be done.
But Fergus and Morris were made of sterner stuff. They’d survived exile, after all. Forged a new life for themselves. Gathered a ferocious army around them.
And when the time came to demand ransom, Fergus intended to make the border clan pay, one way or another. Rivenloch would either reward Darragh with a chest full of silver, or he’d force them to watch while he took pleasure in killing their high-and-mighty warrior maid.
If they chose to wage war, Fergus was confident his ruthless mercenaries would make minced meat out of the self-righteous Rivenloch clan.
Afterwards, he’d murder Gaufrid’s meddlesome brother himself and declare Dougal an unfortunate casualty of battle.
Feiyan and Gellir huddled together for warmth as they peered out the grate of the dùn mara toward the beach. The sky was black. The air was clammy with sea spray. It was too cold to sleep.
Not that she could have slept. She was too busy watching for signs of the advancing Rivenloch army to doze.
“You’re sure about this Highlander, cousin?” Gellir murmured.
“You don’t trust him.”
“He did try to kill half our clan.”
“’Twas a mistake. A false banner.”
“But he took you captive.”
“Only when I tried to assassinate him.”
“And now he’s managed to lock up two hostages.”
“We’re not hostages,” she protested.
“Aren’t we?” he said, shaking the imprisoning iron bars. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if his plan doesn’t work? What if he fails?”
She frowned. “He’s not going to fail.”
“You only say that because you’re in love with him.”
She gave him a chiding punch in the arm. But his words shook her faith like a battering ram rattling a door.