It was those rumors that had brought Niall here tonight. He watched as something caught Lady Murray’s eye. Following her gaze, he saw a man weaving through the crowd towards her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with his dark hair neatly tied back in a tail. He moved with the sleek grace of a hunting cat and with as much arrogance.
Niall did his best to keep the snarl from his face. Boyd MacAllister.
What washedoing here? The sight of him in this den of politeness and pretense was as jarring as a wolf among lambs.
MacAllister approached Lady Murray and bowed low over her hand, whispering something that made her throw back her head and laugh.
Niall felt a growl building in his throat. He had hoped to catch Lady Murray alone, to subtly press her for information. Little chance of that now.
He drained his goblet and put it down with more force than necessary. He watched as MacAllister leaned in to whisper something else into Lady Murray’s ear, the laughter lines around her eyes crinkling as she responded with a hearty guffaw. Niall’s hands clenched involuntarily at the sight. He had to be careful, tread lightly around MacAllister. He was too dangerous, too cunning. One wrong move, one question too many, and MacAllister was the kind of man who would see straight through Niall’s carefully crafted persona.
He decided to make another round of the room while keeping an eye on MacAllister and Lady Murray. As he moved, he brushed past a group of women who tittered behind their fans, their eyes following him with interest. He gave them a polite nod and made his way towards the drinks table, grabbing another measure of whisky.
“Are ye enjoying the show?” said a voice suddenly.
He turned and saw an old woman with a gray bun standing next to him. She was tiny, barely reaching his chest, and her eyes twinkled mischievously under the weight of her years. She wasn’t dressed in the latest court finery, but instead wore a shapeless brown coat held closed with a deer-shaped brooch. She stood out almost as much as Boyd MacAllister did, although for different reasons.
Niall nodded curtly, his gaze slipping back towards Lady Murray and MacAllister. “It’s certainly...entertaining.”
The old woman followed his gaze, a knowing smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Ah, yes. The dance of power is always so fascinating,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving the pair across the room. “So many pawns moving at the whim of unseen hands. Which are ye, I wonder, Niall Campbell. A pawn, or the hand that moves them?”
Niall blinked in surprise, turning to look at her. “Ye know who I am?”
The old woman laughed, a rich, warm sound like a bubbling stream. “Oh, lad, every woman in this room knows who ye are! And why should they not? Ye are Niall Campbell, after all, Edinburgh’s most eligible bachelor! A man of wealth and influence who is no stranger to the dance we have before us.”
Niall’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the old woman, noting her twinkling eyes and the way her lips curled into an enigmatic smile. There was something about her that made him uneasy. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The way she looked at him, with those eyes that were as dark as a still pool on a moonless night, seemed to look right into him. He felt off balance and that was one thing he most definitely didnotlike feeling.
He cleared his throat. “And who might ye be?”
The old woman chuckled again, her laughter seeping into the air around them like a warm perfume. “Just someone who has seen more than her share of dances,” she said, smiling like someone’s kindly grandmother. “My name is Irene, lad. Irene MacAskill.”
The name stirred something in Niall’s memory, a whisper of a story told long ago, but he couldn’t quite grasp the connection. He felt a shiver run down his spine, as if an icy breeze had swept through the room despite the close-packed bodies.
Irene MacAskill. Why did that name seem so familiar?
His gaze slipped away from her face to the deer-shaped brooch at her chest, wondering if it held any significance.
Irene seemed to sense his unease. “Ah, lad,” she said. “Ye’re trying to fit me into a story ye’ve already written, aren’t ye? But sometimes, life doesnae follow the script we have in mind. Ye of all people should know that. If it did, ye wouldnae be here right now, would ye, so far from where the balance needs ye to be?”
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Niall was at a loss for words. To cover his sudden flusterment, he sipped from his goblet, but the whisky tasted bitter on his tongue.
Irene MacAskill knew nothing about him and yet the words she spoke pierced him as surely as any dagger. She was right. If his life had gone the way he’d wanted, he wouldnotbe here. He would not be pretending to be something he was not, amongst people who represented everything he’d come to loathe. But such was life, and he didn’t need some strange old woman pointing out his many mistakes.
He wasn’t sure what to say or how to respond to her cryptic statement, so he did what he always did in these situations—he pulled on the mask. He gave Irene his most charming smile, the one that soon had ladies spilling their secrets and men boasting their exploits. “I’m forgetting my manners. It’s a pleasure to meet ye, Lady MacAskill. What brings ye to this dance?”
“I’m here for the same reason as everyone else, my lad,” she replied with a shrug. “To watch the game unfold.”
“And who do ye suppose will win this game?” he asked, gesturing vaguely towards Lady Murray and MacAllister.
Irene didn’t look in their direction. Instead, she cocked her head and regarded him with a shrewd expression. “Well, that depends, doesnae it? It depends what choices ye make, my dear.”
Niall blinked in surprise. “Me? What has this got to do with me?”
Irene’s black eyes seemed to bore right into him. “Everything, lad,” she said softly. She laid a hand on his arm. “There are some people whom time and history swirl around. Ye are one of them. Ye stand at the crossroads, with a foot in the old world and an eye to the new. The choice ye make will decide not only the course of yer future, but that of Alba as well.”
Niall swallowed hard, unsettled by the sudden intensity of her words. He didn’t like the strange feeling of vulnerability that the old woman stirred up in him, as though she was the one in control and Niall was just a child sitting at her feet.Hewas always the one in control.Hewas the one who wielded influence over others. He glanced around the room, but no one else seemed to have heard Irene’s words or noticed anything amiss.
“Choice?” he said bitterly. “What choice do I have?”What choice have I ever had?
