Arran tore hisgaze away from Jenna and concentrated on his mother. “Dinna worry,” he said. “The blood isnae mine.”
“Dinna worry? I worry every time ye step out of the gates of Dun Tabor! Look at ye! Dinna tell me ye are fine, Arran MacLeod, when ye clearly are not!”
Her voice was shrill and wavering and Arran forced a smile. He had to remember that his mother had already lost a husband and son to raiders and what it must be like for her to live under constant threat of losing him as well.
He took her hands from his shoulders and squeezed them. “There was an attack on Tollman’s Gate. The same raiders who hit the fleet the other day, unless I miss my guess. But they didnae bank on the village’s defenses, or on our warning system. We got there before they could do much damage and drove them back.”
Rosaline let out a shaky breath. “Thank the Lord. And ye are unhurt?”
He shrugged. “A few scrapes and bruises but naught I canna handle.” In truth, his body was aching like an old man’s and he suspected his hip and thigh would be black from where he’d been dragged from his horse, but his mother didn’t need to know that.
Rosaline nodded, reassured, and with another squeeze of his mother’s hand, he released her and approached Jenna.
She was sitting at a table piled high with books and scrolls and wasstaring at him with wide eyes. Ah, those eyes. Like a forest pool on a sunny day. At the sight of her, the tension that had knotted his muscles on the ride here began to drain away. Exhaustion came in its wake, and he felt every bruise, every scratch and scrape, tenfold.
It was ridiculous how his heart lifted at the sight of her. It was beyond ridiculous how warmth spread through him when she gave him a tremulous smile, spreading through his stomach and all the way down to his groin. What was wrong with him?
He took a deep breath and moved to stand in front of her. “The raiders know about ye, lass. They know ye are here to help us. That puts ye in danger. From now on, ye are not to leave the castle without guards. Aye?”
The blood drained from Jenna’s face. “You don’t think they would… hurt me, do you?”
“They would do whatever it takes to keep Skye within their grasp. Ye saw the burned-out ships the other day; ye know what they are capable of. I swore to keep ye safe and I will, but that means doing as I say. Do I have yer word?”
A range of emotions passed across her face. Fear, yes, but also annoyance and a flash of irritation. It seemed that Jenna MacFinnan did not like being told what to do.
But finally, she nodded. “Fine. Whatever you say.”
Her lips were parted slightly and he could see a faint pulse beating in her temple. He cleared his throat and gestured to the books and scrolls piled on the table. “So… er… how has yer search gone? Did ye find what ye need?”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I had no idea that I’m descended from a line of giants and shape-changers and God-knows-what-else. And here’s me thinking we were just a bunch of ordinary women with some small ability to manipulate energy. If I’d known, I would have charged more.”
Arran smiled. “A bargain is a bargain, lass. And ye are anything but ordinary.”
He hadn’t meant to say it but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Jenna looked up at him and her cheeks flushed before she looked quickly away.
Why did his common sense seem to go out of the window whenever this woman was around?
“Er, where is Merrick?”
Jenna hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “Somewhere at the back, digging out another load of fairy tales for me to read.”
Arran took his chance to escape and hurried through the library towards the farthest shelves. He found Brother Merrick holding a faded scroll up to the light as he tried to make out its contents. He rolled it up as he spotted Arran approaching.
“Ah! There ye are, my laird! Look at this! It’s a record of the granting of the northern pastures to the Dougalls. It’s over a hundred years old and signed by yer great-grandfather. What a find!”
“Fascinating,” Arran said drily. “But I’m not interested in land grants. I want yer opinion on something else. Do ye have pen and parchment?”
“Of course, my laird.”
Merrick fetched what Arran needed and laid it out on a nearby desk. Arran dipped the quill in the inkpot and then sketched out the swirling design he’d seen on the raiders and Ingold’s neck, along with the rune that had been inked above it. When he was finished, he held it up, scouring his memory to check he’d gotten it right. It was as near as he could remember.
“Have ye ever seen this design before?” he asked, thrusting the parchment towards Merrick.
The monk took it, bringing it close to his face as he squinted at the design. “I’m not sure,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “It isnae Christian, I know that much. Something about it looks familiar, asthough I might have seen it in some of our texts on the old religion.”
“Then find it,” Arran commanded. “I need to know what it symbolizes.”
Merrick nodded, his eyes alight with the excitement only a scholar can feel at the prospect of new research. “I’ll get to it right away.”
