Clan Grant’s Yuletide revels were in full swing.
Callum frowned, his mood souring.
“My sorrow, I’m no’ of a mood for celebrating.” He turned back to Grim, shook his head at his cousin’s outlandish appearance. “Dinnae even suggest I don your smelly guiser gear.”
“Foolery is the best disguise. We’ll get inside the castle without causing a stir. Besides…” Grim paused, glanced down at the tattered animal skins and furs that made him look even more like a heathen beast than he already was. As if he knew and gloried in it, he lifted a hand to adjust the curling ram horns fastened to his helm. “This was no’ my idea,” he said. “The King-”
“If he wants Lady Alanna snatched from her home bad enough to fetch you from Duncreag and have me hauled away from Skerray, he’ll be even more upset if she dies of fright. That’s just another reason this is no’ a good idea.”
“She’ll be dead before the Daft Days are over if we fail.”
Callum’s gut clenched. “That isn’t good.”
“Indeed.”
“There’s more.”
“Aye.”
“Thon holding is nigh impregnable.” Callum ignored the cutting wind, the snow and sleet now blowing round them. “Seacliffe is her home, has been for centuries. She should be safe there,” he said, his mind racing. “That she clearly isn’t, tells me one thing.”
Grim said nothing, only lifted a frost-crusted brow.
“Her enemy is in there with her.” Callum felt bile rise in his throat. “Someone she trusts.”
“So it seems,” Grim agreed. “That’s why we’ll pose as the guisers everyone at her revels will expect tonight. Then” – he raised a hand, made a quick, hard fist – “we’ll have her out of there and on theWave-Dancerbefore anyone realizes she’s not coming back.”
“Good enough, but with one small change.” Callum couldn’t believe what he was going to suggest.
Either he was about to defy a king’s order – or he’d lost his mind.
He hoped to all the gods it wasn’t the latter.
Chapter 6
“There you are, my dear, your people are enjoying the revels,” came a motherly voice beside Alanna.
“So they are.” She didn’t turn to look at her aunt. Instead, she stepped out of the shelter of the arched entry to the great hall, her gaze on the merrymakers in the bailey. Singing and laughing, they cavorted around several bonfires that blazed bright, the flames leaping high, warming the night.
“They will be ale-headed on the morrow.”
“Aye,” Alanna agreed, ignoring the slight disdain in her aunt’s voice. “They work hard all year and deserve tonight’s feasting.”
“Ah, well.” Aunt Nettie edged closer, her cloak clutched tight against the wind. “’Tis a wonder they can whirl and leap around thon fires, full as their bellies are of Seacliffe beef and ale.”
“They’ll have more when they leave. Boyd will accompany them with carts of provender, along with baskets of Yule cakes and barrels of ale.” Alanna looked out across the courtyard, her heart lifting to see her people’s faces wreathed in smiles, their eyes shining. “The other gifts, likewise, as every year.”
She glanced at her aunt, knew she didn’t approve. “Father always said a laird is only as strong as the men who stand beside him. Mother agreed and so do I. Our hall shall remain open to them this night. Pallets and extra blankets have already been stacked in the wall niches if you haven’t seen.”
“I have.”
Alanna bit back a sigh. Only her aunt could sour two such innocent words.
“Given the weather, Cook will have a plentiful and hearty breakfast for them in the morning.” Alanna rubbed her hands against the cold. She regretted forgoing her usual midwinter visit to Seacliffe’s farms, crofts, and outlying fishing huts, but all things considered, welcoming her people here and letting Boyd deliver the gifts was a wise choice.
Sure of it, she summoned a smile. “A good meal will keep them warm on their homebound journeys. Some have a long way to go.”
“They be hardy folk. They dinnae need coddling.”
