“Perhaps not, but they deserve it.”
Aunt Nettie’s chin came up. “And if one o’ them is behind the arrows zinging at you? What about the loose rope on the cliff-stair?”
“I trust our people.”
“We need to watch your back all the same.”
“All will be well,” Alanna said, wishing it so. She also wished she didn’t question her wits. It was bad enough to carry the Grant curse on her shoulders. Now, after seeing a ghostly Viking ship that then turned into a passing galley, she had to worry that so many cares were driving her mad.
Was it possible?
Would she someday walk off into the moors and vanish like her mother?
Or would a dirk between the ribs as she slept, get her first?
Suchlike and worse had been the fate of others in the family. And a few poor souls close to Clan Grant. She didn’t know her own future, but had to consider all possibilities.
But not this night.
Not at Yule.
“There be venison pie inside.” Aunt Nettie cast a sidelong look at Alanna, her soured mood forgotten. As with many slight souls, she ate more than ten men but didn’t carry a speck of fat. “Beef ribs, smoked fish, and plump, roasted capons,” she gushed. “Rivers of mead, thick and strong to wash it all down.” She wagged a finger, a gleam in her eye. “Cook made your favorite custard pasties, too. A whole table of ‘em, last I looked.”
“I know.” Alanna’s mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten all day, save a buttered bannock and a handful of sugared almonds she’d grabbed just before guests started arriving.
“Then come.” Aunt Nettie gripped her arm, tugged her toward the hall’s half-opened door, a welcoming wedge of golden light, cast by the hearth fire and more torch-and-candlelight than Seacliffe boasted all year. “You’ve been in the cold and wind too long. Your braids are coming loose and your nose is red.”
“Gubbie won’t mind.” Alanna smiled, sure of it. “He’ll be up under my bed, hiding from the ruckus. No one else will care either. Everyone here has seen me looking worse.”
“Dinnae be too sure, lassie.” Aunt Nettie sounded mysterious. “Could be we’ll have a guest you’ve yet to meet.”
Alanna shot her a look. “Oh? Who, then?”
“Och, someone special.” Aunt Nettie squinted, peered across the bailey, toward the gatehouse. “He’ll be announced, for sure.”
She turned back to Alanna, looking pleased. “’Tis the Earl of Dunwhinnie and he-” She broke off at a swell of laughter from nearby revelers. “Himself, and no other,” she began again when the group frolicked on. “He’s after a new wife and accepted our invitation to meet you.”
“Our invitation?” Alanna’s eyes rounded. “Dunwhinnie has had three wives. He must be fifty summers.”
“None of them gave him an heir.” Aunt Nettie pulled her inside the hall, away from the door and into the shadows of a stair tower. “His castle is three times the size of Seacliffe and he has enough riches to fill it to its noble rafters. You’d be a countess, your cares done with and over.”
“Oh, nae.” Alanna shook her head. “He won’t do.”He’s said to be insatiable, a wild beast in matters carnal, keeping his women abed for weeks on end.Alanna closed her eyes and drew a long breath, keeping that tidbit of gossip to herself. The earl’s lustful ravenings were rumored as the reason of his wives’ early deaths.
Tongue-waggers said he wore them ragged.
Her aunt wouldn’t care. She viewed nobles as gods, would overlook any fault.
“He wouldn’t come all the way up here if he didn’t think you worthy.” Aunt Nettie’s gaze flicked over her. “’Tis said he favors fair-haired, blue-eyed lassies. He should be right taken with you.”
He can take himself right back to Dunwhinnie,Alanna almost blurted.
“I will treat him with all courtesy when he arrives.” She broke away from her aunt to pace back and forth at the base of the stair tower. “But you should not have suggested such a meeting. I’m surprised he even considered, truth be told. There are plenty women eager for lofty titles.
“I am not.” She stopped pacing, set her hands on her hips. “I only want peace.”
Nor will I carry his demise on my shoulders should he perish if I agreed.
That, too, she kept to herself.
