“Steel?” He blinked, not quite managing to look surprised.
“Aye, steel.” She made a sweeping gesture. “And I don’t mean your men’s eating knives.”
Valdar coughed.
Grabbing his ale cup again, he helped himself to a healthy swig.
The other men at the table rushed to fuss at their plaids, clumsily trying to conceal the telltale glints and bulges of weapons peeking up from their boots or other sundry hiding places.
A quick glance into the crowded lower end of the hall showed that every MacRuari present was equally well armed. Gelis swallowed a curse, then scrunched her eyes to see better through the smoke-and-torch haze hanging above the long rows of tables. Her heart caught when she spotted at least two other Norse battle-axes propped against trestle benches.
She also spied young Hector perched in a window embrasure, Buckie sprawled at his feet. And — no great surprise — the boy’s newly acquiredsgian dubhwasn’t tucked into a boot or beneath his belt, but proudly displayed atop one of the window seat cushions.
Most disturbing of all was the giant figure of Hugh MacHugh lurking near the hall’s vaulted entry. Pacing to and fro in front of the massive oaken door, he held a sharp-bladed meat cleaver clutched in his hand.
Her stomach lurched at the sight.
Everyone knew a master cook had too many duties not to be busy at his kitchen fires.
Especially at this early hour of the day.
She frowned.
Then she puffed a curl off her brow and stepped closer to the high table. “Dare is readying for a siege.” She didn’t bother to make it a question. “I’ve lived through enough at Eilean Creag to tell.”
“Dare is e’er prepared for trouble.” Valdar dug his spoon into his bowl of slaked oats, stirring. “Theshowingyou see this morn has more to do with you than any foe who might or might not be bearing down on our walls.”
Her brows rose. “With me?”
“So I said.”
“But that makes no sense.”
Valdar stopped stirring his oats. “It did to my grandson.” He glanced up, eyeing her. “That much I can tell you. Before he rode out, he ordered every man not on the walls to hie himself into the hall to guard you.”
For one shining moment, a surge of pleasure wrapped round and filled Gelis, swelling her heart and warming her until she realized the true meaning of Valdar’s declaration.
Her gaze flashed to the Blood Drinker. “So weareunder siege?”
“Nae.” He waved his spoon at her. “The Raven didn’t want you following him again. He set his men to keep watch so you canna leave the hall.”
Gelis blinked.
Then she looked from him to the well-filled tables of guardsmen and back to him. Whether or not the Raven cared enough about her to wish to prevent her from hastening after him — perhaps into danger — she still wasn’t happy with Valdar’s spoon-wielding explanation.
“What about all the weapons?” She put her hands on her hips. “We both know those swords and dirks aren’t meant for use against me. So” — she summoned her most persuasive smile — “just who is to be the recipient of their sharp ends?”
“That I canna say, lass.”
“Canna or willna?”
Valdar took renewed interest in oat stirring.
“I see.” Gelis tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Then I shall just have to find someone else to question.”
She glanced out over the torchlit hall, her eyes narrowed and searching, looking for the one soul she suspected might have answers.
It took less than a wink to find her.
