The Raven truly stood in mortal danger.
She’d just have to be sure she was ready when the blow came.
She’d be damned if her Raven’s foes would defeat her.
And she’d face down the devil himself before she’d let them conquer him.
Enough was enough.
Chapter Fourteen
Aye, that’s what I said, just!” Valdar leaned back in his great carved laird’s chair, his mailed shirt gleaming brightly beneath his plaid. “He rode out well before sunrise. And, nae, he didn’t tell me his business.”
He looked around the high table as if seeking agreement, seeming pleased when the kinsmen sitting there responded with assorted grunts and nods.
Even so, Gelis wasn’t fooled.
She took a deep breath. “He told no one where he was going?”
Valdar snorted. “My grandson?”
Anice, just setting down a platter of buttered bannocks and cheese, flushed and hastened from the dais. She stopped only long enough to right an upturned trestle bench, then quickly disappeared into the bustling hall.
Several men at the high table cleared throats or scratched at their elbows.
Sorley and the other garrison guards did the same at a nearby long table, each one studiously avoiding her gaze. Gelis frowned watching them. The men who’d readily helped her get Buckie and her Viking tent out to Creag na Gaoith now seemed far more interested in gobbling their oats and examining the floor rushes.
Some appeared to inspect their fingernails.
Ignoring them all, Gelis folded her arms. “I must speak with him, Valdar.”
He’s in danger.
She held back the words, not wanting to alarm the old chieftain.
Though, in truth, she was certain he knew.
“That one was e’er a man of his own mind,” he blurted, sitting forward to snatch up his ale cup. “We’ll not be a-seeing him until he comes hallooing back in through the gates. Like as not, sometime late this e’en.”
Gelis pounced. “You know where he is.”
Valdar wagged his bearded head. “I’m a-guessing, lass. No more.”
“Then where do youguesshe is?”
“Off to Kyleakin to see about acquiring malt for MacHugh’s brewhouse, mayhap,” he offered with a shrug. “Word is our stores are low. Or” — he winked broadly — “perhaps he’s chasing down the peddler said to be journeying through your da’s territories these days. Could be he wants to fetch a few fine gee-gaws and ribbons for you!”
Gelis didn’t believe a word.
But Valdar held her eye, the image of graybearded innocence, save that he had donned a hauberk.
A precautionary measure if ever there was one.
Especially in light of the long, two-handed sword propped just a bit too casually against his chair and the wicked- looking Norse battle-axe resting on the table.
Called Blood Drinker, or so she’d heard, the axe held pride of place next to a wooden bowl of slaked oats and a jug of watered-down morning ale.
Gelis narrowed her eyes. “His absence wouldn’t have anything to do with all the steel in the hall, would it?”
