Time stretched as she moved from light to dark and back again. Twice she reached for a conversation and let it go when the man’s eyes slid past her mask to the braid at her wrist, as if red thread could name her more surely than her voice. A few even refused to entertain her sight because “a big woman comes with trouble.”
A steward read the rules at the main post again for those just arrived. Eventually, she decided to stop chasing and let the crowd move around her instead.
The mask hid the set of her mouth, and she kept her chin level and her hands easy at her sides. She counted the fires and heard only a dull measure. In the nearby distance, she could hear the sound of a woman laughing near the harp.
She stayed at the edge of the light until the noise slid into the same dull measure as her breath. Then a hand waved from across the ring, a quick cut through the bodies.
Oh, thank God.
Relief sparked before she could stop it, and she stepped toward the sign, weaving past a pair of dancers and a vendor with cakes. The man waited near a post, standing in a plain cloak and a half mask. She stopped an arm’s length away.
“Ye needed a word?” he asked. The voice was familiar in a way that set her teeth on edge.
Before she could answer, he pulled his mask down.
Laird MacGee.
Her stomach turned.
Oh Christ.
“What are ye doing here?”
“Walking the same ground as ye, is that nae clear?” he said.
Erica exhaled, doing everything she could to mask the fear she felt. “Are ye following me now?”
He laughed softly. “I had a feeling this would be yer last resort. Plus, it really wasnae that hard to recognize ye. I’d recognize yer figure anywhere.”
Heat climbed her neck as she kept her chin level. “Ye have nay right to speak to me.”
“In this place, every man has the right to speak,” he said. “And every woman has the right to listen. Or nae. Yet here ye are.”
She took half a step back, but he moved with her and closed the space again, smooth as if they were still at her mother’s table.
“Looks like ye finally came to yer senses,” he said. “A festival is a fine place to settle what ye should have settled in yer own hall.”
“I did settle it,” she said. “I told ye to leave.”
He reached out and took her arm above the wrist. His grip was not tight, only sure. She twisted, but he held. She leaned forward without thinking, the old answer quick as breath. His free hand came up, palm open, stopping her before her teeth found skin, again.
“Ah, ah,” he tutted. “Ye daenae want to do that.”
“Let go of me.”
“Nae when ye’re this far from home,” he said, voice low. “Keep yer head. Ye wouldnae like what comes next.”
He had learned, and she could see that. He did not rise to her anger. He pressed down on it and smiled while he did it.
She pulled once more, but it was to no avail. He did not tighten his grip, but he did not release her either. The firelight cut his face into hard planes. His eyes were bright with the shine of good food and a plan running well.
“Looks like nay one else is eager to speak with ye,” he said, and tipped his head toward the nearest ring where men stood in an easy line and pretended not to watch. “Ye have walked a long time for short talk.”
“I didnae ask ye to speak.”
“Then listen,” he said. “Perhaps this is fate. Ye came here to find an answer. Ye found me instead. Wekeneach other. Wekenyer position. We ken mine. Why waste more nights?”
“I ken what ye are.”
