He had been right. The leader was not a MacDuff man. He was a traitor to his family, to his father, and to his cousins. Because the man who was leading these men to capture Eithne was someone Ivor had already met.
“Then the attack goes as planned tomorrow,” said Walter MacDonnell. “And this matter can be over with once and for all.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Tapestry
Eithne had been surprised when her sister asked if she would be her companion with Jonah that night. However, she thought it was rather sweet – there was something nice about Myrna’s slow approach to romance. Eithne found it very quaint and proper.
And it helps me handle the fact that me wee sister’s nearly a woman grown.
Now they sat in Jonah’s room, each with a cup in their hands as they drank together. It was grander than Eithne would have expected for a soldier’s rooms, especially one who did not even belong to the Laird. The room was large, the bed soft, and one of the stone walls was draped with an intricate tapestry sewn in fine, expensive material. A full fireplace took up the opposite wall, and the flames burned now, warm and inviting. Had Jonah simply been given a room that was available? Had Eithne’s uncle given him these rooms as a show of good faith to Jonah’s mysterious commander?
Either way, she was glad of the fire. It was a chilly night, and even huddled under the blanket she shared with Myrna while they spoke to Jonah, she could feel it in her bones. Myrna didn’t seem as cold as she did – but of course, she didn’t. The younger girl was bright and cheerful, warmed by her love’s very presence.
Is that what I looked like around Ivor? What’s he doing now?
“Jonah thinks that he may have to leave soon,” Myrna said. Eithne blinked, realizing a second too late that her sister was, in fact, talking to her. “His commander will be back soon enough.”
“Oh,” Eithne said. She glanced at Jonah, but the expression on the young man’s face was inscrutable. “I’m sorry to hear that for both of ye.”
Myrna shifted beneath the blanket. Eithne knew her sister well, and even though Myrna’s expression was straightforward, Eithne could see the guilt in it. “Well,” Myrna started, then trailed off.
“Oh, I see,” Eithne said. The chill in the air suddenly got sharper, or at least it felt that way to her. “Ye want to go with him.”
Myrna blushed and smiled tentatively. To Eithne’s surprise, though, Jonah flinched. Instantly on the defensive, Eithne narrowed her eyes.
Is me sister nae good enough for ye, soldier?
Myrna didn’t seem to notice. “We’ll be married, of course. I dinnae want to abandon ye, Eithne, but…I think we should help ye find Ivor. I think—”
“Ivor Sinclair,” Jonah interrupted. There was something thick in his voice – not hard, like steel, but a block nonetheless. “Now there’s a man that I dinnae understand. Why is it that ye love him so, Eithne?”
Eithne was startled by this line of questioning. “I—he’s a good man,” she said. “The best of men. He didnae need to risk everything for me, a lassie that he’d never met. And yet here I am now, alive because of what he did.”
“But he’s a killer,” Jonah went on. Myrna was frowning, staring at her beloved with confusion, but Jonah’s eyes were boring into Eithne’s. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable, but she couldn’t quite work out why. “He’s murdered men.”
“Under his contracts,” Eithne argued. “As a soldier, and as a mercenary, aye. He’s killed when he’s had to, but he’s nae assassin. It isnae his primary goal in life to murder.”
“So, it’s alright to kill a man when ye’re pointed in his direction?” Jonah spat. His fists were clenched, and he was shaking.
“Jonah?” Myrna asked, touching his shoulder. The girl looked worried – and no wonder. The expression on this young man’s face was nothing like the Jonah that Eithne was used to.
He ignored her, just staring straight at Eithne.
She realized that she had to answer. She considered the question, then slowly said, “Murder isnae right. To kill in cold blood is a sin. But sometimes circumstances leave us without a choice. Ye should understand that. Ye’re a soldier.”
“Dinnae compare me to him,” Jonah snarled. “I’m nae like him, nae a bit. I’ve killed in fights. I’ve never rammed me dagger into a man’s stomach and left them to bleed out when they could have been saved.”
“Nae more has Ivor!” Eithne protested, her own irritation rising.
Has he? How can I ken that for sure? It’s nae like I’ve kent him for that long.
But she did know. Ivor had done questionable things to survive. He’d fought in wars, and he’d slain in fights – but she was sure he had never left someone to suffer if he could help it. She knew that if a man was dying slowly from a severe wound, Ivor was the type of man to cut his throat and give him a quick, clean death.
Jonah snorted in disbelief.
“What is this, Jonah?” Myrna asked. She looked almost frightened, and Eithne wanted to pull her away from him. Eithne didn’t move, though. She knew her sister would only fight her. “Why are ye so angry?”
