He and Andrew walked together in step, leaving Nora to hurry after them. Andrew gave her a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder. She guessed he wasn’t older than two-and-twenty, with blond hair and blue eyes that made him look a bit younger than he was. As before, when their eyes met, he quickly looked away, clutching a small, tarnished cross hanging around his neck.
Is he…afraidof me?
If so, why?
Ahead of her, Andrew and Theo began to murmur in low voices. Andrew began to say something, perhaps a name, and Theo urgently hushed him, shooting a none-too-subtle glare over his shoulder at Nora. Reddening, Andrew cleared his throat and started again, this time substituting the name for a code word.
“...and so the Wild Oak told us that drills would begin in the morning. We’re to start with…”
She laughed, turning it into a cough at the last minute.
How ridiculous, grown men,soldiers,actin’ as though I’m goin’ to learn all their secrets.
Theo and Andrew stopped dead, eyeing her narrowly.
“Sorry about that,” Nora said innocently, patting her throat. “Wee bit of dust in me throat, that’s all.”
Andrew reddened further, if that was possible. The man was beet-red to his hairline, now. Theo only scowled.
“Just a little further,” he said at last, tossing his head.
Sure enough, the next doorway opened up to a long, thin room, dominated by a rough wooden table. Only a small section of the table was set for a meal, with a handful of people gathered around it, talking in low voices. A few she recognized.
There was Creighton, of course, not eating, lounging at the head of the table, and staring at nothing in particular. Laurie sat on his right, a handful of cushions wedged under her bottom to push her up to reach the table.
The chair on Creighton’s left-hand side was not reserved for Nora, as she’d half-expected. A man of about fifty sat there, with graying black hair and the same olive skin and heavy green-gray eyes as Theo.
“Me father,” Theo explained, his earlier animosity seeming to vanish. “Marcus Matheson. He has the Laird’s ear.”
Was that a boast or a threat? Nora eyed the man, trying to work it out.
“Ye must be proud of him,” she heard herself say. Glancing at Andrew—his gaze slid away—she lifted her eyebrows. “The other man at the table, is that yer father, too?”
“We’re nae quite as nepotistic as all that,” came a voice from the table. They had gotten progressively closer as she spoke to Theo, close enough to be heard, apparently.
“Me name is Dallas Anderson,” the man said, rising to his feet. “Like Marcus here, I am one of the Laird’s councilors. Come, Lady Nora, join us. We’re glad to have ye here. Today is the first day of a great peace between our clans, or so we hope.”
He indicated a spare chair beside him.
Creighton said nothing. He gave no indication at all that he even knew she was there. When she looked up, however, his eyes were fixed on her, dark and a little heavy. There was a line between his brows, very faint but still visible. His fingers tapped on the tabletop, over and over again in a mad rhythm, faster and faster. Dallas’ eyes jumped toward Creighton’s drumming fingers with obvious disapproval, but he said nothing. Perhaps he didn’t dare.
Once Nora was settled into her seat, the others resumed their conversation. The meal, it seemed, was nearly over. Had Theo and Andrew come late to fetch her?
She helped herself to a piece of cold chicken and a few radishes, but for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t ravenously hungry. Back at Bryden Keep, food was still rationed. Thingshad improved since Evander became laird, but not enough that starvation was a distant memory. Meals were carefully portioned out, and nobody ate lunch. They had breakfast, and as hearty a dinner as they could get, and that was it.
Last night, however, Creighton had sent an eye-watering amount of food to Nora’s room. Chicken, cold pork, potatoes baked in their skins, vegetables and fruits of all descriptions, sweet meats, stew, more and more and more.
The dishes kept coming, and Nora could barely take more than a couple of bites from each dish. The maid had assured her, with an odd look, that the food wouldn’t be wasted when it was taken away, barely touched.
Nora could almost still taste the heavy meal, or at least feel it in the pit of her stomach. She took a bite out of a radish and considered eating the chicken.
Movement caught her eye. Theo rounded the head of the table, leaning down to whisper in Creighton’s ear.
“We have reports on the last few attacks, me Laird,” he murmured. “Some of the more… notable ones. I collected lists of hostages taken, eyewitness accounts, and so on. Do ye want to review them now?”
“Later,” Creighton responded. “Take the reports to me room, nae my study. It’s safer there. I’ll read them later, and we’ll discuss yer findings.”
Theo nodded. “Aye, me Laird.”
