“We’re no going to—” Patrick began, but Malcolm held up a hand, stopping him midsentence.
He had no intention of disclosing to Dermid the fact that there would be no tribute, especially not in front of Rauf. There was something about the groomsman he simply didn’t trust.
“We’re no going to allow you to return to Tordenet Castle. Yer here with us, safe and sound now, and I intend to keep it that way.”
As he’d expected, Dermid bristled.
“There’s no risk to me in returning to Tordenet. Torquil trusts me. And it only makes sense to send me as I’m the one who kens his movements and his thoughts like no other you have here.”
That Dermid could ever think he had their half brother’s trust proved more than anything else his youthful lack of judgment.
“We’ve enough to worry over with finding a way to convince Torquil to release Christiana into our hands. I’ll no allow him to hold you hostage as well.”
“All the more reason to send me. I could convince him to release our sister.”
“No.” Malcolm rose to his feet, hoping the lad would accept the finality of his decision. “My decision is made, Dermid. We’ll do this my way.”
Though his brother might not understand the danger he would be in if he were to return to Tordenet Castle, Malcolm had no illusions about it. Torquil was possessed of all that was most evil in their bloodline. He cared for naught but power and wealth, and Malcolm would not expose his youngest brother to that risk again, no matter that Dermid was older than he had been on his first campaign. Dermid was still his youngest brother.
He moved across the room and into the doorway, deciding as he did that he would be the decoy to throw Dermid off the scent of their true plans.
“And where do you think yer off to now?” the lad demanded, obviously not yet satisfied with the way things would be.
Since they’d gone to all the trouble to convince Dermid that Dani was here as his intended, he might as well make use of their duplicity. Keeping the lad busy spying on him would free up Patrick to see to all the arrangements necessary to ready their men to prepare for battle against Tordenet Castle.
“I’m off to see to some of thatpersonal business.” With a grin and a wink he walked out, closing the door behind him.
He decided not to put too much thought into why the idea of finding Dani and spending the day with her kept the grin he wore for Dermid’s benefit from fading.
Striding purposely toward the great hall, he reached his destination only to realize that he had no clue where Dani might be this time of morning. The hall itself was unusually quiet, with not a single person to be found.
No one tending the fires or working in the room at all.
He continued on, his footsteps on the smooth stone the only sound, heading through the small door in the back and down the dark maze of hallways leading to the storage rooms and kitchens.
Stranger than the eerie quiet of the great hall was the scene in the kitchen, with the better part of the women who worked there gathered at the back door, all jostling for position as if to watch some sort of great sport.
His sinking stomach alerted him it would be Dani at the center of that spectacle even before he pushed his way through the women and out the door.
“I dinna think I’d live to see the day when Cook herself would be skimming the ale,” the woman ahead of him confided to another at her side.
“Or carrying her own risen loaves to the ovens, aye?” the second returned, to the vigorous nodding of the first. “There they are!”
Two figures emerged from the alehouse, heads huddled together in conversation. Dani and the head cook.
“What’s going on here?” he asked at last, his curiosity no longer waiting to be satisfied.
“Laird Malcolm!” The woman who had been speaking earlier jumped, obviously surprised to see him here, and surrounded by the women of the kitchen at that. “We tried to discourage her, but she’d no hear of it, that one.”
She nodded her head so hard he wondered if she might not injure her neck.
“Discourage her from . . .”
He had no time to pursue his questions. Dani had spotted him.
“Malcolm!” She hurried toward him, a radiant smile on her flour-smudged face, two clay pots tightly clutched in her arms like battle prizes. “They use the skimmings from the ale for their leavening agent.”
She babbled, so overpleased with her discovery, her eyes glistened with happiness.
