A shiver traveled up her spine as she remembered her earlier encounter with the MacDowylt. Even now, she chastised herself as she’d done a thousand times or more since that moment in his tower.
She should have killed him then. That fancy sword of his had been at hand and he’d beendefenseless, lying there naked and vulnerable. Like a great witless fool, she’d passed up the perfect opportunity.
Yet, there had been something, some force in that room that had felt as if it stalked her, driving fear in her heart that prevented her from taking any action against the MacDowylt.
Force, my great arse,as her father had liked to say. She knew there could be only one acceptable truth of that encounter. No force but fear had stalked her in that tower. Her own fear. Like an untested warrior, she’d allowed it to get the better of her. It had to be that. If she were to accomplish what she needed to this night, she could allow herself to believe in no other power but that of man.
Done and done. She would not make that mistake again.
Entering through the narrow door in the massive gates, she tried not to wonder whether she would ever see the other side of the wall again. She’d tried to prepare herself that she’d likely not escape this place, but it didn’t matter. As long as she succeeded in her quest, she didn’t care.
The knife her father had given her on her last birthday burned against her breast in a promise of what was to come.
Torquil’s men might well take her life this night, even as she would surely take his. But if there was a sword anywhere within reach, she would not pass to the next world alone.
“This is it,” Hugo announced, leading the way up the stairs of the keep, a broad smile curving his lips.
“Think on all I have labored to teach you,” Eleyne hissed over her shoulder, grabbing her cousin’s arm for support.
A twinge of regret for the minstrels who accompanied her sparked in her heart. For their unwitting assistance, they’d likely forfeit their lives, too. The guilt of that knowledge weighed heavily.
“Try not to dance like a great heaving cow.”
And just like that, the guilt lifted.
“You can do this. Concentrate on the music.” Mathew flashed a smile as they passed into the great hall itself, his young face alight with excitement. “I have faith in you, Bridget MacCulloch.”
She would concentrate. But not on the music.
TORQUIL LEANED BACKin his chair, his attention diverted by the arrival of the minstrels but only for a moment.
He had larger worries plaguing his mind than whether his silver was being put to good use.
Something had felt...wrong when he’d returned from his foray over his lands last night. Something within his tower chamber had seemed amiss.
Nothing appeared to have been touched. Nothing moved, nothing gone. Had that been the case, there would be heads on pikes decorating his wall today.
At first he’d had some minute concern that oneof the Tinklers had made their way into his lair. His watchers had quickly assured him that, although several of the castle’s women had made visits to the wagons camped just outside his walls, not a single one of the Tinklers had left their camp.
He’d been willing to accept those assurances because the residue in his tower didn’t feel like Tinkler. That he couldn’t identify exactly what itdidfeel like was what concerned him now.
As did the mysterious marks on his chest. Blisters they were, as if he’d been burned. Five small ovals circling his heart, and he had no more clue as to where they’d come from than he had about what had been snooping within his lair.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one little bit.
Deep inside, the beast raised its muzzle, sending a warning snarl vibrating inside his chest.
Torquil lifted his tankard, motioning for it to be filled. If he couldn’t have answers this night, he needed diversion, for he had questions and worries aplenty.
The influx of new men had slowed to a stop as winter had taken hold. At this rate, he’d not have the strength of army he wanted by spring.
Buying men hadn’t worked, and since he hadn’t yet conquered the Magic that would allow him to force new recruits to his will, he must consider the remaining alternative.
To the west, perhaps two days’ ride, the old Sinclair hoarded men and money. With only one son tocarry on, it would be a simple matter to capture the heir, and in doing so force the old man to bend his knee to Tordenet. That would have to be his next move.
“More ale, my lord?”
He pushed away the plans and machinations that filled his thoughts to study the woman in front of him. The maid who poured his ale had a familiar look to her. She might have been the one Ulfr brought to him most recently for his pleasure, but he couldn’t remember. She had the small stature and the same dark hair, but he couldn’t be sure without seeing her eyes, and she kept those fixed on the pitcher from which she poured.
