Even that young lass, years ago, had thought so.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was afeast for Boreas, the God of Winter, and Caelian Hill, as well as the village of the warriors, was filled with the light from a thousand torches.
Since Cam’s cottage was right on the edge of the village, he could hear the wagons of gamblers rolling in, the happy chatter of men who’d had too much to eat and drink. Caelian Hill had a great hall and, tonight, it was put to good use as patrons wandered in and out, enjoying the food and good wine on a mild winter’s night.
Big tables had been set up in the warrior village around a great central bonfire where two enormous sides of beef were roasting on a spit. Patrons were kept out of the village, but the warriors could wander into Caelian Hill to mingle with the patrons.
It was a night of food and merriment, but Cam wasn’t in the mood. He kept to his cottage, drinking wine, his mind lingering on the one thing that had occupied it since his conversation with Isadora.
She was a Keith.
He didn’t know why he was so distressed about it. He’d suspected it, so he wasn’t sure why confirmation had him so upset.
But it did.
He’d spent the afternoon in muddled silence but his rage was evident in his actions. He’d been forced to apologize to Galan for taking it out on him, but he didn’t say why. He wasn’t willing to draw the man into his personal battles.
What he had to do, he had to do alone.
Therefore, he’d spent the past several hours debating what to do. He could probably sneak into the cottage housing Isadora’s father and brothers and kill them all, but that wouldn’t solve the problem. It was the clan as a whole that was responsible. Cam wanted vengeance against the Keith, but he never planned out exactly how that was to happen. He hadn’t gotten that far in his scheme.
But now, something was coming together.
Isadora had mentioned that her father was looking for a warrior to lead their men. Cam hadn’t taken her seriously, but now he was—what better man to lead the Keith warriors into defeat but him? Rather than command them to victory, he could command them straight into destruction. The entire clan could be badly decimated with the loss of their warriors, led by the grandson of a man they’d killed.
And they wouldn’t realize it until it was too late.
All he needed was the opportunity.
Tomorrow’s games.
As he mulled over his future plans, his door lurched open and Galan entered, cup in hand—and all indications were that he was already drunk.
“I have been searching for you,” Galan declared. “Why are you in here, hiding out from all of this food and drink?”
Cam smiled weakly. “I spend so much of my time with men that I suppose I wanted tae be alone,” he said. “But ye sound as if ye’re enjoying the drink at the very least.”
Galan grinned, slapping him on the shoulder so hard that Cam actually winced. “Get up, my fine lad,” he said. “Get up and come with me. Let us enjoy this evening as men of honor should.”
Cam had little choice as Galan dragged him out into the night that smelled heavily of roasting meat. It was bright, too, with more torches than Cam had ever seen. They continued on to where servants were passing out great trenchers of beans and beef, and Cam took his food, settling down near the fire to eat in warmth and comfort.
Galan gulped his wine, looking up at the star-strewn sky.
“I think this is the first moment of levity I’ve known since arriving here,” he said. “I did not realize how much I would miss something as simple as a feast.”
Cam shoved beef into his mouth. “Sometimes my village would have feasts tae give thanks for a good harvest.”
“Were you a farmer, then?”
“A smithy.”
Galan glanced at him. “So you wrestled with horses and iron all day long, did you?”
Cam grinned. “Some days it seemed like that. My grandfather was a smithy, too. He taught me the trade.”
“And your father?”
