Page 47

"The same canna be said for you! Why, you've grown half a foot! Deirdre," he said, "this is Malcolm, the laird's grandson. Malcolm, this is Lady Deirdre Maxwell."

The boy swept her a graceful bow. "Lady Maxwell, welcome to Ravenspur. Your presence does us honor."

Alistair smiled proudly. As well he might, Deirdre thought as she curtseyed to the young Kirallen. Malcolm was a tall young man of twelve or thirteen years, with curling brown hair and bright blue eyes and a dangerously charming smile. In a few years—a very few years, Deirdre judged—he would be turning heads and breaking any number of hearts.

"Where's Uncle Jemmy?" Malcolm asked Alyson.

"With the laird," she answered, a worried frown passing quickly across her face. "He won't be down tonight."

Poor lady, Deirdre thought. She has troubles, sure enough. What with the laird so ill, her own husband distracted, and the puzzling rudeness of the dark-bearded knight, Alyson had much to worry her. She was bearing up bravely—for what could not be changed must be borne—but it was clear she had care enough without an errant Maxwell lady on her hands.

And yet, Deirdre thought, struck again by Alyson's kindness, she had still found the time to bring me a gown and see to the dressing of my hair.

"Come, Malcolm," Alyson said now, smiling at her nephew with an effort Deirdre was fairly sure none of the others could see. "You must take Jemmy's place tonight."

"Aye—but—" he glanced back over his shoulder.

"Who's that?" Alistair asked, following his gaze. "Is it young Darnley? Bid him join us, if you would. 'Tis all right," he added as Malcolm hesitated. "Tell him I won't bite."

Malcolm grinned and ran off, returning a moment later with a smaller boy with red curls and a wary look in his blue-green eyes. This must be Alyson's brother—or was it half brother? Deirdre wasn't sure. But either way, the resemblance was strong. Alyson stood back watching, her expression unreadable, as Malcolm presented Haddon Darnley to Deirdre. The boy made her a courteous bow, but all the while he watched Alistair from the corner of his eye.

"You remember Sir Alistair, of course," Malcolm added brightly—too brightly, Deirdre thought.

"Aye," Haddon said. "I do."

"And I remember you, as well," Alistair said with a smile so menacing that Deirdre didn't blame the Darnley boy for paling visibly.

"My quarrel is with your father, not with you," Alistair went on. "And both of us are guests in this hall. So if ye please we'll eat our meal and say no more about it."

"Aye." Haddon's voice cracked on the word, but he did not back away or take his eyes from Alistair's. "That will suit me."

After a very long moment, Alistair nodded briefly. "That is well."

Deirdre let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as the tension between them slackened. This place is like deep water on a sunny day, she thought dizzily. You never know when you'll hit an icy current that steals the breath right from your body and turns your limbs to lead.

"Then let's eat," Malcolm cried with a determined cheer that Deirdre found brave and rather touching. "I'm famished. My lady," he turned to Alyson and held out his arm.

Deirdre slipped her hand into the crook of Alistair's elbow, feeling the iron tension of the muscles beneath her hand.

"Did you have to do that?" she asked.

"I did nothing."

His voice warned her to drop the question there and then. This was a man she'd never seen before, grim and almost frightening, with eyes like chips of ice. No wonder they sent him away, she thought. No wonder they fear him still.

She waited until they were seated, then said with equal coolness, "You frightened that poor boy. It was ill done."

He sat down beside her, his mouth tightening into a hard line. "Did I not tell him he'd be safe?"

"Don't try to frighten me, Alistair Kirallen," Deirdre said tartly. "You know well enough what I'm saying, so there's no use pretending that you don't."

He glared at her, then smiled wryly. "And as Her Highness says, so must it be!"

"Don't call me that," Deirdre snapped, and Alistair laughed shortly.

"Then mind that tongue, lady, or someone might get cut! And you can stop shooting daggers at me with your eyes. I did the boy no harm, nor will I."

"You did him no good, either. Nor any of the others. Oh, sure and 'tis a fine homecoming you're making for yourself! You can see as well as I that there's trouble enough brewing here without you stirring up the pot."