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His finger moved again, tracing the longer road east and then south before cutting west from Doure. “This is the road they’ll travel.”
Captain Tae—a lean man with close-cropped hair—leaned in, gaze narrowed. “You don’t think they’ll cut south of the Shiel Range and skirt along the banks of the Firth of Fallow, instead?”
Darach shook his head. “It’s too narrow, not enough space for an army that size to fight.”
“Fair point,” Tae replied with a nod.
Next to the captain, Cailean grunted his agreement, and everyone present craned forward, studying the highway that cut east-west through The Borderlands, where Darach had just indicated. Tension gathered in the meeting alcove, pulling the air taut. It all felt very real now.
Darach noted then the penetrating look Lara was giving him. It was one of many she’d cast in his direction since his arrival at Duncrag. She’d done him an honor by inviting him to all her councils, including this one, although he could almost taste her suspicion. She wanted him to prove himself—to make it clear he wouldn’t turn on her as his brother had.
“They’ll already be marching,” he said then. “Niall will be impatient now.”
“That stretch of road isn’t ideal for a meeting,” Alar spoke up, his brow furrowing. “It’s boggy. There are woodlands, but marshes too. If we catch them in the wrong spot, we could find ourselves in trouble.”
His wife cut him a probing look. “What do you suggest?”
Their gaze held for a moment before Alar replied, “We make our stand in a place where we have the advantage … and let them come to us.”
“Good idea,” Cailean rumbled from across the table. “That way, we’ll have time to dig some pits.”
Around the table, gazes glinted, and Darach smiled.
His brother thought he was in the strongest position, yet they’d ensure he wasn’t.
“Ailsa!”
Darach called up the narrow, winding stairwell to where the two women were disappearing. He’d just come from meeting some warriors in the barracks—southerners who’d deserted Niall’s army to join the High Queen—and spied Kayla and Ailsa disappearing up the stairs.
Like him, they were retiring for the day.
The army would move out at first light. The broch was oddly subdued this evening—a nervous tension tightening in the air. It was happening. Events were moving swifter than Darach had imagined.
Halting behind Kayla, Ailsa glanced over her shoulder.
He smiled up at her. “How about a drink in my quarters?”
“About time,” Kayla huffed, peeking over Ailsa’s shoulder. “I was wondering when I’d get a look inside your alcove … I’d wager it’s far finer than ours.”
Darach laughed. He didn’t miss the glint in Kayla’s eye, though. She’d bristled at not being invited to the final war council earlier in the day, and she wanted a debrief. “Come see for yourself then. This way.”
Moving past them on the stairs, he led the women up four flights and then down a narrow passage. Five doorways in, he pulled back the heavy curtain and motioned for them to enter. “Go on then.”
They ducked through. Ailsa caught his hand as she passed, wordlessly squeezing.
He squeezed back, letting her know he’d missed her too.
The last three days had passed in a blur of training and meetings. He’d gone to his furs late each night and risen before dawn.
“Aye,” Kayla said, casting a glance around the wide alcove with its large sleeping nook piled high with furs and sheepskins covering the stone floor. “As I suspected … this is much nicer than ours.”
Darach gave a soft snort. “Well, I am a prince, you know?” he teased, realizing there was a lightness in him this evening that hadn’t been there in a long while. He’d enjoyed that final war council earlier even more than he thought.
Crossing to the low table beneath an inset where four rosewood statuettes of the Gods stood, he paused. “Wine?”
Both women murmured their assent, and he poured each of them some bramble wine before handing over the cups.
Darach’s fingers brushed Ailsa’s once more as she took her drink, and the contact sent a ripple of familiar warmth up his arm.
