Part 48 (1/2)

”Fayth-”

”I'm fine. Look.” Fayth darted forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed Skelley's sword, yanking it from the scabbard before he could stop her.

”Hey!” Skelley cried.

Fayth wielded it until Alex caught her wrist, plucking the sword from her grasp and returning it to its disgruntled owner. He slid an arm around her shoulders, leading her through the torchlit corridors. ”I can't have you there, in danger. You'll be safe here. Ridley cannot ignore the writ of his own king. He'll have abandoned his talks with Carlisle and his threats on me, and even now be journeying to York.”

”What about Carlisle?”

”Lochnith isn't far from the border. Though not in the direct line of invasion, should they enter from the west, it's still a possible target for the English if they fanned out. He will return to Lochnith to fortify his tower in case of invasion and possibly even to join the king in Edinburgh, though I'll not lay wagers on it.” They stopped at the ladder. ”Gealach is safe for now. From Ridley, Carlisle, and the English. We're too far for anyone to concern themselves with. If the English prevail, well, that's quite something else.” He grinned and winked at her. ”But we're not that far yet, aye?”

Fayth caught his arm. ”After you relieve Caroline, will you go to Edinburgh?”

He hesitated, the smile fading. ”I will send you word.”

There was no more to say, unless she wanted to confess things she was not even sure of herself. Words pressed at her chest, traitorous words that betrayed Jack and her surname, but instead of voicing them she climbed the ladder, following him as he strode across the keep.

She'd never been in his chambers. His rooms were quite different from Ridley's and Carlisle's or even his brother, Lord Annan's, at Annancreag. It looked more like an armory than a place of comfort. Half a dozen breast and back plates lined the walls, some propped up on stands, others on the floor. Two s.h.i.+rts of mail hung from wall pegs. s.h.i.+elds, swords, crossbows, Jedburgh axes, and lances lined the walls. Some hung neat and s.h.i.+ning as if just polished, others lay in piles in the corners.

As he quickly unhooked his doublet to dress, without the aid of a squire or servant, Fayth was reminded of what Alex was. He was no knight or lord, had no code of chivalry binding him, no oaths of fealty to honor. He was a reiver. An outlaw. A killer. He was responding to the call of blood. The Maxwells and the Johnstones had been at feud for a hundred years or more. Both Scots clans, but steeped in hate despite their shared nationality.

She had been fooling herself, trying to convince herself he felt regret for what he'd done to Jack. But Jack had been a Graham and it was unlikely he felt anything but satisfaction for eliminating another enemy. And what of her? Did he care for her? He'd wanted to rut with her when he thought she was a wh.o.r.e. He'd meant to punish her when he learned what she'd done to his people. Perhaps he'd scored another victory over the enemy by ruining one of their women.

He slid the fine linen s.h.i.+rt over his head, and then the padded vest, followed by a gleaming s.h.i.+rt of mail. Fayth was motionless in the doorway. He'd forgotten her, intent on preparing for battle. But then what was he doing, but rus.h.i.+ng to defend Fayth's sister-a Graham? Hadn't he freed her from Carlisle and Ridley? Promised to help her find Mona? Cared for her when she was near death? Fayth's head swam with these contradictions.

When he was fully arrayed, leather breeches, boots and spurs, sword belt strapped on, latch and quarrels hanging from it, he finally faced her, helm dangling from his long fingers.

”I'm leaving you Skelley and a dozen men. Eliot is gone. It must've been him last night, at your door. We've found no sign of him in the tower or below it. You'll be fine until I return.”

Fayth said nothing, arms folded hard under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to stop herself from touching him. She wanted to hold him to her, keep him here-keep things from changing again.

He crossed the room, coming to stand before her. ”You'll be here, when I return. Together we'll find Mona and Patrick.” When she didn't answer he caught her arm. ”You will not go after them on your own. Stay here and wait for me.”

Though he framed it as an order, she knew he sought confirmation from her. She could not lie to him. There was no way to know how long this war would go on-he could be gone months before there was even fighting. And what if he didn't return? Though her feelings had changed, her situation had not. She must find Mona. Ridley was probably frantic for the Clachan Fala now-Mona's danger had never been greater.

She returned his gaze silently, promising nothing.

He searched her face, his mouth a flat grim line, then stepped around her. She didn't turn, listening to his steps echoing off the floorboards, muted by the fragrant rushes. Her heart ached, hollow and wanting.

Alex swung onto Bear's back, his men mounting their horses and gathering around him. Skelley stood at Bear's head, holding the horse's bridle.

”Do not leave her side. Sleep in the hall outside her door.”

”Do ye really think that's necessary?” Skelley asked. ”No one will bother with Gealach until this battle is fought.”

”I'm not worried about the Grahams. She'll try to run.” He gave his friend a hard look. ”I expect her to be here when I return.”

They streamed out of the gates, taking the steep and treacherous road leading away from the castle at a gallop. When they reached the bottom of the incline, Alex turned in his saddle, to look back at Gealach and saw a figure on the battlements, hair gleaming in the sunlight, yellow cloak billowing out from her shoulders. She raised a hand in farewell. Would she be there, waiting for him, when he returned?

He dug in his spurs and headed for Annancreag.