Page 6

Chapter

Six

“ Q uickly,” she said to her lady’s maid.

Mary had come to her years ago as the daughter of a poor family from the village.

They’d met at the blacksmith’s shop, and at the time, Avelina had no maid.

When her mother died the year after their father and so many other MacKinlay men were slain in the Battle of the Black Friars, Avelina had chosen not to need anyone.

Not a maid. Not a husband, which her brother had attempted to secure for her in the years since.

Not knowing if they might stay or leave, she wished to rely on none, hence her insistence on learning to wield a bow and arrow.

Though they’d never met before, when she and Mary first shared a space in the corner of the blacksmith’s shop—Avelina to speak with the man on her brother’s behalf, Mary to procure nails from the smith—there had been a connection between them immediately.

One she could not explain then, nor now, but that mattered little.

Now that Mary was married with a wee bairn, her duties had shifted slightly, and sometimes, Avelina could admit to herself, she missed the closeness they’d shared. ’Twas not the same since Mary had met her now-husband, but Avelina had come to accept the fact. Mostly.

“If they left without you, ’twould be a blessing, methinks.”

As Mary prepared her satchel, Avelina finished tying her boots. She’d changed into a riding gown, its deep green able to hide the marks that would come inevitably with travel.

“I would not miss it for the world. ’Tis the most exciting thing to happen in as long as I can remember.”

“More exciting than Alistair’s visit?”

Alistair. The most serious of her suitors and the only one Avelina was truly considering. His clan was an ally of MacKinlay. He was handsome. Kind. There was nothing that did not recommend the man as a potential husband. Except. . .

“Aye,” she admitted. “My heart has never leapt looking at him as it did today.”

Mary sighed. “With the chief’s son.”

As if they would be talking about any other.

When Avelina had found Mary after her brother decreed they would leave soon, very reluctantly agreeing for her to come, she’d told her everything.

Of course, the maid already knew there were Duncraig clansmen in their keep.

But she’d been more than a little surprised by the news Avelina carried.

Mary had expected distaste, and anger, and of course, Avelina held both in her heart for the two men, but she could also not deny her body’s response.

It was the same as in the courtyard but more so. Every time they exchanged a glance. . .

Except, she hated him. She hated him, his brother, his family, his clan. If only someone would inform her stupid heart of the fact so that it may beat normally again in his presence.

“Aye,” she admitted. “’Tis wrong. I know it to be so. Of course, I hate the man.”

Mary handed Avelina the satchel. “As you should.”

“I do.”

“’Tis well.”

“Aye, very well.”

The women’s eyes locked. Mary sighed. “My lady. Do not. He can never be yours.”

“I do not wish him to be mine.”

Lie.

“And yet, your eyes sparkle with anticipation.”

“To go on an adventure.”

“With the Duncraig clansman.”

“He will be there, aye.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Listen to me well. You claim to hate the man, but those are merely words coming from your mouth. I believe you want to hate him but realize he was just a young man, as you were a young woman, when the Battle of the Black Friars occurred. You know he is as much to blame as me, and because of it, you allow the possibility that he is not a bad man. One you are clearly attracted to.”

As always, Mary’s insight was keen.

“I hate the man,” she insisted.

“And like him too. But you must know, he can never be yours. Your brother would never, ever, agree to a match with a Duncraig.”

“Nor should he,” Avelina agreed.

“Nor should he.” Mary sighed. “Now go before they leave you.”

Avelina gave her maid, her friend, a quick hug, and knowing she was right—’twas very possible they might leave her behind—Avelina sped through the corridors back to the hall. Indeed, ’twas empty.

Avelina made her way into the courtyard and breathed a sigh of relief spotting the riding party apparently waiting for her. Attaching her satchel and mounting her palfrey, Avelina avoided his gaze. One that had been on her from the moment she stepped into the courtyard.

The sight of MacKinlay and Duncraig clansmen riding alongside one another caused quite a stir. Indeed, ’twas not until they were well past the village that the five riders were not the subject of curious stares.

I want to speak to him.

She should not want that. And was unsure how to facilitate it with the chief’s son and his brother well ahead of her, Ewan, and Fergus.

There was no way to do such a thing. Or so she thought.

Until, a short time later, the chief’s second fell back to speak to her brother briefly.

She could not hear their conversation, but Avelina did speed up her mount to ride on the other side of the Duncraig warrior.

He caught her eye. And, apparently finished with her brother, allowed the others to ride ahead so the two of them remained in the back.

“Did you wish to speak with me?” he asked, his voice low, cutting through her chest, and other parts of her, in a way no other voice had.

Avelina could never be confused with a shy maid and would not be so now. “Aye.”

“What of, my lady?”

He spoke to her much more cordially or, at least, with less hostility than he did her brother.

A fine question, but one she should not answer. Of anything did not seem appropriate.

“Of the cattle,” she heard herself blurt. Cattle. As if Avelina truly wished to speak of cattle.

“Cattle,” he repeated.

“Aye.”

He waited.

She cleared her throat. “I believe you,” she said, sincere. “But also know ’tis impossible for them to have found their way to your land on their own.”

“Agreed, my lady.”

Absurdly, Avelina wanted him to say her name.

They were strangers. And enemies. Yet, she wished it anyway.

Life was precious, and so, she asked for what she wished.

“You may call me by my given name.” Avelina struggled to think of a reason why she would allow such a thing.

“We journey together,” she said finally. “Should not we be on familiar terms?”

It was an absurd reason, and they likely both knew it.

“Aye,” he said, surprising her. “We should. Avelina.”

It was as pleasing a sound as she imagined it would be. But Avelina was not yet finished. “Lina,” she said. “’Tis what most call me.” Which was not true. Her family and close friends called her that, but she wanted to hear it from his lips.

“Lina,” he said with a half smile.

If she’d thought him handsome before. . .

“I am Niall. No shortened name to speak of.”

The corners of her lips tugged upward. “Niall.”

Whatever was between them should not be. Avelina was as aware of that fact as she was of the warrior who rode beside her. Yet, she seemed unable to stop herself.

“So, do you believe, Niall—”

He smiled. Blessed be the Virgin Mary, that smile. . .

“Do I believe?”

What had she been saying? Oh, aye, she remembered. “Do you believe someone led them there apurpose?”

“I do.”

“One of our clansmen?”

“Perhaps.”

Avelina thought on that for a moment. “Who else but the owner of the cattle would lead them away from their lands?”

“That is, indeed, a question I hope to answer. If your brother can identify their owner, perhaps we can ask him that very question.”

“Or her?”

“Do you have many women in your clan who own cattle outright, then?”

“We do. Since many of our men were brutally murdered some ten and five years ago.”

If she thought to get a rise out of him, Avelina was to be disappointed.

“I would not use the word ‘murder,’ my lady. Lina,” he corrected himself.

It was much too intimate. She should have never given him leave to use that name. But, as she suspected, there was a sort of pleasure that came from hearing the sound that made her want to ask him to say it again.

She didn’t, of course.

“What word would you use, Niall?”

His tongue flicked out so quickly she almost missed it, first touching his upper lip, then the lower. She wished to see that tongue again.

Lina, in the name of your Lord in heaven. What is wrong with you?

“Killed. The battle was sanctioned and attended by the king and agreed to on both sides. Murder implies otherwise.”

While she thought of how to respond, Niall continued, “I am sorry for your loss, my. . . Lina. I’d not wish what you endured on my worst enemy.”

“Your worst enemy. Meaning me?”

“Your clan, aye. Not you.”

“I am my clan.”

He had no response to that. They fell silent.

“I was at the keep,” she said finally, “when the spectators, including my mother, returned. I remember little but the weeping. And later, the fresh graves, so many of them. Oddly, though, I cannot remember aught else about that day or the ones that followed. Of course, I felt the absence of my father, my uncle, my clansmen—but of that day? Very little.”

“A horror none should have to endure. Your mind protects you from it by not remembering.”

Again, they fell into silence. And though she wished to continue speaking to him, Avelina said nothing more.

They were not two people from opposing clans attempting to conduct a conversation.

They were the son and daughter of a decades-long feud, one that had resulted in bloodshed of the sort that nearly wiped out the entirety of her clan.

Nay, Niall was not just an enemy. He was the enemy. Mary had been right, of course. There could be naught between them, and this curiosity of hers, this draw to him that made Avelina wish to speak to him? ’Twas useless. Indeed, dangerous, if the look her brother gave her now was any indication.

When Niall sped up and rejoined his brother, Avelina said nothing. ’Twas for the best the two of them avoided each other. There was naught to say that wasn’t tinged with hate and sadness and grief.

But just then, they stopped as riders approached. And what her enemy did next was something Avelina could not easily forget.