Page 6 of Time of the Warlord (Stones of Scotland #5)
“ T his is the absolute last bloody thing I need right now,” Ciaran said, pacing from one end of his chamber to another. “You let her meet Matthew?”
“I could hardly do anything about it!” Niamh protested. “Honestly, Ciaran, we thought the boy was missing! Two full days with no sight of him - and then he turns up in the road right beside her? How on earth was I supposed to anticipate that?”
Ciaran sighed heavily. He knew it wasn’t Niamh’s fault, but he was angry all the same. Sadie should never have laid eyes on Matthew. It was too dangerous.
“And you say she knew his name?”
“She called him Matthew Edmondson,” Niamh said, pronouncing the foreign sounds as best she could.
Ciaran’s frown only deepened. So, Sadie knew Matthew from his other life, before he’d come to the kingdom of Dal Riada. Before his mother had married the king and become Queen Bethany. This was not welcome news - but not entirely a surprise.
“It can’t be coincidence that she’s here,” he told Niamh. “We have to watch her even more closely. There have been plots to kidnap Matthew before, given what he’s capable of. I won’t have the boy coming to any harm. Not while he’s my responsibility.”
Niamh sighed and flopped down to sit on top of a huge storage chest.
“Couldn’t Comgall have sent you a less difficult ward?” she asked.
“Looking after the king’s stepson is a great honor,” Ciaran pointed out.
He’d occasionally wondered the same, though. Matthew was a good-natured boy most of the time, but there was something strange about him. Something almost wild. The exchange of foster children was an important part of their culture, here in Dal Riada, but Ciaran had never had his own children, and he didn’t quite know what to do with someone else’s son as his responsibility. Matthew had been on the island almost a year now, and Ciaran still felt as if he barely knew him.
“Is the boy back in his room?” he asked.
Niamh shrugged. “That’s where I told him to go, but there’s no guarantee he’s still there.”
Ciaran swore softly. Things needed to change. He had hired a tutor for Matthew, but the man had been useless. Perhaps he needed to find a new one - someone stern and learned who could teach the boy more about literature and philosophy. He would write to the monks of Iona and request such a man. And perhaps more riding lessons, and weapons training. Maybe Matthew could learn to play the harp…
“Brother, you cannot solve everything alone,” Niamh said softly, breaking through his stream of thoughts.
He managed a tired smile. “That’s what I have you for,” he said, in the most light-hearted tone he could manage.
“You should go and talk to him,” Niamh advised. “Let him follow you around and observe how you manage your lands. He’ll need the experience.”
Ciaran sighed. “You’re probably right. And I’ll need to give him a stern talking-to for worrying us all so much.”
“Be gentle on him,” Niamh called as Ciaran left the room.
He headed towards Matthew’s room, which was tucked into the far corner of the hall, and reached from the outside. As he got closer, though, a familiar voice caught his attention. Ciaran rounded the corner and sank into the shadows. Sadie . She was just leaving Matthew’s room, which was worrying. The frown on her face as she called a farewell, however, suggested that she hadn’t found whatever she was looking for. That made Ciaran smile.
“Good day to you, Sadie,” he called, striding out into the sunlight. Sadie jumped and turned to face him, plastering that ridiculous smile onto her face just in time.
“Ciaran, what a surprise to see you here,” she said in a rush.
“A surprise to see me visiting my foster son?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sadie’s eyes flickered from side to side as if she hoped for rescue. She didn’t say anything.
Ciaran took a step closer, enjoying the way her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Another step closer. He could smell the strange perfume of her hair now, drifting up to him. She did have incredible hair, so thick and red.
“Can I help you with something?” Sadie finally said, the words coming out in a breathless squeak as she stared up at his face. He hadn’t realized how small she was, her head barely past his shoulders. She seemed taller, somehow, as if all that confidence added an extra inch or two.
“You can tell me the truth,” he breathed. “About who you are and why you’re here.”
For a second longer, she stood frozen. He stared into those dark eyes, and smiled.
That seemed to crack through the ice of her panic.
“I’ve already told you that I’m here by mistake,” she snapped. “I just want to go home.”
She went to push past him, but Ciaran reached out and grabbed her wrist, jerking her to a halt.
“Stay away from my foster son,” he warned her in a low voice. “In my home, there are rules that even a guest must follow.”
He let her go again. She glared at him, and he thought for a second that she might argue. But she turned and stormed off without saying another word, long skirts flapping around her legs.
Skirts. Funny that he hadn’t noticed earlier. Niamh must have loaned her a dress. Ciaran couldn’t help but admire Sadie’s shapely form as she marched around the corner of the hall, anger evident in every line of her body. He would have to congratulate his sister on finding a dress that fitted their guest so well.
No, he would not . What was he thinking? The woman’s clothing was entirely irrelevant. So was her hair. And so were her beautiful eyes. The only thing he needed from Sadie was the truth. He would find out her secrets - and then he would send her back to wherever she came from.