*
Morag possessed acalm, reassuring manner and seemed welcoming. She had their ponies led away, promising they would be given the very best of care, and exclaimed over the limping hound.
Yet Adair sensed something in her manner and the very air of the settlement—about half the size of Kendrick’s to the south—that put him on edge. All was not as it seemed here at Fee.
Mayhap, he told himself as Morag led them to a sturdy if modest roundhouse, it could be placed at the feet of the chief’s illness. For surely naught could throw off the wellbeing of a clan more than that.
Still and all, Morag’s hospitality seemed genuine. She conducted them to the fireside in the hall and sent servants hurrying with low-spoken requests.Bring food. Hot water. Bring the healer.
Bradana collapsed beside the fire, looking as dazed with relief as Adair felt. Morag hastened to pour drinks of heather ale. She drew up a rug for Wen and looked them over carefully.
“Bradana, lass, ’tis plain some terrible misfortune has befallen ye. How d’ye come to be here, so far from home?”
“That, mistress, is the tale.”
“How is your mother?”
“She—” Bradana stumbled, no doubt recalling all that had occurred when they left. “I am no’ certain. She is carrying Kendrick’s child, a late pregnancy, and no’ an easy one.”
Morag looked concerned. “And how is it your stepfather has let ye travel all this way, to arrive in such a condition? But ah, here is me asking another question when quite clearly ye must recover before ye can tell me aught. Drink up. Rest. The healer should be along soon.”
Bradana eyed her hostess. “How sore ill is my grandsire?”
“’Tis bad, lass.” For an instant, Morag’s calm expression wavered. “So bad, he is no’ expected to live.”
Bradana took the blow bravely, but could not contain her dismay. Too many and too swift had been the blows of late, and Adair felt for her.
Servants began to return with hot water, cloths for bandaging, and food. As soon as they had washed, they fell upon the meal, and Bradana began to tell her tale.
She stumbled a bit over it, introducing Adair as her stepfather’s nephew from Erin and visibly agonizing over whether she should dub him her lover also. She did not, but Morag, hearing the rest of it and being no fool, doubtless did not need the clarification.
She proved a good listener and did not exclaim till she heard the account of the ill-fated attack in the forest, the injuries, and their struggles since.
“A miracle ye ha’ reached here,” she cried then, “in truth!”
“But as ye can see, we bring trouble wi’ us,” Bradana reminded her, “and may be followed. Tell me, mistress, hearing all, are we still welcome? If not, I shall surely understand. We will tak’ our rest and leave.”
Adair spoke for the first time. “Indeed, if ye might spare the lend o’ a boat, we could sail home to Erin.”
That made Morag’s eyes widen and caused Bradana to steal a look at him. Did she not understand that would be their safest course, safest for everyone?
Morag contemplated before answering. She had a gravely ill husband and a clearly reduced clan, but she rallied to say, “To be sure, Rohracht’s granddaughter is welcome here always.” Her gaze moved to Adair. “All we have is yours.
“But I maun provide ye wi’ a bit o’ a caution. Our own fate has no’ been easy of late. Bradana, your Uncle Darroch perished in fighting last year. He was to take the place o’ chief in your grandfather’s stead, ye understand, and his son died wi’ him. Not much older than yoursel’, was Eobhan. We are engaged in clan fighting.” Her gaze met Bradana’s. “Against Mican MacGillean.”
Bradana caught her breath, and Adair’s stomach turned over within him, the food he had just consumed so ravenously not sitting well.
“Och, nay,” Bradana exclaimed. “Are we to find nay refuge even here?”
“I offer to ye what refuge we have.” Morag added dryly, “I must say, ’tis a bit of welcome news to hear that Earrach MacGillean has been taken from the world. ’Twas he who killed young Eobhan.”
Again, her gaze flicked to Adair. “Ye, Master Adair, have done us a service.”
“And stirred up a cauldron o’ trouble,” he added. “As if ye needed more o’ that.”
“Trouble,” she pronounced, “is a drink always in abundance. Let us see ye healed and rested, and we shall take stock o’ what needs to be done.”
“Aye, thank ye,” Bradana said gratefully.
