It seemed a terrible intrusion, an abomination, for they’d stayed late at their wedding feast last evening and made love for a long while after. It did not seem the morning could already have arrived.
Yet when Adair pried his eyes open one at a time, he saw that aye, light came in around the chamber door.
Bradana lay sprawled across his chest, still sleeping, her breath deep and even and those glorious eyes of hers closed tight. Her hair covered him—his only covering, in fact—and in that moment his heart clenched with love for her, so fierce it hurt.
Surely this was still the tail end of their wedding night. Who would come to disturb them?
“Bradana,” he whispered.
Her eyelids fluttered but she did not wake. Aye, they had expended all their strength in loving. And she felt safe in his arms.
A sudden thought occurred to him: he must keep her that way even if it cost him his life.
His life so far—apart from his assignment to Alba and the events that found him here—had been a carefree one. Full of many pleasures and few enough responsibilities. He’d never thought on marriage. Never expected to take on the safety and welfare of another. Yet here he lay with his whole world in his arms.
The call came again, closer now so that he could identify it as a cry of alarm.
“Master Adair?”
It sounded like Morag. If it were, why would she be calling on him and not Bradana? If Bradana’s grandsire had taken a bad turn…
He began to wiggle out from under Bradana and she came awake. Great, slumberous eyes opened. She reached for him.
“Not now, love. There is someone at the door.”
“Eh?”
She drew up one of the blankets. He, naked, took another to cover himself.
Morag stood outside the door, her face stark white, her mild eyes full of fear. At that moment, Adair felt certain Rohracht’s health had failed him.
Behind Morag, he could see people hurrying about. Men at arms. Distress flared within him.
“Mistress MacFee, what is it?”
“I am sorry to disturb ye at such a time, but—”
“Is it the chief?”
She shook her head and stole a look over her shoulder.
“Come in, pray.”
The woman did, standing just inside the door with her hands twisted in her smock and that awful look on her face.
Bradana, now sitting up, responded to that look. “My grandsire?”
Morag shook her head again. “A party o’ men has been spotted. They approach through the forest—from the south. Mican, it is. Our guards, out on patrol, recognized him.”
Bradana gave a soft exclamation of dismay and Adair felt her emotions spike. So well connected were they, he could almost tell the thoughts in her mind.
“How many men?” he asked. “Did the guards say?”
“A goodly number, though no’ an army. Heavily armed.”
Adair reached for his clothing, the same he’d worn the day before and which had mostly fallen near the bed. Ignoring the presence of the woman, he began to struggle into it. “How far off?”
“At the border. They must ha’ traveled all night.”
