“How?”
“They are a wretched, stupid lot. Surely I can find a way to outsmart them. Me, a Caledonian princess and all.” She tried to persuade Orle to smile.
The attempt failed. “The door is always watched with a man outside.”
So it was. Orle was allowed out never, and Darlei but seldom.
There would come a day, however, when Darlei would be ushered out wearing her new finery. Perhaps she could make of the king himself her very best weapon.
Chapter Fifty-Two
There came threestraight days of rain that halted all work in the yard and apparently drove MacNabh half to distraction with impatience. He came down to the bailey—such as it was—not once but several times and had intense conversations with Ardroch.
It did not take long to prize the truth of those conversations out of Ardroch, after. The men had become comfortable with Deathan by then. They all stood in a circle inside the stables and heard their captain out.
“The chief’s man has returned,” he shared with them. “The one he sent out to check on the king’s progress. The king is at Dundee and expected to arrive here within a sennight.”
That brought muttered exclamations. The yard and, indeed, the house wall were far from repaired or presentable.
“The chief says,” Ardroch went on, “if we work in the rain there will be an extra barrel o’ ale, and time off once the king is gone.”
So they worked in the rain, and a cold rain it was, as autumn had well moved in. And as any fool knew, autumn proved wet in Scotland.
When the rain intensified rather than eased up and it became evident the promised ale was not forthcoming, the men retired to the stables, where Deathan set out to both amuse and beguile them.
He did not consider himself a particularly charming sort of man. Back home, he’d been all duty, allowing Rohr the flash and glitter, resigning himself to picking up behind his brother.
But these men already favored him for his skill with a sword. They were bored and restless, and feeling let down by their chief. The flame was already lit. Deathan had only to fan it.
He set up a round of contests there in the stable beneath the relentless assault of the rain. Men drew straws to see who would face whom, short straws always paired together. Weapons were traded to keep things fair, and Deathan insisted it all be done in good fun with no blood drawn, save by pure accident.
And since he oversaw it, no one faced him. Yet.
He showed respect to all and encouragement to many, and the men became invested. There were some fine blades among them, especially in MacNabh’s guard, and Ardroch himself proved formidable. The winners of the first bouts faced each other in the next. To Deathan’s satisfaction, Tighe—with whom he continued to work one on one—remained among them.
The men began to display some loyalty behind the lad. He was one of them, and yet he was something more. Deathan doubted a man there did not know the truth of the lad’s parentage.
In all, very little work got done as Deathan brewed a mild form of rebellion, and he was glad of it. Let the king see his old comrade in arms for what he was, when he arrived.
Every day that passed drew the visitation closer. And every day he worried about the vile horrors to which MacNabh might be subjecting Darlei. At night he dreamed of her—her in a trio of guises. But always her. Always the woman who inhabited his heart.
“Wha’ in hell is all this?”
The activity in the stable ceased when the call rang out, cutting through the crashing of rain on the roof that nearly drowned out the sounds of swordplay.
Two of MacNabh’s guards, half stripped off since they’d been wet when they came in, faced one another in the cleared, hay-strewn space. They had made their way by bout after perilous bout to the elite remaining few.
The ultimate winner of those bouts would face Deathan himself in a final contest, for naught more than the right to boast of it.
Now MacNabh himself stood in the open doorway, glowering hard enough to bring the roof down.
Ardroch whirled, no doubt feeling himself responsible for the activities as head of the guard.
“Chief MacNabh. ’Tis but a bit o’ sport to pass the time while it rains.”
“A bit o’ sport?” MacNabh stepped farther in, and his men melted away on both sides, giving him a straight path to the site of the combat. “’Tis that ye call it when there’s work to be done?”
“Chief, the men canna work in rain such as this. They did try. But we had to duck back in a wee while.” Indeed, outside the stable door the rain hammered down like a waterfall.
