She wiped her brow with her forearm. “I didna realize so much time had passed.”
“Nor I.” After securing his weapon, Rónán gathered up the wood and started toward the hut, the tangle of limbs dragging through the snow. “Nay doubt they will be ready for the stew we started earlier.”
“One,” she said with a tired smile in his direction, “I am looking forward to as well.”
“As am I.”
A short time later, they stepped across the cabin’s threshold and dropped their bundles near the fire. Burning wood crackled in the hearth, and the rich scent of herbs and meat filled the air as Rónán hung his cape near the fire besides Lathir’s to dry.
The door creaked open and Tighearnán entered, Órlaith on his heels, humming a familiar Gaelic tune. A frown furrowed his brow as he glanced from Rónán’s sheathed weapon to the wooden bar angled against the wall, which they’d used to secure the entry.
“We were out retrieving firewood when we saw you approach,” Rónán said.
“You are much like me, my friend. I, too, detest lazing about.” He nodded to his daughter. “Put away your goods, lass.”
“Aye. Father, may I show her my surprisefirst, please?”
Warmth filled his expression.“If you must.”
“In addition to a sweet—” She rushed over to Lathir, excitement dancing in her eyes as she unrolled the package. “My father bought me a new dress! And look—” She tugged away the remainder of the wrapping, exposing a beautiful cream gown. “It has a red sash, and I can wear it at the cèilidh this spring!”
“’Tis beautiful.” Lathir stroked her fingers across the delicate Celtic design crisscrossing the decorative loops. “You will look bonny at the gathering. Why, I wouldna be surprised if a bard wrote a song about you.”
A rosy flush swept the child’s face as she hugged the dress, then leaned closer. “My father has already told me that he willdance with me.”
“On about you, now. Be putting the fancy garbin your chest.”
“Aye, Father.” Half-skipping, she reached the ladder, then scurriedup to the loft.
Tighearnán’s gaze shifted to Lathir. “Seems the lass has taken to you, wonderful to see.” Warmth touched his gaze. “Had I let her keep on, she would have shown you every seam and button.”
“She is a fine lass,” Lathir said.
“Aye, that she is.”
“’Twould seem you made a good sale this day,” Rónán said.
“Indeed.”
The lightness in the fisherman’s eyes faded, and unease sifted through Rónán at Tighearnán’s assessing look at Lathir. “I heard an intriguing tale inthe village.”
Keeping his movements easy, Rónán shifted close to Lathir, as if in a show of affection, ensuring he kept his sword within easy reach. “Indeed?”
“’Twould seem that after a violent sea battle, a powerful Irish earl was kidnapped by the Earl of Ardgar’s master-at-arms, and they set fire to thenoble’s ship.”
Lathir’s face paled.
“They lost sight of the vessel in dense fog before it sank. Or so they believe.” Tighearnán crossed his arms over his chest and spread out his feet in a firm stance. “You wouldna know anything about that, would you?”
Chapter Seven
Rónán muttered a silent curse. With Tighearnán having seen the charred planks before theAodhwas swept away, he’d be a fool to claim ignorance. He risked a warning glance at Lathir.
Her hand lay readied but a breath from her dagger.
He paused to consider. The formidable man hadn’t stormed inside, sword drawn, demanding answers. And he’d admitted yesterday that he despised the English.
“Aye, ’twas our ship that was attacked,” Rónán stated, alert for any sign of aggression, damning the fisherman’s daughter but paces away in the loft. “TheAodh.”
