Page 17 of Highland Storm

She was a daughter to Óengus of Moray. Her great grandfather MacBeth had been a man of the people. As king, he’d brought Scotia seventeen years of peace—the only such peace her people had known since Kenneth MacAilpín murdered his Pecht overlords. Today, half these earls had been supplanted here by William Rufus, the other half by his brother Henry. They were all minions of the English—which was why MacBeth deposed Duncan. No man of Moray could, in good conscience, follow a dirty Sassenach. So, aye, she was well born, but with her brothers still at large, they would only see her as a threat. And if they could not possess her, or use her against Ewen and Graeme, they would kill her.

“I am but a simple maid of Moray,” she said sweetly, meeting his gaze.

But that was a mistake, for her eyes were at once drawn to his woad… to the wolf’s maw that peeked out from beneath his tunic. The jaws opened over the cords of his neck, teeth bared over a vein in his throat. Even in the strange twilight surrounding them, she could make out the woad clearly. The sons of Fidach were said to be sons of the wolf…

They were in Lilidbrugh…

Was it a coincidence he was drawn to this place?

But nay, the sons of Fidach were all long gone, or so they claimed. Nevertheless, unnerved, she took another bite of the grouse and chewed thoughtfully, very much aware of the man seated beside her.

He continued to mold the snow between his hands, the muscles of his arms flexing as did the cords of his neck, making the wolf’s tattoo move as though the beast were moving its long, powerful jaws. In fact, he was much like a wolf pup, she decided—with large, yearning eyes to tug at her heartstrings, and yet the instant she let down her guard, he would pounce.

It was a curious matter, for no Scotsman Lianae had ever met wore the woad of their ancestors. Forsooth, her own people no longer wore the woad of her ancestors! And yet, here was this man, wearing it still… right along with David’s livery. And here he was in the lost city of the Pechts. It was a mystery, to be sure.

Confused, Lianae tore her gaze away. “Ye dinna expect a lass to confess herself to a man she does not know?”

He winked at her. “She would if she needed help,” he said, and continued to play with the snow in his hand at the same time he swept the toe of his boot over the ground where Lianae had concentrated her search. Even with a new layer of snow, her foraging was perfectly evident. His boot stopped abruptly and Lianae prayed it wasn’t because of her stones. They were easy to recognize once they settled beneath your feet, because they were round and smooth.

Finishing her meal, she swiped at her mouth, and then set the napkin aside. She didn’t know how, but she knew in her heart there was something beneath his boot. “I have already said I do not.”

“But I think you do.”

Her gaze snapped to his face, searching for some sign that he knew… something. But what she spied there was more questions yet—and some of them mayhap her own. So Lianae called his bluff. She lifted her chin. “If ye believe it,” she challenged. “Then release me and see how long I stay?”

There was a smile in his eyes that didn’t appear on his lips.

“You are not a prisoner here.”

Surprised to hear him say so, Lianae furrowed her brow. “Nay?”

“Have I restrained you with ropes or chains?”

Lianae shook her head, realizing with a bit of chagrin that he spoke the truth.

“Have I assigned guards to watch o’er ye?”

Once again, she shook her head, for he had not—none aside from himself.

His lips curved into a smile, and he moved his boot and thrust a hand down into the snow, groping, searching for something, and then, seeming to find it, he plucked his hand back up, producing one of Uhtreda’s stones.

Lianae’s eyes widened.

“Something tells me, lass… if ye meant to leave, ye would already be gone.”

Chapter

Six

“That is mine,” she said, and reached out to snatch the stone from Keane’s hand. Her expression turned to one of outrage when he held it firmly in his grasp, studying her.

While her coldstones might be rare, they were hardly unknown to him. Small and etched with symbols, they reminded him of knucklebones—a game wherein you placed four bleached bones from the ankles of a sheep into a sack. Each bone had four sides, and each side a different shape, each side a different value. Players tossed them from the sack, and the one with the greatest value won, but these coldstones were not quite so easily decipherable, and neither was the end result the winner of a game. Betimes they were rolled and the fates were not so kind. Una kept a purse full in her grotto, hauling them out whenever Aidan wished for her to seek answers from the gods. The only difference between these and the ones Una possessed was that Una’s were not marked in the same manner. Regardless, they were valuable enough to steal, particularly if one knew what they were and how to use them. And whether Lianae knew such a thing or nay, she clearly understood the stones’ value because she’d fled without her shoes and took the purse, when her shoes might have served her better in this inclement weather.

And by the by, although she could have at least attempted to run away, she’d spent the past hour trolling the courtyard, searching for missing stones. In fact, she seemed far more concerned over the loss of her coldstones than she was about the company of strange men.

Smiling just a little, Keane released her stone, despite his suspicions and she closed her fist possessively about the bauble. Up close, it was perfectly clear there was a bruise on her face, right below the cheekbone.

Did she steal the stones? Were they payment for her favors? A bridal gift?