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"Yes," Deirdre said. "I would like to tell you. I think—I hope that you will understand."

"I will try. But I won't listen to a word until you've bathed and eaten. Rest for now and I'll be back."

CHAPTER 21

Deirdre hung back in the shadow of the archway, feeling suddenly unsure that coming to the hall had been a good idea after all. Lady Alyson—no, just Alyson, she reminded herself—had said she should join them there that night, since apparently the news of her arrival had already spread throughout the manor.

"I cannot say how it happened," Alyson had sighed when she came to Deirdre's tower room, a gown folded across her arm. "Maggie would never talk and I trust Conal and Donal—but in this place there are no secrets. Still, the news can hardly travel as far as Cranston Keep tonight, so you might as well enjoy a proper meal. And here, I think this will fit you well enough," she added, holding out the gown across her arm.

Now Alyson gave her an encouraging smile as they stood together, looking into the noisy, crowded hall. It was grand, Deirdre thought, staring about with wide eyes, at least twice the size of the hall at Cranston Keep, with hangings on the wall and two long windows filled with bits of colored glass stretching almost to the ceiling. But even this enormous space seemed barely enough to hold all the people within. People who would look at her with curious eyes, knowing—or thinking they knew—what brought her here.

"Aye, they'll stare," Alyson said, as though reading Deirdre's mind. "But what can't be changed must be borne. Chin up now, Deirdre."

Her brisk kindness was exactly what Deirdre needed. "Well, then," she said. "Let's go in."

She hadn't taken two steps before she saw Alistair. He stood across the room, a crowd of men around him. At her entrance his head turned sharply toward the door.

Deirdre was aware of the curious eyes upon her, but they meant nothing to her now. For Alistair was coming toward her, and a warm blush rose up her throat to stain her cheeks. She touched a fold of her gown, the heavy velvet soft beneath her fingers. It was the finest gown she'd ever worn, midnight blue trimmed with silver, and Alyson had twined bits of silver ribbon in her dark braids.

Alistair looked fresh and rested, his hair shining like burnished gold in the torchlight. He was clad in a fine wool tunic that just matched the color of his eyes. But, she noticed, he still didn't bear the Kirallen colors anywhere about him.

"Deirdre," he said, taking her hand and bowing over it. "You look—verra well tonight. How is Maeve?"

She smiled, for she'd caught the hesitation in his words and knew that he had been about to say something else. He had been about to say that she looked beautiful. "Maeve is quite well, thank you. Sleeping, now."

"I'm glad."

There was so much she wanted to ask him, but this was not the time or place for questions. Even now Lady Alyson was waiting for them to take their place at the table.

"My lady," Alistair said stiffly to her.

She nodded coolly. "Sir Alistair."

They began to walk across the hall, but before they reached the dais, the bearded knight Alistair had been talking with swept an elbow across the table, upsetting a pitcher of ale that splashed the hem of Alyson's gown. Instead of apologizing, the man turned away, but not before Deirdre had caught the flash of teeth in his dark beard.

"Why, the clumsy churl!" Deirdre exclaimed.

"'Tis all right," Alyson answered shortly. Two bright spots of color on her cheeks were the only indication she had even noticed the man's rudeness as she made to walk on.

"Nay, 'tis not!" Deirdre protested. "Alistair, did you not see?"

"Leave it, Deirdre," Alyson said.

But Alistair was already at the man's side, speaking to him in a tone too low to hear, though from their gestures it was clear they were arguing. A moment later they both came forward.

"Forgive me, my lady," the man said sullenly. "I dinna see what I had done."

"Very well, Sir Calder," Alyson said and the knight returned to his seat, giving Alistair a puzzled, resentful glance as he went.

"He did it deliberately," Deirdre said, staring after him. "But why?"

Alistair looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, but was saved from answering when someone cried his name across the hall.

A boy hurtled through the crowd and threw himself into Alistair's arms. "It is you! They said—but I didn't believe it—" The words came out in jerky bursts as he buried his face against Alistair's chest.

"Aye, Malcolm, it's me," Alistair murmured, holding him close. "Whisht now, I'm here, dinna greet, lad..."

When they finally drew apart, Malcolm dragged an arm across his eyes and smiled shakily. "Ye look the same," he said.