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Brodie shook his head like an oxen throwing off a cloud of flies. "It makes no matter who was there! Kirallen, we've been allies until now, but before God, if I don't leave here with my woman, I'll tear this place down stone by stone."
Deirdre caught her breath. Brodie would do it, she knew he would. Or at least he would try. After all the kindness the Kirallens had shown her, she would not bring war upon their heads.
"Alistair, we cannot—" she began, but he rounded on her with a furious scowl.
"Hold your tongue, woman," he snarled and she stepped back a pace, too shocked to voice a protest as he turned back to Brodie with a shrug.
"She talks too much, but for all that I would keep her. She warms my bed quite nicely," he added in a low, suggestive voice. "She's sweet, Brodie, verra sweet, and so eager...but then, ye know that for yourself. Or," he added with silken malice, his gaze flicking down and up again, "perhaps ye don't. Why not give her to a man who's... capable of enjoying her?"
Brodie went first white, then red, and shot Deirdre a look of such concentrated hatred that she felt the blood drain from her face. Had Alistair gone mad? Or did he want to see her dead? For nothing he could possibly have said would have sealed her fate as completely as the words he had just spoken.
Brodie's lips drew back from his teeth and the veins corded on his brow, a sure sign that he was in a killing rage. Without meaning to, Deirdre took a step back, holding Maeve more tightly.
"Ye had her, did ye?" Brodie said, his voice strangled.
"Several times." Alistair flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve and smiled slowly. "Each finer than the last."
"By God, I'll kill ye—"
"You? Do you really think you're man enough?"
With an insolence that took Deirdre's breath away, Alistair turned his back.
"I'll kill ye with my own hands!" Brodie screamed. "I'll cut you into ribbons, ye swiving churl. I'll slice off your balls and stuff them up your—"
Alistair whirled to face him. "Tomorrow. Kendrick's field. At midday."
"Aye!" Brodie tore the gauntlet from his hand and flung it in Alistair's face. "So be it."
Alistair bent and retrieved the glove. When he straightened his eyes were gleaming above the thread of blood winding down his cheek.
"A challenge given and accepted," he cried in ringing tones, holding the gauntlet aloft. "With all of you as witness."
For the first time Brodie seemed to realize things had not gone as he meant them to. He glared about, his low brow furrowed in confusion, as Kinnon came forward and took his arm.
"Come Brodie, let's get back home again."
"You, bitch," Brodie said, thrusting a finger at Deirdre. "Do not think ye can hide behind Kirallen for long. Tomorrow I will come for ye. And then—"
"Come on," Kinnon said anxiously, tugging at his brother's elbow as he cast Deirdre a nervous, apologetic glance. "Let's go."
CHAPTER 32
"Well played, Kirallen," Ronan said, leaning casually against the doorpost of Jemmy's chamber. "Very well played."
"Well played?" Jemmy repeated tightly. "God's blood, Alistair, what were you thinking? I should kill you myself, right here and now, and save Brodie the trouble!"
"I wouldn't have let it come to war," Alistair answered. "I would have drawn the line at that."
"Really?" Jemmy snapped. "I didn't think you were capable of drawing any lines at all."
"Now, Jemmy," Alyson began anxiously and he rounded on her with a scowl.
"Oh, and now we hear from my lady! Tell me, Alyson, when did you find time to witness this marriage? For I was with you all of yesterday."
"If you're waiting for an apology, you will not get it," Alyson answered sharply. "'Twas the only thing to do."
As the argument continued, Deirdre walked back and forth before the fire, crooning softly to Maeve. The child clung to her with arms and legs, head buried against Deirdre's shoulder. Malcolm and Haddon Darnley sat beside the fire, watching her with wide eyes. They should never have had to witness such a thing, Deirdre thought, and nor should poor Maeve. No child should be subjected to such hatred.
