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s she and Egan approached, but it was more discordant than welcoming.
A dark-eyed young man with a rakish smile rose to greet them. Tall and handsome, he could have been Egan’s twin except for the difference in their eyes. “Come, Egan,” he encouraged, “draw close. I wish to meet your lady.”
Rather than comply, Egan chose places as far from his half brother and stepmother as the narrow table permitted. He saw to Oriana’s comfort before responding to his brother’s greeting. “Kieran is an impetuous sort, but I have no doubt that you’ll forgive him, Oriana.”
What Oriana could not forgive, however, was Egan’s continual description of his younger brother in such uncomplimentary terms. Since they resembled each other, and surely their father, so closely, it seemed unlikely that there would be much of the despicable Ula in the young man.
“When Kieran reminds me so much of you, my darling,” Oriana responded in a honeyed purr, “I shall be able to forgive him anything.” She bowed her head demurely and fluttered her thick lashes as she peered up at Kieran.
Believing Oriana had completely misunderstood how she was to play her part, Egan sank down beside her and drew her into a possessive hug. He buried his face in her hair and whispered in her ear. “You must flirt with me, not him!”
Leaning into him, Oriana rested her hands lightly on his arm and giggled softly. “You mustn’t say such naughty things here. What will your dear brother think of us?”
Surprised Oriana would be so bold, Kieran glanced down at his mother’s narrowed gaze, and understood precisely why she disliked her. The flame-haired beauty was so intent upon Egan that she had not even acknowledged Ula’s presence, which he considered rude in the extreme. He gestured toward her now.
“My mother and I wish to extend a warm welcome.”
Egan released Oriana and scolded his brother, “That is my honor, not yours, and we’ll all find more enjoyment in the meal if you keep your misguided thoughts to yourself.”
Rather than return to his seat, a deeply insulted Kieran moved toward the fire, but not before Oriana had glimpsed the rage darkening his expression. She doubted Egan ever spoke a civil word to his half brother and she felt sorry for both men.
“You did not care for my seamstress’s finest work?” Ula observed pointedly.
“If that was their finest effort, then we need to find women possessed of more talent with a needle,” Egan announced before reaching for a flagon of wine.
“The gowns were lovely,” Oriana contradicted sweetly, “and I look forward to wearing them soon.”
Disgusted Oriana would tease him about her eagerness to leave, Egan shot her a disapproving glance. Rather than cower, however, she responded with so dazzling a smile he was left to wonder just what it was she had said. Despite her preference for the forest, she appeared to be perfectly at ease at his table—but then, she had been raised to hold lofty expectations.
Quill, the bard, began another tune about a lovely lady with golden hair. Embarrassed to be so easily distracted, Egan forced himself to glance down the table to the place where his father should have been. His appetite vanished instantly, and he filled his cup with wine and swiftly drank it down. Belatedly recalling the woman at his side, he again grabbed the flagon to fill her cup.
“I see your manners have not improved in your travels,” Ula chided. “It is a great pity that you lack your father’s grace.”
Had Oriana not caught his wrist, Egan would have flung his silver cup at his stepmother. “Father still made grave mistakes,” he taunted, and left Ula to imagine just what, or rather who, he had in mind.
Garrick had been standing in the shadows, and thinking the evening a wonderful success, he took Kieran’s elbow as he passed by and urged him back to the table. “We are all troubled,” he mused as he folded himself down upon a thick cushion beside Ula. “But we share in a common hope for a better future.”
Egan stared at the Druid, and took immediate exception to how hungrily he eyed Oriana. At the same time, he felt Oriana press close as though she shared his low opinion of the silver-haired Garrick. “No future, however fine,” he challenged, “will compensate us for the great treasure we’ve lost.”
Garrick nodded absently. “Of course, but we must begin to make plans for Samhain and the coming of winter. The whole clan will gather then and proclaim you the new king.”
The mention of the late autumn holiday forced Oriana to recall her desire for a warm cloak, and how swiftly that pursuit had led her to Egan. She glanced around the darkened hall and tried to imagine it ablaze with a hundred torches and filled with his kinsmen, all as broad-shouldered and handsome as he.
“Aye, but it will be a sad day rather than a glad one,” Egan cautioned.
“It always is,” Garrick posed. “But the old must give way to the young. It is as the gods divined.”
“My father died in his prime,” Egan nearly shouted.
“He was my father too,” Kieran interjected. “A fact you continually overlook.”
Egan did not object to sharing a father. It was Ula he could not abide.
Oriana ran her fingertips down his arm and took his hand. She did not need to study his expression to feel his rage, and yet there was something else in the room, a presence as pervasive as the smoky scent of the fire. She puzzled over it silently, then caught Ula’s lethal glance and recognized it for hatred’s rancid stench.
Apparently unaware of Ula’s mood, Garrick appeared to be preoccupied with the meal, a rich vegetable stew laced with smoked ham, which he sopped from his silver platter with hunks of barley and oat bread. Kieran was staring off into the distance, a look of thorough disgust pulling at his finely shaped mouth. Ula now sat brooding over her wine, and while Oriana had not eaten in a long while, she had to force herself to take a few bites of bread and stew.
She hoped that the rest of Egan’s powerful family were a more personable lot, but the old terror kept tugging at her conscience, and she feared the danger to Egan would continue to compound. Then with a sickening dread she began to think it odd that none of the nobles had tarried there to await his return. Surely they would have been summoned at Cadell’s death and hastened to the fortress to bury him.
