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“Saved you, indeed. That’s why The O’Fáil was sending me out, to save you. As usual. I was just leaving.”
“Aye, well, ye’re too late. As usual.”
They stared for another moment, then suddenly embraced with hearty thumps on the back. These men did like to thump. Senna couldn’t help smiling, but the smile fled when she heard Finian’s low-pitched words. “The O’Fáil received word of my capture, then?”
The other man pounded him on the back, replying in a voice just as low, “Aye, we’ve a word: bastard.”
“I’ve two,” Finian said as they released. “Dead man. Where is the king?”
“Inside. He’s been worried like a sick cat, Irish. He’ll be glad you’re here.”
“Maybe,” Finian said flatly. “Until he hears my news.”
“We’ve had some news ourselves,” said the tall Scotsman.
Finian looked at him sharply. “Of what?”
The Scotsman’s eyes drifted in Senna’s direction for a moment. “Rardove has spun a fascinatin’ tale about your escape.”
“Is that so?” he replied grimly. “I’ve a tale as well. But for later,” he said, passing a sharp glance around the circle of warriors. “For now, all ye need to know is that this,” he reached out to Senna, “is my savior.” He tugged her into their circle.
“This comely vision was yer wings, ye lout?” one man roared in laughter and turned to her in mock reprimand.
Finian took a deep breath. “I’d have you meet Senna de Valery.”
Stunned silence swept through the group. Someone said in a quiet voice, “Rardove’s betrothed?”
He jutted his chin out. “She never was.”
“Rardove says she was,” another man said grimly.
“Rardove lies when he breathes.”
“Sweet Jesus, O’Melaghlin, why is she here?” someone else demanded.
“She’s here because I’ve brought her here.” Finian’s gaze glittered dangerously over the group, and Senna felt the tension ratchet up another notch. Her heart started that familiar thundering, and the resultant dizziness tingled at the base of her neck. The Scot who’d embraced Finian turned to her with a smile.
“Now, why would you have done such a thing as that, lass, setting a scoundrel like Finian O’Melaghlin free?”
She gave a weak smile. “Had I known the depths of his depravity, rest assured I would have found another.”
The crowd broke into noisy, if tense, laughter and turned to enter the keep. Finian looked down at her.
“They don’t want me here,” she whispered.
Chapter 42
“Not to worry,” Finian said. “I’ll see to ye.”
He slid his arm around her waist, laying claim in a way that might, he hoped, ward off any problems. But then, there was a war at hand, and women never fared well in them.
By keeping his arm tight around her waist, Finian was privy to every quivering muscle in her body as they climbed the stairwell into the keep. Her backbone ran in an unerringly stiff line from neck to buttocks. He pursed his lips as they topped the stairs.
“Do ye know where my favorite place in this hall was, when I was young and fostered here?”
She jerked her head up. “Nay.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He gestured with his chin. “See if ye can pick it out.”
