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It was an unfortunate pairing of names, and she spun sharply to the servant who stood behind her. “Well, after all, where is he?” she snapped.
“Lord Bertrand is en route, my lady. Another day at most. The rains, you know…”
She whirled back and stood in silence for a long time, then addressed her captain. “You used to know Mac Con, did you not?”
Ludthorpe’s armor was a perfect reflection of the cloudy skies and the gray rain starting to spit down on them. Still, Elizabeth did not retreat indoors. Ludthorpe, being a seasoned soldier, had no compunction about standing in the rain until the sun came out again, and merely nodded as water ran in rivulets down his helm.
“He served under me, Your Majesty, years ago.”
She nodded, tapping the most recent message from Ireland on her bottom lip. “What did you think of him?”
“A rogue,” he said at once. “Charming, dangerous, and looking for trouble.” Ludthorpe paused. “But not a rebel.”
She lowered the paper. “And yet he is precisely that, is he not?”
He nodded, his gaze sliding away.
“Is he not?” she said again, sharply. “He has taken a castle of mine and holds it even now, against my wishes. What else could he be but a rebel?”
Ludthorpe’s gaze came back. “He is whatever you say he is, Your Majesty.”
She stared blankly ahead, then a moment later, shook her head, as if responding to some inner conversation.
“No. I cannot have Ireland come at me from behind. Not even for Aodh.”
Chapter Thirty-One
KATARINA WAS UP the next morning as soon as the first ray of sun hit her eyelids.
The first thing she noticed was that the door stood ajar.
She flung herself out of the bed, grabbing for her gown as she went, then her boot, far too excited, considering she’d just wedged herself deeper into a bond with a rebel. But for now, all she felt was…buoyant. The sun was shining and Aodh was out there, waiting for her.
She tugged on her boot as she hopped across the room to where the other lay, on the floor beneath the table. She bent for it, putting her nose a bare inch from the table, so for a moment, she didn’t realize what she was seeing, lying there on its surface.
A half-curled roll of parchment, covered in ink. At the bottom was Aodh’s signature, large, scrawling, and red.
It was the betrothal agreement.
It had been torn in half.
She stared, her heartbeat speeding up, then she straightened with a snap and flew out of the room, snatching up her veil and pinning it on as she went.
She found him in the training yard, clad in armor and sweat. Engaged with one of his men in swordplay, puffs of dirt rose from under the men’s feet as they circled each other. Their tunics were unlaced, hems hanging down to muscular thighs clad in hose and boots. At the far end of the bailey, another set of men worked on the target field, shooting arrows. The stables bustled with men leading horses in and out, and from over the wall came the faint ring of gunshot; men were training beyond the walls, too.
She leaned her shoulder against the wall, content to wait to be seen. He caught sight of her when their circling brought him around, and he smiled even as he slashed his sword.
She smiled back.
His opponent knocked the blade out of Aodh’s hands, then danced backward, astonishment on his face, but laughing in triumph.
The rest of the soldiers who’d been leaning against the walls roared in laughter too, to see their commander beaten. Aodh swept up his blade, and the group enjoyed a few moments of enthusiastic revilement of Aodh’s abilities—or lack thereof—until he dipped his head Katarina’s direction.
They all snapped to attention, then flushed and apologized and nodded and bowed and very quickly drifted off. Aodh came to her side.
“Did I do that?” she asked apologetically. “Make you lose your sword?”
“Aye.” He wiped sweat off his brow with his forearm, then hooked his arm behind her back and hauled her to him. “Entirely your fault. Mayhap I should punish you.”
