Warrior’s Redemption (16 page)

With both hands, she pushed open the door and was very nearly run down by a young boy, his arms filled with wood scraps.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, my lady,” he called breathlessly, racing past her.

Lord. She’d thought the great hall was busy, but by comparison to the activity in the kitchen, it might as well have been deserted.

Right in the center of all of it, she located Ada. The old cook, her hair covered with a tightly wrapped scarf, her sleeves rolled up beyond her elbows, appeared to be in her element, directing the rush of bodies.

A rush Dani had
not
expected.

She’d taken care to make sure she hadn’t overslept. In her excitement and determination not to be late, she’d swear she’d awoken every hour on the hour throughout the night. And yet, these people had clearly been hard at it for quite some time.

“I thought you said we’d begin at sunrise.” She was, in fact, positive that was their appointed time to begin.

The old cook looked up from the huge pot she stirred, a look of surprise sweeping over her perspiration-dotted brow. “Och, lassie, we’ll no be spending our time on a midday meal on this day. We’ve a feast for this very night that needs preparing, we have.”

Dani ignored her twinge of disappointment and summoned a smile. “Then tell me how I can help. I’ll do whatever you need.”

Whatever it was that drove this beehive of activity, obviously it was important to all these people. And since they were her people now, it was important to her, too.

“Good on you, lassie. All hands are welcome on this day, what with so little warning to prepare. Jeanne!” She waved the dripping wooden spoon in her hand, summoning the young maid who’d become Dani’s right hand in her kitchen adventures. “Lady Danielle has offered her help. I’m putting her in yer care, aye?”

Jeanne’s head bobbed up and down and, with a grin, she clasped Dani’s hand in her own and led her to the end of a table piled high with stacks of vegetables.

“All we need to do is cut them into pieces and toss
them into the buckets. One of the lads will carry them over to where Cook needs them.”

Dani worked in silence, establishing a rhythm with Jeanne until the buckets in front of them began to fill.

“What’s this feast for? I hadn’t heard a word about it until I walked in here this morning.”

“Nor any of us, either, until Cook came round in the middle of the night, rousting us from our pallets. The Feast of Odin, she called it. I hear they’ll even be uncorking the Berserker brew.” The young woman’s grin spread across her face, lighting her eyes. “I’ve heard tell of what it does to a man, aye? I’m looking forward to seeing for my own self what effect it has my Eymer if Cook’s tales are true. It could be quite an evening.”

“And I as well,” the woman working at the next table over added. “Though not on yer lad, Jeanne. I only hope I’m no too tired to reap the benefits.”

“I dinna think it possible for you to ever be that tired, Matildis,” another woman chimed in to a ripple of muffled giggles.

“True,” Matildis replied with a little shimmy of her shoulders. “There’s naught like a hardened stallion to renew a woman’s energy, lest it be a roomful of them.”

Muffled giggles turned to outright laughter.

“Matildis!” one of the older women admonished. “Watch yer tongue. There’s wee lassies about.”

“Wee lassies need to hear the truth of it as well,” Matildis replied with a shrug. “And if that bog myrtle
brew works as Cook says, you’ll do well to keep those wee lassies safely tucked in their rooms tonight with their doors bolted, along with any others who’ve no enjoyment for the ride.”

The buzz of happy conversation filled the air and Dani laughed along with the others, enjoying the comfortable camaraderie of the group as her buckets filled. A boy of perhaps eight or nine dashed in and swooped up those buckets, returning a minute later with empty ones for them to fill again.

Dani’s curiosity was piqued. History had never been one of her strong points, but actually living history? That was turning out to be much more enjoyable than any dull class filled with names and dates to memorize.

“Obviously this Feast of Odin is a big celebration. What’s it about?”

Jeanne shrugged one shoulder without looking up, her knife chopping expertly through the row of carrots in front of her. “It’s meant to bring victory in battle or some such. I’ve heard Cook tell stories from her old home about it, but I dinna ken much more meself. Only that there’s to be all the food we can eat and drink aplenty this night.”

“Meant to bring victory in battle?” The knife in Dani’s hand stilled.

That didn’t sound at all like a celebration of some long-remembered battle out of history. Besides, if that were the case, they would have known that it was coming and would have been preparing for days. This big
party, whatever it was for, was something no one had expected.

Meant to bring victory in battle.

No, that sounded suspiciously like something yet to come.

It also sounded suspiciously like something she didn’t think she was going to like.

Not at all.

And everything that anyone knew about this feast came from the cook’s stories.

Setting her knife down, she turned and made her way over to the center of the room, straight to the old cook.

“Ada? This Feast of Odin, can you tell me why we’re celebrating it now?”

“Feast
to
Odin,” her friend corrected. “To honor him. Tonight we petition the God of War to protect our warriors when they march off to battle tomorrow. It’s long been a tradition of the MacDowylt to placate their testy ancestors, aye?”

Dani had been correct. She didn’t like what she was hearing. Not one bit.

“Where are they—wait. Why? Why are they going into battle?” And why hadn’t Malcolm said a word of it to her?

“Because our good laird Malcolm kens his responsibility to rescue his sister before it’s too late to save the poor lass. Their half brother holds her prisoner at Tordenet Castle.” Ada beat the air with her spoon as she spoke, her eyes narrowing as she got into her story. “I’ve no a doubt but that Laird Alfor’s ghost is
walking the halls of his beloved castle over that one, though he’s none to blame but himself. Serves him well enough, it does, naming his firstborn to succeed him as laird. Torquil was an evil, sneaky arse from the day he was old enough to take his first steps. It was the idea of serving him what sent my Ulrick following after Malcolm when his father first sent him off to fight his battles for him.”

Oh, hell. All the movies she’d ever seen, all the books she’d ever read, all of them spoke to how the Scots couldn’t get along with one another. She’d always just thought it was storytelling.

“Where’s Malcolm now?”

“In his solar, I’d say.” Ada stuck her spoon back into the big pot, stirring in sweeping wide circles. “Likely with the MacKilyn’s men, who arrived in the night.”

She had to talk to him. She couldn’t let him ride off into battle. Not now. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him when she’d only just found him.

She couldn’t very well be a fairy-tale princess if her fairy-tale prince went off and got himself killed.

“T
HEN IT’S SETTLED
, William.” Malcolm clasped the forearm of the man across from him, slapping his shoulder as he did so. “You and yer men will join up with us tomorrow at first light. We meet where the trail to yer camp reaches the main road.”

“It will be so,” William answered, his hand to Malcolm’s shoulder in return of the earlier gesture.

Malcolm stepped back, his arms crossed at his chest,
waiting as the three MacKilyn warriors made their way out of his solar.

“One last thing.” William paused at the door. “Our good laird bids me remind you that by our being here, you’ve a debt of honor you owe to him. Due and payable upon his request.”

“Due and payable upon his request,” Malcolm echoed.

“My laird then bids me inform you of his intention to collect upon said debt before Yule. In one month’s time, he will arrive, accompanied by his daughter, expecting to be welcomed in the fullness of yer hospitality. This is agreeable?”

“It is.”

Malcolm did not hesitate in his response. He could not. He could not risk losing the support of the MacKilyn, no matter the personal cost to him.

Patrick stepped back as the MacKilyn men disappeared out into the hallway, to slump down into a chair close by.

“You ken what you’ve just agreed to, aye? It’s no secret that this is no the first time the MacKilyn has exercised this ploy on an ally.”

Malcolm understood. All too well.

“It is nothing more than the artifice of a desperate old man.”

“A desperate old man with no sons, mayhap. But lacking in honor, Colm, you ken as well as I do. There’s no honor to be found in forcing a man to wed yer daughter to obtain the alliance he desperately needs. It’s the sale of yer soul he wants.”

Malcolm nodded his agreement, refusing to allow regret to poison his heart. He had no choice. His sister’s life depended on his securing the MacKilyn warriors to his cause.

They’d heard the stories of the MacKilyn’s trickery from the time of their first visit to Castle MacGahan. Stories about the wily old laird with riches and land, but no sons to pass them on to. No sons, but a dozen daughters, it was said.

A dozen daughters, each in turn to be married off to an ally of the MacKilyn in return for a pledge of their father’s alliance.

Now he, too, would be one of those stories.

“And what of Lady Danielle?”

Malcolm shook his head, unable to meet his brother’s gaze, his tongue too thick to answer.

“Based on what you told me yestereve, I had thought I would be welcoming a new sister into the family.”

Perhaps it was the work of the Norns, the vile fate-bringers of Asgard. He should never have confided his plans for Dani to his brother. Now they would never be. For a man who had wanted no entanglements with women, his life had become as a web of spiders.

“You
will
be welcoming a new sister into the family, Patrick. A daughter of the house of MacKilyn.”

“The Elf will no be well pleased,” Patrick muttered, thumb and forefinger stroking his chin.

“No, I dinna suppose she will be, though in truth, her feelings are no my first concern.”

It was the feelings of another woman that troubled him now. Another woman with eyes of green and skin so soft and fragrant, he could lose himself in her for a lifetime.

A noise in the hallway had Patrick on his feet, sword drawn, and at Malcolm’s shoulder as he approached the door.

“Dermid?” Patrick silently mouthed Malcolm’s suspicion.

With a flick of his wrist, Malcolm set them both in motion, toward the opening where he expected to find his brother waiting. Even as he took the last step, he prepared to lecture Dermid about his penchant for spying at half-open doorways.

With Patrick in place to his left, he flung the door open wide.

It was not Dermid standing in the hallway, but Dani, her face an expressionless mask.

No words passed between them, and for half a heartbeat he deluded himself into believing she had not heard the discussion that had passed between him and Patrick.

In that half a heartbeat, his world held still as he stared into her eyes. Hoping against hope, even as her fingertips lifted to her lips, as if only by physical restraint could she hold back her words.

Half a heartbeat only before hope died a wicked death.

And then she was gone. Racing away down the hallway, her skirts lifted high to give her more speed.

Patrick’s hand to his shoulder kept him from running after her. That was as it should be. Even if he had pursued, even if he caught her, what could he possibly say? He’d said too many words to her already.

Once again he’d failed a woman entrusted to his care.

I
TOLD YOU ALREADY
, I don’t care how my hair looks, Elesyria. It doesn’t matter.”

Nothing mattered now. Dani sat with her back to the Faerie, patiently allowing her friend to pick at her hair. All she really wanted was to climb into the big bed behind her and draw the covers up over her head, shutting out the world of pain.

“Are all women without guile in your time, or is it only you? Don’t be such a simpleton. Of course it matters when you’re dealing with a man. Men are simple creatures. They sample you with their eyes first, whether that man be Faerie, Mortal, or something else.”

A twinge of irritation elbowed its way into the pain.

“I have no intention of being sampled by anyone, thank you very much. Especially not one particular anyone who’s getting ready to marry someone else.” The thought sent a brand-new stab of pain zinging through her heart. “And what on earth is a ‘something else’? I mean, we have Faeries and Mortals. What else is there?”

Elesyria moved to stand in front of Dani, hands on her hips, issuing forth a clucking noise that rivaled any chicken Dani had ever heard.

“You are robbing me of my faith in the women of the future. I am no longer so sure that I am comfortable with having my daughter live there if women have so lost their ability to reason.”

“I reason just fine.”

“Very well. If, as you say, reason isn’t lost, it certainly isn’t highly utilized, is it? There are more Others walking your world than you can imagine.” Elesyria rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “Obviously, more than
you
can imagine, in any event.”

“That’s it.” Dani rose to her feet, turning to face the Faerie. She was done with this ridiculous primping and the insults accompanying the activity. “My problem isn’t lack of imagination. My imagination is as good as anyone else’s, thank you very much. Maybe my problem is that my Faerie godmother is just totally inept. Maybe said inept Faerie dragged my ass seven hundred years into the past to dump me in the lap of a guy who’s going to marry some. Other. Woman.”

“First off, I am not your Faerie godmother. Let’s get that straight right now. I am Faerie, true, but the whole godmother thing is a myth. Wishful thinking on the part of envious Mortals.” She patted her hair and walked toward the door. “And, second, I’m not sure you even deserve to be with the man into whose lap your Mortal ass was dropped. You’ve no idea the trouble the Goddess and I went to in order to find
the
perfect
woman for Malcolm MacDowylt, laird of the MacGahan. You obviously have no idea how incredibly rare a coupling between SoulMates is. Or that every Fae’s life dream is to achieve such. We’ve handed this precious gift to you on a gilded platter and you, ungrateful child that you are, you’re not even willing to exert the smallest effort to secure the union.”