“Mistress, while ye’re taking yer rest, may I have a word?” a male voice said from the side.
She turned, and saw Tamhas standing there with his dark hair tied in a partial ponytail wet from sweat.
“Thanks for the practice, Malcolm,” she said and turned to Tamhas. “Aye, of course.”
Tamhas had taken her kidnapping personally since they were the same age and had grown up together. He’d been one of the guards on duty in the castle the day she disappeared. When she’d begun training as the way to release her anger and the darkness that had gathered within her, he’d been against it.
“A lass shouldna bother herself with swords and archery. Especially when she has a bairn to think of. Ye should take care.”
But Marjorie had started learning combat anyway, so Tamhas had helped her and sparred with her. After years of daily exercise, he was more skilled than Marjorie because he was more experienced in a real battle.`
Marjorie went to the round well made of rough stone in the center of the courtyard. Using the rope, she pulled up the bucket of water, her biceps burning from strain. She took a big, wooden ladle and drank from it thirstily. The water was cool and refreshing against her lips. She drew more water and handed the ladle to Tamhas, who muttered a thanks and downed it like it were uisge.
“So,” Marjorie said, leaning against the wall of the well with her hip. “What is it?”
“’Tis about the new man, Konnor.” He dipped his hands into the bucket, drew some water, and splashed it on his face with a small grunt.
“Have ye met him?” she asked.
“Nae. But I’ve heard about him from Malcolm. And I’ve seen him wobbling around.”
Marjorie’s heart lurched at the mention of Konnor’s name. She shifted her weight. “And?”
Tamhas wiped his mouth and shook his head once. “I dinna like him. Malcolm is also suspicious of him.”
Marjorie chuckled. “What do ye want me to do about it?”
He stared straight at her. “I want ye to send him on his way.”
She drew in some air. She’d considered it, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do that to an injured person. Besides, there was still a chance he could be a spy for the MacDougalls. And she was intrigued by him. Something about him made her want to keep him— No, she shouldn’t even think like that, let alone say it out loud to Tamhas.
“He’s still hurt. I canna do that,” she said.
“He’s already hopping about. He can manage.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him again. “’Tis unlike ye, Tamhas. Ye’re usually more soft-hearted than that. What ails ye?”
Tamhas sighed, the jaw muscles under his dark stubble working. “I dinna like how he looks at ye,” he said quietly. There was a threating tone she’d never heard from him before. Something about it was blood chilling.
“How does he look at me?”
“In a way that makes me want to break his neck.”
What did that mean? Did he look at her like he wanted her? That was what Marjorie had seen, too, right? Or was there more than just desire? Was there something else in his eyes? Did he look at her like Alasdair had?
She didn’t notice that, but mayhap Tamhas saw more than her. The thought made her blood chill. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was a good idea to let Konnor go. No one knew him, and no one had any idea if he could be a threat—to her, to Colin, or to anyone else in the castle.
“Mayhap ye’re right,” she said. “He should leave. I kent I can trust ye.”
Tamhas’s eyes burned. Something in his gaze made her uncomfortable, like she wanted him to leave. It was too much. Too much love, too much support, too much devotion. He was her childhood friend, and she’d known him her whole life. He was like another brother to her. She knew he used to have a crush on her when they were teens. He was a man now with wants and needs, and she wondered why he’d never married.
She didn’t want to think of Tamhas like that.
He gave her a nod, and a lock of his black hair fell on his forehead. “I’ll tell him.”
He turned to leave, but she called after him. “Tell him to leave tomorrow. He can rest one more night.”
Tamhas gave another nod and walked to the tower. Strangely, the thought of Konnor leaving made her very sad.
Chapter 9
Later that evening, Konnor made his way to the dining hall. It was a separate stone building that looked like a church without a bell tower. It had tall walls of rough rock and mortar with narrow, long glassless windows that were split horizontally by the shadow cast from the curtain walls, one part dark and one bright orange from the evening sun.
Konnor’s stomach rumbled when he wobbled inside using his crutch. Orange-golden sunrays fell from the slits in the windows and onto the long tables where men sat huddled over their bowls and cups. The large room smelled like fresh bread, cooked meat, vegetables, and beer. The walls were decorated with wooden shields with painted emblems that Konnor couldn’t quite distinguish from here. A large fireplace was lit, and a fire played there cheerfully. The floor was covered with rugs made of reeds.
There were around forty people in the hall occupying half of the long tables available. Braziers made of straight, riveted pieces of iron stood between the tables, and the fires in them cast devious shadows on the rough walls. A servant woman in a long, woolen dress and white kerchief on her head walked along the tables with a basket with bread and distributed loafs on the tables.
The longer he was here, the more often the probability of time travel came into his mind. A tiny part of him wondered if Sìneag was right, after all.
But the rest of him, the logical grownup in him wasn’t convinced. He had seen death and seen the closest person in the world to him get hurt in the worst possible way. He didn’t believe in miracles and magic. There must be another explanation, and if Marjorie refused to tell him, he’d find someone who would.
Heavy, estimating gazes followed him. Warriors who’d been engaged in friendly conversations with each other turned cautious and even antagonistic. Great. But he hadn’t come to make friends. He needed information.
He glanced at the main table. There was a big wooden throne with intricate carvings there. And there was Marjorie, the Highland Queen. She wore a beautiful, blue medieval dress with draped sleeves. Her hair was gathered in a braided hairdo, and her lips glistened red as she bit into a chunk of bread and chewed on it. He wished he was that piece of bread she held and touched with her lips. Her eyes locked with his, and she stilled, stern lines forming around her lips.
He looked away and searched for a free spot. He saw two familiar faces, the warriors he’d seen Marjorie talking to, and he went to sit at their table.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked as he stood at the head of the table.
The table full of men glanced at him. The Highlander with long, white hair gathered in a ponytail frowned at him. Malcolm.
“Nae,” he said and shifted on the bench without breaking eye contact. “Take a seat.”
Across the table sat a tall and lean man who looked about thirty years old. He had long, dark hair that he’d gathered in a partial ponytail and had stubble on the lower part of his chin.