Prologue #2
Theon ate and drank in silence, and he did indeed end up finishing Graeme's bowl as well as his own.
But while Graeme was no doubt ensuring that Lorna would not forget this night for a long time to come, Theon put the time to better use.
His silence was not passive, it was tactical.
He learned much simply by listening to the conversations of those around him, though it was still difficult to hear that, even now, the MacKenzie name was still synonymous in most minds with traitors.
Fortunately, however, most of the gossip focused on other things—the scandalous news that Lady McDonell had been secretly meeting with the groundman or how the McLeods and Grants had escalated their disagreements over the price of barley.
Small, sometimes trivial pieces of gossip they might be, but Theon took them all in, knowing that any single item could be critical before he knew it.
Graeme returned, his shirt untucked and his hair a mess, swaggering a little as he collapsed down into his seat. "Energetic lass," he said, grabbing his ale and swigging from it, apparently unbothered that it had now been sitting for an hour. "Did ye really eat me dinner, ye bampot?"
"I did," Theon replied. "It was delicious."
Laughing, Graeme asked, "And did ye hear any good gossip when I was gone, oh prince of secrets? I ken that's what ye've been doin' the whole time. Is some lady torn over the color of a frock? Some laird desperately tryin' tae hide his latest bastard?"
"Most likely, aye, but I've discovered somethin' more interestin' than any of that," Theon said. "There's tae be a weddin', it seems."
"Oh?" Graeme asked. "One of the lairds strengthenin' the so-called alliance by sellin' off one of his daughters, I suppose? We all ken they only have the lassies in the first place for currency."
Theon grunted. "Aye. Though I wouldnae feel too sorry for the lass. Kennin' what she's like, I'd assume she's more than eager for the status the match will bring."
"Oh?"
For a moment, Theon was back in time—back to when he was a boy, glancing at a pretty girl in a corridor, not quite daring to make the move. Then he returned to himself, a much older man hardened by exile, far from the temptation of a lovely face.
"Briana Cameron is tae be wed tae Malcolm MacFarlane soon enough. Apparently the whole alliance is ready tae celebrate the occasion."
Graeme chuckled, draining his ale. "Briana Cameron and MacFarlane's pigheaded son. Who'd have thought? I'm surprised Iain is sittin' back and allowin' it. He used tae be fair protective of his wee sister when we were lads, and everyone kens Malcolm's way with women."
"It's been a long time since we were lads," Theon reminded him gravely.
"They're both grown now and reapin' the benefits of their fathers' good fortune.
" His lip curled in angry spite at those last words.
"Two spoiled heirs, unitin' two clans rich with gold and blood.
A perfect match, as I said. They were made for each other. "
Raising his mug in solemn agreement, Graeme drained the last of his ale. He turned to call over to a serving girl to bring them more, then froze.
"Theon," he said urgently in a tone very different from his usual playful teasing.
But Theon had already noticed. He gripped his sword hilt reflexively as his muscles tensed, feeling first one, then two, then many sets of eyes lingering upon them.
Had they been talking too loudly? Had someone simply recognized them?
Maybe the girl Graeme had entertained had let something slip?
It didn't matter. All that mattered was that they got out of there. Now.
"Get up slowly," he instructed under his breath. "Nae sudden movements."
Graeme nodded, and, as casually as they could, both men got to their feet, leaving a small pile of coins on the table as payment. They started to move toward the door, but before they'd gotten more than a few feet, the room descended into silence.
"It's them! I kent it! They're worth a thousand Scots pounds apiece!" someone shouted. "They're the bloody Broken Blades!"
At the mention of the price on their heads, the spell broke.
The room descended into chaos, people shouting and screaming in confusion, women grabbing their children away, and men rushing forward to try to be the one to claim the prize.
There was no time to think. Theon bolted for the door, shoving past every person who got near him, trusting that Graeme would not be too far behind.
A burly woodsman hurled himself toward Theon and was met with a sharp elbow to the stomach, knocking the wind from him.
Theon didn't spare him a glance as he burst through the tavern door and out into the night air.
"A thousand!" Graeme's voice exclaimed cheerfully from behind him. "We've gone up again!"
People spilled out from the tavern behind them, and, worse, villagers and guards started toward them, catching the scent. Theon kept running, but he knew they'd never escape at this rate. With the two of them as targets and so many sudden enemies behind, they'd be caught in no time.
"Circle!" he barked.
"See you there," Graeme replied.
Out of the corner of his eye, Theon saw Graeme dart in the opposite direction toward the town walls, while Theon himself kept running toward the forest. Shouts of dismay and confusion echoed in their midst, and Theon took advantage of that momentary respite to lose himself among the trees.
Not many villagers would follow him in here at night, but he couldn't stop now.
A thousand pounds was more than many of these people would ever see in their lives, and he could hardly trust that they wouldn't risk themselves for such a sum.
He raced through the trees, lungs burning, heart pounding, knowing he was too far from anywhere to make it to safety before his pace gave out but knowing equally that he couldn't stop.
Suddenly, the treeline broke in front of him and he stumbled out onto a rough, graveled road.
He could hear shouting in the trees behind him, but the storming thunder of hoofbeats and wheels on the ground was louder.
Theon spun to see a carriage hurtling toward him, the driver's eyes wide as he saw the man on the road, the horses going too fast to quickly stop.
He jumped back, giving the carriage enough space to pass without trampling him.
"This way!" someone shouted from the forest.
There was only one option. As the carriage raced past, Theon grimaced and jumped, catching hold of the door with only the faintest grip.
He swung wildly until he managed to get his feet gripped on the step then wrenched the door open with all his might.
A woman’s scream pierced his ears, but Theon didn't have time to say a word before he ducked inside and pulled the door tight closed behind him.
The carriage kept going, leaving danger behind, and Theon briefly wondered how Graeme had managed to make his own escape. With any luck, Theon had distracted enough of them to allow Graeme to slip away.
"If ye're here tae rob me—" the woman's indignant voice cut across his thoughts.
He turned and finally looked at the carriage's other passenger.
She was probably a few years younger than him in her early twenties or so, with chestnut hair braided in an elaborate style on her head and eyes like summer grass, which at this moment were narrowed and glaring at him.
She wore a fine blue dress and a beautiful necklace no doubt worth more than the carriage they rode in, and she would have been quite beautiful if it wasn't for the scowl.
"Forgive me, I willnae bother ye long," he told her. "I'm—"
But the woman's face suddenly drained of color, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open. She raised a shaking hand, pointing at him, and exclaimed, "You?"