Chapter Thirty-Three
D uncan stands in the doorway. The wind blows his blue kilt against his thighs, and the night spills onto the flagstones before him. His shirt is bloody, and some of his blond hair has escaped its knot. There’s a bruise forming over his eye, and I wonder if Blake gave it to him, or one of Alexander’s men.
Callum is king.
Relief bursts in my chest, but it’s quickly stifled. Duncan was my prison warden when I was kept in a cell. He held a blade to my throat. He could be lying. It’s hard to believe Callum would send Duncan to find me, rather than come and get me himself.
Do as he says. I push back Callum’s voice, and the feelings those words provoke.
Beside me, Blake’s hand is curled around the hilt of his dagger. His arm is pressed against mine. He’s still shirtless, his skin is pale and clammy, and we’re both covered in blood. Duncan looks between us warily.
“I’m not lying,” he says. “Callum sent me.”
“The Borderlands men?” asks Blake.
“They rode away after Alexander left.”
Blake uncurls his fingers from his weapon. “We’ll meet you outside.”
Duncan nods, then heads out of the chapel. The door swings shut behind him. When I take a deep breath, the scent of blood fills my lungs and reminds me that Blake’s not yet at full health.
“He might be lying,” I say.
“He’s not,” says Blake. “Or at least, I don’t think he is.”
“Why didn’t Callum come after me himself?”
He sighs heavily. “Because you’re with me.” My eyebrows knit together, because this seems to exasperate him. He runs his good hand over the back of his neck “Or perhaps this is a trap, little rabbit. Shall we find out?”
Blake grabs his bloody shirt. He struggles to slip it on, and I help him fasten up the buttons. We walk down the aisle, and head outside.
Duncan is already on his horse by the chapel gates. The mountains loom behind him. Blake walks to the horse we rode here on, and pats her on the side. I halt and stiffen. We’d rode here in such a panic, it hadn’t really occurred to me that our bodies were pressed together for the journey.
Blake looks over his shoulder and pulls a face. “Unless you’d prefer to ride with Duncan?”
Duncan straightens in his saddle, and I catch a hint of panic in his eyes before he resolutely looks away. I wonder if he worries what Callum would think.
I huff as I join Blake by the horse. “I’m holding the reins.”
His left arm hangs limp at his side, and he rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”
When I’m seated in the saddle, Blake hauls himself up behind me. His chest presses against my back, and every muscle in my body tightens. He grabs the saddle, rather than curling his arms around my waist. It satisfies me that, no longer on the brink of death, he’s uncomfortable with this, too.
Duncan rides through the gates. Still marginally concerned about where he might be leading us, I grip the reins and follow him.
The trees rustle around us as we trot down a dark mountain pass. The peaks are hidden by darkness. Blake’s legs rub against mine as the terrain becomes more uneven, and he keeps shifting to try and put distance between us.
He kissed me, earlier.
The weight of his kiss is heavy on my lips. I’m sure it’ll get heavier when we get back to the castle. I’m sure there’ll be consequences for both of us. All the alphas saw it. Callum saw it.
Do as he says.
“You know Alexander,” I say, quietly, after a while.
“Yes.” Blake’s breath tickles my ear.
“You failed to mention that.”
“I didn’t realize I had to inform you of all my acquaintances.” The horse stumbles on a rock, and his chest bumps into my back. “I can provide you with a list, if you wish.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You knew Alexander was coming after me, and you knew our history. It was pertinent information you should have shared.”
“Why? You seem to think we are enemies.”
“And you told me we were friends. How do you know him?”
Blake’s sigh is warm against my cheek. “I was imprisoned a while back. I met him during my time of captivity.”
“Why were you imprisoned?”
“For being a wolf.”
My retort for how it was good he got some form of comeuppance for his behavior dies in my throat. “Oh. Sorry.” There’s running water by our side, though it’s too dark to determine if it’s a brook or a river. The sound is peaceful. “How did you know Alexander wouldn’t follow us into the chapel?”
“Did you see the mark on his wrist?”
I glimpsed a tattoo in the same spot as Elsie’s, and I guessed at the symbol that might be inked there. “He worships Night, doesn’t he? We were in one of Night’s chapels. Why would he fear it?”
“It’s said that places of worship bring us closer to the gods and goddesses. Alexander isn’t a true supporter. He tried to trick the God of Night into giving him power, or so I heard. Now, he fears retribution. He wouldn’t dare set foot in a place like that.”
“What do you think he wants with me?”
He shakes his head. “Let us hope we don’t find out.”
Dawn approaches when we reach the hill overlooking Madadh-allaidh. Birdsong fills the sky as it lightens over the castle—an angular building made of dark stone. An army of about three hundred surrounds the outer walls, and their kilts and sashes add a burst of yellow to the shadow-painted landscape. Morning mist coats the loch behind them.
Lochlan’s army.
I can’t determine where the alpha is himself, but I’m surprised—and delighted—to see that there are women warriors on horseback among the men.
“Did Callum and Lochlan free Alexander’s prisoner?” I ask.
“Yes,” says Blake. “Although, based on what Alexander said to us, I’m starting to wonder if it’s a trap. It seemed a little too easy.”
“He said he was sending someone to us.”
“Exactly.”
He shifts back on the saddle. “They’re not going to bite, Duncan. Let’s go.” Duncan throws Blake an unpleasant look, then digs his heels into the horse. “We should go too, little rabbit. I’m sure Callum is overreacting because you’re not there yet.”
Do as he says. I push Callum’s voice out of my mind.
I lead the horse down the grassy hill.
We make our way back to Castle Madadh-allaidh.
***
The castle courtyard is full of noise when we ride through the gates.
Morning mist coats the cobblestones. There must be thirty or so Wolves congregated in small groups, and the conversation is agitated. Some carry dead game, or buckets filled with chicken feed. Others have halted with bundles of hay in their arms. I catch Mrs. McDonald, the formidable cook, gossiping with Kayleigh, the kitchen maid, by the water pump—both rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed. People look out of the narrow windows looking onto the yard. Three women wearing blue tartan dresses swarm Duncan’s horse to ask him for news. Isla, the woman from Highfell who was hostile to me, and clearly had feelings for Callum, flicks her mousy brown hair over her shoulder. She whispers something behind her hand to her friend.
I catch snippets of their conversations. Among the chatter, a phrase is repeated. Callum is king.
Some Wolves sound curious. Others hostile. Yet relief floods me that this is not a trap. Callum is here, and he won.
As we head further into the courtyard, the Wolves around us quieten. I’m reminded of the morning I first arrived here in the Northlands with Callum. People had been wary of the human woman with wild red hair, dressed in nothing but a nightgown, who rode on a horse with the alpha of Highfell.
I was frightened then. I’m not now, even if it’s even tenser. People stop what they’re doing and straighten. A woman pulls a freckled boy behind her. A couple of the men put their hands on their swords. Wolves have always feared Blake, but their fear seems to extend to me, too.
I’m not sure what they’re most wary about. My wild appearance, having been held prisoner by James, Blake’s equal dishevelment and his bloodstained clothing, or our affiliation with their new king.
Perhaps it’s because we’re both southerners. Or perhaps they heard what happened at the manor house. James forced Blake to kiss me.
Do as he says.
Blake pays the onlookers no heed. When I bring the horse to a halt, he presses against me as he slides his leg over the horse, then dismounts.
He looks significantly better than he did when we set off a couple of hours ago. Some of the color has come back to his cheeks, and though his dark hair is messy, it no longer sticks to his skin. He could pass for his usual self.
“Are you coming?” His eyes glint in the grey light.
I slide off the horse, and land close enough to him that his body heat sears into me. Ahead, Duncan strolls through the oak doors of the castle.
Blake snaps his fingers. “Kayleigh, can you take Nell to the stables, please?”
Across the courtyard, Kayleigh’s face pales. When I worked with her in the kitchens, she seemed terrified of Blake. She looks as if she’s contemplating bolting, but Mrs. McDonald gives her a shove. The two approach, and, her hand trembling slightly, Kayleigh takes the reins of the horse and leads it away.
“Well, if it isn’t Her Royal Highness, here to grace us with her presence once more. Should I curtsy?” Mrs. McDonald’s greying hair is frizzy around her flushed face, and her apron is dirty. She was probably preparing breakfast when Lochlan’s army arrived. “No wonder you were so terrible at cooking.”
I offer her an appeasing smile. Despite her hostility, I always liked the way she spoke to me as if I was no different to anyone else. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. McDonald.” I nod at the archway that Kayleigh walked Blake’s horse through. The stables are in that direction, and it was someone different who came to greet us when Callum and I arrived. “Is Fiona—”
“The lass is fine. I’m sure she’s on the warpath, currently, but she’s unharmed. I made sure she was fed. Callum freed her as soon as he arrived. He was in an awful mood. You might be able to settle him.” She shakes her head. “Two brothers, fighting over what their father worked so hard to achieve... It’s a shame, though matters of the heart are rarely simple.”
She looks Blake up and down and clucks her tongue. “As for you, I see you’ve been getting yourself into trouble again.” She licks her thumb, leans forward and wipes a smudge of blood from his cheek. He stiffens slightly, but makes no remark. “You’re needed in the infirmary. Callum’s waiting for you.”
My heart plummets. “Is he hurt?”
“He’s seen better days, but he’s fine. It’s the prisoner that needs attention.”
Kai. The prisoner Lochlan and Callum freed. Who Blake thinks was sent to us as part of a trap by Alexander.
Blake’s jaw locks, but he nods.
“Come find me when you’ve seen to him,” she says. “I’ll make you that soup you like.”
She bustles through a group of Wolves in blue tartan, and heads after Kayleigh. Blake wipes his face on his sleeve, but he doesn’t say anything about Mrs. McDonald touching him. I’ve never seen anyone be so familiar with him.
I fall into step beside him as he walks through a group of Wolves to the castle doors.
“That makes sense, I suppose,” I say under my breath, horribly aware that the courtyard is unnaturally quiet. “The two most fearsome Wolves in Madadh-allaidh would be friends with one another.”
“Mrs. McDonald, and Kayleigh are both from Lowfell,” says Blake, as we head into the castle. “They have differing opinions on what I did to the majority of their clan.” He smirks. “I think Mrs. McDonald was quite pleased to be rid of her husband.”
Disgust swells inside me, as I’m reminded that he’s a killer. “You’re abhorrent.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s not a compliment.” We walk through the entrance hall—adorned with banners, and tapestries and a wolf head mounted on the balcony level above. The doors shut behind us, and loud and restless conversation breaks out.
When we reach the infirmary, the fire in the hearth lights up the workbenches and medical supplies. Shelves line the walls, stocked with vials and jars. There are three cots in here, and there are patients in all of them.
Two men stand over one. Lochlan grips the shoulders of the man who lies there. He mutters under his breath. Beside him, Callum stands in front of the fireplace. I forget how to breathe.
He looks as formidable, as impenetrable, as the night we met. His shirt strains against hard muscle, and is stained with blood. There’s bruising around his strong jawline, and his nose is swollen.
His expression is unreadable. His attention momentarily flickers to Blake, then me. His jaw locks. He looks at his enemies like this.
Do as he says.
My heart begins to race in my chest. I lift my chin, and hold his steely gaze.
He’s jealous. No matter that he was the one who told Blake to kiss me. No matter that he could have challenged his brother before it got to that point. No matter that I was the one who was kidnapped, and forced to do something I didn’t want to do.
I should be running into his arms. I should be asking if he is okay. He must have killed his brother, and—no matter how much I may dislike James—Callum must feel something about that.
My feet are rooted to the spot.
Lochlan picks up on the tension. Silence shrouds the room, punctuated only by the crackle of the hearth and Kai’s raspy breaths. It feels like miles stretch between Callum and me, like we’re royalty from two enemy kingdoms, like the past weeks spent in each other’s arms never happened.
“Callum?” I say.