17 YOU NEED NEVER BE ALONE
THE SWEEPER BUFFETED them when they stepped up onto the walls.
Drawing her cloak tightly about her, Lara led the way past guttering braziers to the terrace that looked southwest. Bree and two of the Fort Guard followed at a discreet distance.
“You get the best views from here,” she said as she drew to a halt.
Deliberately not looking Alar’s way, she looked down at where the home fires of Duncrag burned, illuminating the fort. The waxing moon was rising: a pale-silver half-circle in a jet sky.
The atmosphere had been strained between them since the signing of the agreement. Alar’s mood had turned sullen, and she’d been dreading going up on the walls with him.
A brittle silence settled, and eventually, Lara cleared her throat. “Have you been to Duncrag before?”
“Aye, many times.” His voice was aloof.
“My father always said there’s no fort as beautiful as Duncrag … especially at night.”
“I’ve always preferred Dulross, actually.”
Relieved that he was at least engaging with her, Lara nodded.
She could see why he liked Dulross. The ‘Brooch of Albia’ had a picturesque setting, surrounded by rolling meadows to the south, and dark pinewood to the north.
It sat under the majestic shadow of The Goatfell Mountains.
Dulross was a little smaller than Duncrag yet had a grace that the capital lacked.
She reflected then that Alar must have traveled far and wide over his seven decades, yet she’d seen little of Albia—aside from Doure and Dulross, she’d visited Braewall a few times and Cannich twice.
Nowhere else. Before taking the throne, she’d led a sheltered life, and after her father’s death, she’d been catapulted into a world she wasn’t prepared for.
Another hush fell. Alar made no move to break it. He’d been the one to suggest coming up here, but he was still brooding now.
Eventually, she huffed a frustrated sigh. If he wasn’t going to make an effort, she’d dispense with pleasantries. “I hear you are a wanted man in Baldeen.”
He snorted. “Who told you that?”
“King Artair.”
“I’ve had no dealings with him.”
Lara studied his profile. The nearby brazier gilded the sharp lines of his features. “Well, he certainly knows who you are.”
His gaze flicked to her. “He didn’t take the news of our impending handfasting well then?”
“No.”
“And the King of Braewall?”
“He isn’t happy either.” She pulled a face then, glancing away. “Unfortunately, Niall offered for me a couple of years ago. His pride was bruised … but he accepted my decision to remain unwed in the end. As such, he’s taken our impending handfasting as a slight.”
“Ah, so I have a rival?” She shifted her attention back to Alar, to find him watching her. His coldness had gone, although she preferred it to the smug expression he now wore.
Eyeballing him, she folded her arms across her chest. “So, are you going to tell me why there’s a price on your head?”
“Is it important?”
Lara frowned. His slippery responses were starting to vex her. “Aye.”
He reached up, his fingers rubbing the lean line of his jaw—something he did when thinking.
Her wariness grew to misgiving. By the Gods, whom was she binding herself to? She hadn’t even been born for most of his time alive. He cloaked himself in layers of secrecy, and she wondered if she’d ever find her way through them to discover the real man beneath it all.
“I killed the king’s brother.”
Lara stiffened. “King Beorn’s brother?” Beorn was the previous overking of Baldeen, who’d fallen alongside her father outside Cannich.
“No, Col mac Darach was overking then. As I said, it was a while ago … I must have been your age at the time.”
“And why did you kill him?”
His iron-grey eyes hardened. “Revenge.”
“For what?”
“A few years earlier, King Col charged his younger brother Evin with keeping peace in the villages of Dorne Forest,” Alar answered, his attention shifting west, in the direction of Baldeen and its territories.
“Like your father, Evin had no love for the Shee or anything faerie. He discovered that a Half-blood lad lived among the locals and turned them against me.” He paused then, his profile almost harsh.
“I was around ten at the time … and my mother had just died. They chased me from our bothy and hunted me like a dog through the woods. Evin caught me though and strung me up on a tall pine before leaving me to slowly choke to death.”
Lara’s breathing grew shallow. “But you lived.”
He cut her a veiled look before one hand lifted to the scar upon his throat.
“I did … but that’s another story.” He paused then, absently stroking the raised silver line.
“Fifteen years passed, but I never forgot Evin mac Darach. And when I was ready, I hunted him as he’d once done me and hanged him from a tall pine. ”
His words were uttered matter-of-factly. Nevertheless, Lara suppressed a shiver. She deliberately looked away, focusing on the glowing half-moon.
“Does my tale appease you?” Alar asked, a challenge in his voice now.
She nodded, even as her gut tightened. Moments passed before she finally spoke. “There has been another development since I saw you last.”
“Aye?”
She turned to face him, her arms still folded protectively across her chest. “I’ve sent an envoy of counsellors to seek out the chieftain of the Circines.”
He stiffened. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I wanted some privacy.”
“That didn’t stop you from waving that agreement in my face in full view of your hall.”
Heat flushed over Lara. Aye, she’d vexed him. “That was necessary,” she answered crisply. “Besides, you already agreed to sign it.”
His gaze narrowed. “And why have you sent an envoy into The Goatfells?”
“My father made the hill tribes of The Uplands his enemies … but I will change things,” she replied, relieved they weren’t going to argue about the document he’d just signed.
“Anything Mor has offered the Circines, I will better. They should have met with them by now. When we march north to take back Strath, the Circines will hopefully rally at our side.”
Silence followed her words. Eventually, he broke it. “You should have discussed this with me in Doure.”
Irritation spiked through her. She didn’t answer to him. “My chief-counsellor didn’t bring up the idea until we’d left.”
His brows drew together, his mood darkening once more.
“If you’d told me what you were planning, I’d have warned you that Beathan mac Glen, the chieftain of the Circines, hates you and everything you stand for.
Your father captured, tortured, and killed his brother …
that’s why he allied himself with the Shee. ”
“But I’m not my father,” she replied, her belly clenching. “My envoy will make that clear.”
“Well, I hope you sent your best to speak on your behalf … and that you’ve offered them something that’ll make Beathan see you in a different light.”
Lara scowled. “Of course. In return for their loyalty, they will live without my interference. No longer will we draft hill-tribe warriors into our armies. The Goatfell Mountains will be their domain … there will be no taxes, no laws, but their own.”
Alar barked a humorless laugh. “And you think that’ll be enough?”
Heat rolled over her. “Aye.”
His gaze flicked to where her right hand clenched around her left bicep, his brow furrowing. Stiffening, Lara glanced down. He was staring at her father’s ring, the Ord-ree Seal. She was about to ask him why, when his attention snapped up to her face once more.
“When did you send your emissaries north?”
“Just over half a moon’s turn ago.” Worry clutched at her belly then. Time was marching on.
“Aye, well, they should have sent word by now.” His dark brows drew together over the bridge of his nose. “You do realize they’re likely all dead?”
Her heart kicked against her ribs, although she covered up her response with a scowl. “You don’t know that.” She stepped abruptly back from him. “This conversation is over, Alar. When we discuss this again, it will be with my council present.”
Lara climbed the stairs to her quarters, quietly simmering.
Her exchange with the Half-blood upon the walls had left a sour taste in her mouth. His revelations about his past had been unnerving, and his reaction to her sending an envoy to the Circines angered her.
He had no right to question her decisions.
Not yet … but he will soon.
Dread clutched at her as she pushed aside the curtain to her alcove and strode inside.
This evening hadn’t gone well from start to finish.
The two of them were locked in a duel. Her trick at supper had angered him, but his behavior afterwards had riled her .
Gods, was there any way out of this marriage?
Her attendants were all in here already, preparing the alcove and sleeping nook for their queen’s arrival. Mirren was putting another brick of peat on the fire, Florie was tidying the furs, and the twins were fussing over the pretty tunic Lara would wear for her handfasting the following day.
Lara halted, her throat constricting as she surveyed them.
This was the last night the four women would reside in this alcove with her. From tomorrow, only she and her husband would sleep in here. Her attendants would share a small alcove on the floor below.
Dizziness swept over her then.
She’d be alone … with him .
“Would you like a cup of wine, My Queen?” Mirren asked, straightening up from her task.
“Aye,” Lara said huskily, “but pour a cup for yourself, Florie, Ani, and Lilith, as well.”
Mirren stilled. “My Queen?”
“Go on.” Lara moved over to one of the high-backed chairs flanking the hearth and sat down heavily. “Things will be different from tomorrow … I’d like to remember what it was like to spend the evening with you all.”
Mirren still looked surprised by the command, but heeded it, nonetheless.
A short while later, they’d pulled up stools and sat near their queen, sipping at their wines.
The red-haired twins, Ani and Lilith, both perched nervously, thin fingers clasped around their cups, while Florie wore a stunned expression. It wasn’t customary for servants to eat or drink with the ruling class—but Lara had no patience for such things tonight.
None of her family were alive to chide her for it.
She attempted to draw the twins into conversation, yet they were too shy to answer with any more than one-word responses, and Florie was too awed to engage. Only Mirren managed—as always.
Eventually, Lara gave up trying to chat with them—it seemed the gulf between their ranks couldn’t be breached, after all—and let them get on with their evening chores.
The twins rushed off, relieved, to fetch her hot water and drying clothes, while Florie took the dirtied cups and empty ewer down to the kitchen.
She’d bring back a fresh jug of sweet plum wine.
Lara intended to have a few swigs of it before her handfasting ceremony. Anything to get her through it.
Seated alone with Mirren, Lara sifted through her jewelry box, trying to decide on what earrings, torque, and arm rings to wear to the ceremony.
It was difficult to concentrate on her task, for such details seemed trivial.
She then picked up a golden torque engraved with ferns, a lovely neck decoration that had belonged to her mother.
Holding it up to the light, she remembered how beautiful the queen consort had looked wearing it.
She hadn’t worn the torque since her mother’s death. Maybe now was the time.
“The golden arm rings would go well with that … and they’d both look good with the woad-blue of your tunic,” Mirren suggested.
“Gold it is,” Lara replied listlessly, passing the maid the box. “Go ahead and pick out some earrings for me then.”
Mirren’s brow furrowed. “You don’t want to choose them?”
Lara sighed. “I don’t care what I wear tomorrow … it’s not going to make the day any easier.” She looked away then, seeking solace in the warmth of the flickering hearth. “Or the night .”
Her handmaid didn’t answer. However, a moment later, a small hand rested on her forearm. “Are you afraid?”
“A little,” she admitted, even as her pulse leaped into a canter. Liar. She was terrified of Alar touching her.
“Dunchadh … was he—”
“A foul brute … aye, he was.” She started to sweat then. She wasn’t sure she could discuss her late husband without losing her composure.
As if sensing this, Mirren didn’t press further. But as silence swelled between them, the need to confide in someone started to throb under her breastbone. Sometimes, she felt so alone. It was exhausting, keeping everything to herself.
“I knew that Dunchadh had buried three wives … just not how he treated them,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so brittle. “But on our wedding night … I learned.”
Another pause followed before Mirren gently squeezed Lara’s arm. It was a kind gesture, although one that made tears burn behind her eyelids. The Mother give her strength, she didn’t want to start weeping.
“No matter what happens tomorrow, or in the days to come, I am here,” she said, her voice low and firm. “Whenever you need an ear, I will listen.” She paused then, her lips curving. “And remember that Bree and Cailean are here for you too. You need never be alone with your worries.”
Lara swallowed, trying to loosen her tight throat. “What if I’ve ruined our friendship? They opposed my decision to make this pact with the Half-blood. Maybe they think I should suffer for it.”
Mirren shook her head. “You don’t give them enough credit. They will always stand by you … as will I.”