40 BETRAYAL
LARA DREW UP her horse and stared at the high walls of Dulross. The fort rose proudly before her, framed by the jagged edge of The Goatfells. The mountains thrust upward, streaked in green, ochre, and slate-grey against a darkening sky.
Banners flew from the walls, snapping in the chill wind. The weather was turning again, and ominous clouds drifted in from the west. Rain wasn’t far away. But despite the dull light, the banners were clear. Circine and wulver. A white eagle against woad-blue. The Eternal Flame against black.
“Those shit-weasels,” Cailean growled from next to her. “Beathan mac Glen is with them.”
Lara didn’t answer. Bitterness flooded her mouth.
Betrayed by the wulvers, whom she’d defended and believed in.
Betrayed by her husband, whom she’d foolishly fallen for.
And now betrayed by the Circines, whom she’d hoped to ally herself with. What was one more betrayal, heaped on all the others?
Her pulse thudded in her ears as she gazed upon Dulross’s proud outline, the dark line of figures wielding longbows on the walls, and the locked gates.
There it was—the irrefutable proof of what Alar had done.
“How did the wulvers manage this?” Bree bit out the words.
“It doesn’t matter,” Roth answered. “Each of those treacherous Circines will die for it.”
“As will those fucking wulvers,” Cailean added.
And still Lara remained silent. The voices of her companions seemed far away. Instead, she stood on the edge of a cliff with waves foaming on sharp rocks beneath her feet. Just one step, and she’d fall.
Someone in my household guards a dangerous secret .
That Gods-damned dream. It had tried to warn her.
Her chief-seer had interviewed everyone, including Alar, but he hadn’t sensed anything amiss.
Of course, Alar was cunning. He’d somehow managed to shield himself from Ruari’s probing.
He’d been hiding a secret all right, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Our numbers aren’t great enough to take them on,” Bree pointed out then.
She was right. They had an army of just over six hundred warriors with barely forty enforcers. There were over a thousand wulvers inside that fort, and Gods knew how many hill-tribe warriors. They were outnumbered and outmaneuvered.
Lara’s fingertips started to tingle. She could wield fire, but it wasn’t any good to her at present.
There were no torches nearby to draw from, not at this time of day, and if she wished to inflict real damage on Dulross, she’d need a bonfire .
It would take a while to build such a pyre, and with rain on its way, all the wood would end up soaked.
They could dig in and wait before building a fire, but Alar would see what they were up to.
He’d know what she was planning, and he’d find a way to stop her.
In truth though, she didn’t want to set ‘The Brooch of Albia’ alight. Why should the residents of this fort burn because of the Half-blood’s treachery?
Wordlessly, she swung down from the saddle.
“Lara?” Bree’s voice reached her. “What are you doing?”
“I need answers.”
“From whom? Alar?” The thud of feet hitting the ground followed before Bree’s hand fastened on her shoulder. “You can’t.”
Lara shrugged her off, even as a strange calm settled over her.
“It’s too dangerous, My Queen.” Roth had twisted in the saddle, his gaze spearing her. “ He’s too dangerous.”
“I’m going.” Lara pushed through the gap between Roth and Cailean’s stallions. “Feel free to escort me. Just don’t get in my way.”
She half expected the chief-enforcer to leap from the saddle and haul her back, for her behavior was ill-advised. But he didn’t.
None of them did. Maybe something in her voice checked them.
They didn’t need to worry about her. She hadn’t lost her wits. Indeed, she’d never been surer of her own mind.
The Sharp Billed Wind pecked at her as she walked, digging into her skin. Her green, fur-lined cloak billowed, and her hair whipped around her face, stinging her eyes.
But Lara ignored it all. Her gaze remained firmly on the high stone and timber palisade before her.
The lines of leather-clad figures on the walls watched her, longbows at the ready.
“Don’t go any farther, Lara,” Cailean said gruffly from behind her. “Or you’ll be in reach of their arrows.”
Heeding him, Lara halted. She then glanced over her shoulder to where Bree, Cailean, and Roth had followed her out from the ranks. They now stood, weapons drawn, ready to defend her. Skaal had ventured forth at the chief-enforcer’s heel, her golden eyes gleaming in the dull light.
Lara’s jaw tightened. They all meant well, but they were crowding her. “Move back at least ten yards,” she ordered. “I need some space.”
A nerve flickered in Bree’s cheek. “Lara,” she murmured. “I don’t think—”
“Just do it.”
Reluctantly, their bodies tight with tension, her escort drew back to the distance she’d stipulated. They didn’t look happy about it though.
Turning to face the walls once more, Lara inhaled deeply. “Alar mac Struana!” Her shout carried through the heavy air. “Show yourself!”
Her voice echoed off stone and then died away.
Only silence answered.
Her gaze traveled the ramparts. She was too distant to pick out details. She had no idea where Alar was, but she felt the weight of his stare upon her all the same. He was up there all right—determined to ignore her.
Spots of cold rain splashed upon her face then, the day growing darker still. The rain was nearly upon them. She ignored it.
“Come down and speak to your wife, Half-blood!” she shouted once more. “I’ll wait you out, coward!” Her voice echoed once more, mocking her now. “I’ll stand here all day and night if I must!”
And she would.
“Well, you’ve pissed her off.”
The amusement in Beathan’s voice made irritation spike through Alar. The chieftain might be enjoying this, but he wasn’t. Lara needed to retreat, to move back to safety. He couldn’t protect her any longer. Not from up here.
He spied three figures standing a few yards back from the High Queen, as well as a massive wolf with its moss-green coat. None of them were close enough to defend her.
Why the fuck were Bree, Cailean, and Roth letting her do this? It was irresponsible.
His heart started to thump against his ribs.
“What will you do?” Lyall growled next to him.
Alar didn’t answer. For once, he didn’t have one.
“My archers have longbows that will reach her,” Beathan spoke up once more. “Just say the word, and they’ll bring the bitch queen down.”
“Call her that again, and I’ll cut your throat,” Alar snarled, rounding on him.
Silence fell on the wall. Beathan stilled, his dark brows shooting up to his brow line. Long moments passed, and then the chieftain’s lip slowly curled, scorn flaring in his blue eyes.
Alar ignored him. Instead, his gaze remained on the woman cloaked in green standing alone on the hillside beneath the fort.
“Tell me you didn’t fall for her?” Lyall murmured.
His pulse leaped into a gallop. “I didn’t.”
“Liar.”
He was, but it didn’t matter. He had to let everything go now.
The rain swept in then, heavy, cutting swathes of it, hammering the walls and those standing upon them. And although it was only early afternoon, the world turned dark.
Time stretched out. The clouds lowered, and after the initial deluge, the rain settled into a steady, drumming rhythm.
And still, Lara waited.
“Well, as pleasant as this is, I’d prefer to be helping myself to Og mac Alpin’s mead and seeing if he’s got any pretty daughters,” Beathan said eventually. Rain was running down the chieftain’s face and dripping off his nose. Likewise, Alar was soaked. However, he barely noticed.
“He does,” Lyall quipped. “Two of them.”
The chieftain flashed him a grin. However, his expression turned into a grimace when it shifted back to Alar. He then wiped the rain out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “How much longer are you going to drag this out?”
Alar cut Beathan a scowl. The man’s whining was starting to vex him.
“The Warrior’s balls,” the chieftain growled. “Just ignore her.”
Pain lanced through his chest, making it difficult to breathe. I can’t.
“She’ll get tired of this game soon enough,” Lyall said, stepping closer to Alar then. The rain had slicked his fur down, emphasizing the power of his massive jaws. “Maybe, it’s time you just—”
Alar whirled away from the walls, shoved his way in between Lyall and the wulver next to him, and made for the steps.
“Where are you going?” Beathan shouted through the roar of the rain.
“To speak to my wife.”
Lara was shivering by the time the gates creaked open a crack, and a tall, lean figure slipped out.
Clenching her shaking hands by her sides, she watched him approach in long, stalking strides. “There you are,” she whispered. “Couldn’t resist it in the end, could you?”
In truth, she’d started to think he wasn’t going to show his face, after all—that she’d wait here until dusk settled, until the cold and wet drilled deep into her bones.
But he surprised her.
Her gaze tracked him as he approached. Like her, he was drenched, water running in rivulets down his leather breastplate. Alar’s expression was wary, as if he expected her to rage at him.
She wouldn’t though. She was way past that.
The rain continued to thunder down, stippling the puddles that now formed around the base of the fort.
It soaked through her thick cloak and all the layers of clothing beneath.
It ran into her eyes, down her neck, and between her breasts.
The wind bit at her exposed skin. She felt as if she’d just emerged fully clothed from an icy dip in a loch.
Twisting, she looked over her shoulder at where Cailean, Bree, and Roth waited, weapons still drawn. Likewise, rain sluiced down their faces and plastered their hair against their scalps. All three wore grim expressions. “I need some privacy … move farther back.”
The chief-enforcer scowled deeply. “My Queen.” His tone was harsh. “You—”
“Just do it, Cailean,” she countered, cutting him off. “I take full responsibility for my actions.”
“This isn’t wise, Lara,” Bree answered. Her voice was strained. “Talking to him won’t change things.”
“It will.” She continued to stare the three of them down. Roth remained silent, although he watched her with a shadowed gaze. “Move back.”
Moments passed, and then, reluctantly, they obeyed her. Their boots squelched as they moved.
She eyeballed them until they were around fifteen yards distant. Well out of earshot.
That was better.
Now, she and Alar could talk.