Chapter 7
W hen Bethany opened the door in the morning, she expected to see one of the maidservants. They had already arrived at the crack of dawn to help her dress, but it did not seem unreasonable for them to return, given how much assistance a princess seemed to require. What on earth had the girls done before Bethany arrived?
But it was Comgall who stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips as he stared down at her. A heavy sword hung from his belt and Bethany shivered a little at the sight of it.
“Can I help you, my lord?” she asked.
“I thought to show you around Dunadd a litle,” he said.
Bethany hunted for any hidden meaning behind his words. He certainly had not shown any interest in her company before this moment. What on earth was he after? But nothing suspicious lurked in his eyes. Perhaps he truly did want to show his future wife around her new home. There would be nothing strange in that.
“A tour of Dunadd would be delightful,” she said politely. “ Please, just let me prepare myself.”
She took great satisfaction in shutting the door in his face.
Once Bethany had braided her hair and tidied Matthew’s clothes, she opened the door again. Comgall was lounging against a nearby wall, his gaze still fixed on the doorway. He looked utterly at ease, wearing only a light tunic, leather-wrapped pants, and that heavy sword belt. He was not dressed in all the rich clothes Bethany associated with a king, but there was something powerful about him all the same. It was in the way he moved, the way he held himself.
“Shall we begin?” he asked.
Bethany, her throat suddenly dry, could only nod.
As they strolled around the various layers of Dunadd, Comgall pointed out the key elements of the fort to her. She already knew the area at the summit, where the king and his court lived, but she had barely seen the rest. Here were the workshops and the storage areas, designed to help Dunadd outlast a siege. Here were the smaller houses where the common people of Dunadd lived. Most, though, Comgall explained, lived in nearby villages and only travelled to Dunadd to work. Except in times of war, of course, when the hill fort became a refuge.
“The royal court is not always here either,” he said. “There are a number of other palaces and forts. But Dunadd is where the inauguration must take place, so here we are.”
Comgall was still a mystery to Bethany. Everything he said was unfailingly polite, but there was a cold edge to his voice, and it made her uncomfortable. His offer to show her around seemed genuine enough, but she could not relax in his company.
They walked past a small house, and the unmistakable scent of fresh bread wafted out. Matthew let out a little moan, and Bethany realised with a stab of guilt that they had not eaten breakfast.
To her utter surprise, Comgall smiled and ruffled Matthew’s hair. The stern king suddenly looked like a friendly young man.
“I know how you feel, boy,” he said. “Shall we get some?”
Matthew couldn’t understand a word, of course, but the glint of hope in his eyes showed he’d grasped the basic idea. Comgall disappeared into the house and appeared a moment later brandishing a small loaf of bread. He tore it in half and handed one piece to Matthew, who swallowed it almost whole.
Comgall turned to Bethany, the bread still in his hand, and froze. The smile vanished from his face, and the ice reappeared in his eyes.
“My lady,” he said politely, offering her the bread.
Bethany fixed her gaze on some distant point over his shoulder.
“I am not hungry, thank you,” she said, although her knees felt weak from hunger.
“Please, I insist,” Comgall said with equal politeness.
Bethany took the bread from him as delicately as she could, careful not to touch his fingers. He was a strange man, that was certain. But his kindness to Matthew seemed genuine enough. She could learn to like him, if only for that. Perhaps she could learn to be this Eithne after all, and be his wife, despite the unpleasant younger brother - and, it seemed, despite the hovering spectre of Eithne’s brother. Then she thought of everything she had endured as Lucan’s wife, and she shivered. Never again. She could not be any man’s wife, especially here, where men held so much power.
Besides, the real Eithne would surely show up eventually .
“The final stop on our tour,” Comgall said, gesturing to a small stone building that perched near the top of the hill fort. “The church.”
Bethany followed him inside and gasped in surprised delight. Although plain from the outside, the inside of the church was a riot of colour. Painted carvings ran in rows around the top of the church, with Celtic knots and other abstract designs swirling across the rest of the stone.
“It’s beautiful,” Bethany said, turning to gaze at the decorations around the door. Comgall and Matthew continued down the aisle.
“What a pleasure, my lady,” a familiar voice said. Bethany whirled to see another small door open in the wall opposite. Dubnus lounged against the door frame, his eyes set on her. Bethany tried not to shiver. Something about this man was not right.
He came towards her, moving so softly it was as if he glided across the flagstones.
“I know everything about you,” he whispered as he passed her. “And I will make you regret ever coming here.”
Then he slipped out of the main door and into the bustle of the hill fort beyond. Bethany stared after him until she lost him in the crowd. This time, she could not control the shivers trembling up and down her spine.
Her course of action was clear. She had to get away from Dunadd, and as soon as possible. If she even tried to build a life here, Dubnus would try to ruin it. As the priest, he was no doubt an influential man. He could not possibly know the truth, of course, but he must somehow know that she was not Eithne. And, of course, the real princess herself would probably arrive sooner rather than later. Bethany must be long gone before that. A king’s fortress might be more luxurious than her ex-husband’s house, but it was once again time to escape.