Chapter 11 Silence Is A Waste Of Time
Silence Is A Waste Of Time
The sight of Grahame Keep, its towers looming out of the mist, filled Senga with such relief that her knees nearly buckled. A murmur ran through the rest of the crowd, and she imagined that her relief was shared.
A shout went up from the walls of the Keep.
They were looking out for us, Senga thought, almost too exhausted to form the words in her mind.
Moments later, she stumbled through the Keep gates. Others followed, but Noah hung behind, staying on the outside of the wall, watchful. He did not enter the Keep until everybody was inside.
Brendan and Freya were waiting for them.
“I’m sure ye are tired and need a long rest,” Brendan said as soon as Noah and Senga approached. “But we have a good deal to discuss.”
Noah gave a short nod. “Let me drink some ale and change into dry clothes, and I will meet ye in the council chambers.”
“Very well.” Freya glanced over at Senga, a worried frown settling between her brows. “Senga, lass, ye are as white as a ghost.”
Senga offered a tired smile. “I will tell ye all soon, but not now. I wish to join the meeting, too.”
“It will be a large meeting. I am not sure if—”
“I’d like to join,” Senga repeated emphatically. “Please.”
Freya shot a questioning look up at her husband, who gave a tiny nod.
That was all Senga needed.
“I shall see you soon, then,” she said, and limped past them into the depths of the Keep.
Half an hour later, she was ready. It felt truly luxurious to be in clean, dry clothes, and already she was beginning to warm up.
Senga heard the murmurs drifting out of the meeting room before she had even gotten halfway along the hallway.
When she peered inside, the room was even more packed with people than before.
This time, there was no space even for Noah at the table.
He and Freya stood at either side of Brendan’s chair.
Everybody seemed to be talking at once, interrupting each other and talking over each other. It made Senga’s already sore head ring. She slipped into the room, pressing herself against the wall.
Despite the crowd and the crush, Noah’s gaze swiveled towards her right away, fixing upon her. He gave a small, secret smile, and a warmth spread through Senga’s chest that had nothing to do with her new, dry clothes.
“Quiet. Quiet!” Brendan roared, and the chatter eventually died down. “Now,” he continued, when there was silence, “we must think of what we are to do next. We have a great many refugees to care for, so the supplies we have must be rationed to be sure that everybody has enough.”
“I will care for that, m’Laird,” announced Anneth, a surly, round-faced woman who served as the Steward of the Keep. “Our feasts may be a little less fine than before, but none of us will starve.”
Brendan nodded approvingly. “Good, Anneth. Do what ye must. Now, word has been sent to Keep Kenneth regarding the attack Laird Murray intends for them. I propose that we send a letter to Struan Dickson, too.”
A sense of discomfort spread through the room at the mention Struan’s name. His reputation could not be so easily forgotten, after all. Brendan seemed to notice that and glanced at each face in turn, his expression dark.
“Struan was a great asset to us before,” he remarked, firmly and pointedly. “Perhaps he can help us now, too.”
“All he’ll do is bring the wrath of his father down upon us all,” somebody spoke up, their voice quavering. Brendan smiled tightly.
“Ye think his father’s wrath isn’t already directed our way?”
“I think,” remarked an old, gray-bearded fellow who Senga thought was one of the Grahame council members. “That we should consider expanding our alliances. The Kenneths are fine allies, but we should look to neighboring clans.”
“Neighboring clans? Like who?” Freya spoke up, frowning.
The old fellow rose unsteadily to his feet, glancing around at the room.
“We are one of the largest clans in the Highlands,” he explained.
“Clan Dickson is the strongest, by far. But there are countless small clans, some of which have not taken a side in this war. They are simply trying to ride out the terror. But if we were to extend a hand of friendship, they might provide valuable help.”
“What sort of friendship?” Brendan inquired, frowning. “And which clan are ye thinking of? I’m sure ye have somebody in mind.”
The old man chuckled. “Of course. I was thinking of Clan Hector. It is not a large clan, but its territory is so difficult, mountainous and hilly, that Dickson and his cronies have not risked attacking it at all. The Hector soldiers are not numerous, but they are strong and tough. They would jump at the prospect of an alliance with us, and then we can launch attacks on clans Murray and Dickson by traveling through Hector land and accessing their borders that way.”
This was a fairly decent proposition. Senga leaned forward, waiting to see what Brendan would say. Despite herself, she found her gaze sliding towards to Noah’s face. As always, he was already looking at her.
“But you suggested a gesture of friendship; I suppose that means a marriage proposition,” Brendan answered slowly, having thought the matter over for a moment or two. “I have no siblings, no children old enough.”
“I have thought of that,” the old man admitted. “Why not offer our Captain?”
A stillness spread through Senga’s limbs, freezing her in place. Noah’s face stiffened, but he said nothing.
Brendan’s eyebrows shot up. “Noah?”
“Aye. He is yer Captain of the Guard, yer right-hand man. He is handsome and strong, and a renowned warrior. Everybody knows ye have no children to offer, and Clan Hector is not large and powerful enough to demand a better proposition. Laird Hector has a flock of daughters, and the eldest has visited here before on diplomatic envoys.”
“Oh, aye, I remember now,” Freya murmured, the frown between her brows deepening. “Her name is Molly, aye?”
“She was most taken with Noah on her last visit,” the old man added. “I believe that the proposition would be acceptable to her and to her father, and then we have a link to Clan Hector. A valuable link.”
Senga’s mouth had dried out. She stared at Noah, waiting for him to say something. Why was he not saying anything? Why did he not tell everybody that he had no intention of marrying that Molly Hector woman?
He just stayed quiet and still, poised and at attention behind Brendan’s chair.
Doesn’t he care that he’s being married off to a stranger?
“I cannot command Noah in such a way,” Brendan said at last, drumming his fingers on the table. “We will have to consider this at length. But your suggestion is good, Maurice. Thank you.”
The old man—Maurice—bowed and sat down, completely unaware of what he had just done.
Senga’s head spun. She felt sick. She hadn’t eaten anything before coming here, since it had taken her so long to change out of her wet, icy clothes, her fingers numb and clumsy, and into new clothes.
Now her empty stomach roared, and the hunger in the pit of her stomach sent bile rippling up through her throat.
I have to leave.
Abruptly, Senga pushed herself away from the wall, stumbling through the crowd. She had meant to leave unobtrusively but accidentally shoved several people, creating something of a stir.
She heard her name shouted.
“Senga!”
It was unmistakably Noah, but she put her head down and walked faster.
Outside, the hallways were cold after the sticky heat of the council room, full of too many bodies and too much breath. Senga was about twenty or thirty paces away from the council door before she heard her name being called once more.
“Senga, please wait!”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Noah hurrying after her.
“Please, wait,” he repeated, and there was an almost desperate edge in his voice now. Senga swallowed thickly, turning to face him.
“Ye said nothing,” Senga burst out, before he had even reached her. “They talked about marrying ye off to another woman, and ye said nothing?”
Noah reddened. “I did not give my consent! Did ye read consent in what I did?”
She covered her face with her hands. “Nay, but I did not hear denial, either.”
“That is not fair. I did not agree to it. I would have told Brendan privately that I did not agree to the match, rather than shaming him and Maurice publicly with my defiance.” Noah lifted his chin.
“This is politics, lass. Brendan cannot afford to look weak. He’d never force me into a match against my will, but it cannot look as though I rule him, rather than the other way around. He is the Laird, after all.”
Senga let out a ragged breath. “Perhaps ye are right.”
Noah reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing her shoulders. “I never considered marrying that woman for an instant. It never crossed my mind, not once.”
“Ye say that thinking of the future is futile, but ye say nothing when yer marriage is spoken of,” Senga responded bitterly.
“Senga, lass, I just told ye my reasons for staying silent. I will go to Brendan now and tell him that the wedding can never happen. Will that suit ye? Eh?” He gripped her shoulders gently, tilting up her chin so that she looked up at him.
“Senga, will ye understand then? Ye can come with me to speak to Brendan if ye like.”
She stared up at him, swallowing hard.
“Ye tried so hard to forget me because ye believed I had left ye,” she murmured softly. “Ye believed I betrayed ye. And even now, I can see wariness in yer eyes. Ye are waiting—no, expecting—to be betrayed again.”
His jaw tightened. “Betrayal is a fact of life.”
“Perhaps so, but do ye expect it from me? Do ye really?”
“Senga, I…”
She shook her head, pulling away. “I won’t settle for anything less than a future with ye, Noah. Ye tell me that ye don’t wish to think of the future or plan a future, but I cannot live like that.”
“Senga…”
She backed away, shaking her head again.
“Decide,” Senga said, somewhat bitterly. “A future with me, or not. It’s a simple choice. Choose me, or stay silent, and silence… is a waste of time.”
At that, she turned and ran as fast as her sore, stiff legs would carry her. She was not followed.
Senga stumbled out into the cold courtyard, her breath fogging out in front of her. She let out a ragged breath, turning her steps towards the stables. As she approached, she realized gradually that there were no stableboys or grooms loitering around the stables.
They’re eating dinner, she realized with a sudden, powerful shiver. Nobody is here to go into the stables and fetch a horse for me.
She stood in the doorway, staring into the stables. It was dark, with a powerful smell of hay and animals drifting out. She could see the hulking shapes of horses in their stalls.
The undertone of blood made her nostrils sting, and Senga squeezed her eyes closed.
No. No blood, she told herself fiercely. Noah never died there. That was not his blood.
She let out a slow, ragged breath, forced her eyes open, and staggered forward into the stables.
Darkness swept over her, and she blinked frantically, trying to make her eyes adjust to the darkness.
At last, she regained her bearings. The stables yawned around her, too big and too small all at the same time.
The smell was overpowering. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, just the ordinary smell of a stable, but she hadn’t smelled it for so long that it had become sort of unfamiliar.
Sucking in a breath, Senga squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe in and out until she was calm again.
When she opened them, she found Bluebell watching her curiously, head hanging over her stall.
“Ready to go out again, eh, lass?” Senga managed, offering a weak smile.
It took her less time than she’d expected to saddle up the horse.
Even after all the years, it seemed that she could remember easily enough how to manage it.
Bluebell stood mildly, letting it happen.
Senga was relieved to see that the horse had been rubbed down with clean, dry hay, and she had had food and water.
The rain had stopped, at least, although the mists still curled around the hills, gathering thickly in the forests.
When the horse was saddled, Senga took a moment to breathe, pressing her forehead against the horse’s nose and closing her eyes.
“Just ye and me now, eh, lass?” she whispered.
Then she climbed into the saddle, checking that her herb knife was still hanging at her hip. Mentally, she catalogued the herbs left in the medicine room in the infirmary and calculated which ones they would run out of the soonest.
If I must run off on my own, she thought bleakly, I might as well be useful while I am doing it.
Clicking her tongue at Bluebell, she spurred the horse out of the stables and into the watery sunshine. Bluebell’s hooves clicked loudly on the cobblestones, and a few of the guards glanced up at her curiously.
Clenching her teeth hard and blinking back tears, Senga angled herself and the horse towards the Keep gates. Bluebell gave a whicker of acknowledgement, and together they broke into a gallop.