8. Dinnertime
Dinnertime
“A
ny particular reason for that display, or do ye just want our clan obliterated?” Kenneth hissed.
Niall rolled his eyes. “Did ye choose to follow me out of the hall, or did Father send ye? I’m surprised ye are willing to miss out on clamoring around Laird Farrish like a lapdog.”
Kenneth didn’t rise to the bait. He simply scurried along after Niall, following the twisting, turning corridors that would eventually lead him outside.
Air, he thought dimly. I need air.
Air that is not also occupied by my bloody cousin.
Kenneth did not take the hint, speeding up when Niall sped up his pace.
“This is all about that lass, isn’t it?” he growled. “The one ye brought here. I should have known that yer wandering eye would do ye no good. Well, now ye see what comes of it. That girl is the match of ye. Ye brought her here to seduce her…”
“No, I didn’t.”
“…and now she has eyes on a bigger prize. She’s after the Farrish heir,” Kenneth crowed triumphantly. “Don’t ye feel foolish?”
“She’s not trying to seduce him.”
“Of course she is.”
He shook his head tightly. “She’s not like that. Whatever her plan was, I know she had one. I know it.”
Kenneth gave a high, mocking laugh. “Ye are stupider than I thought. Listen to me, Niall. I paid her to keep ye occupied while she was here. I told her that I wanted ye out from under my feet, and she agreed to help. There is no connection between the two of ye, even if ye imagine there is.”
Niall’s steps faltered. There was no way his cousin wouldn’t have noticed, although at the very least he chose not to mention it.
Trust Kenneth to say exactly what hurts the most, he thought grimly.
“I never imagined a connection between us,” Niall lied.
“Ye are so sentimental at times,” Kenneth sighed pityingly.
“I’m not sentimental. Ye are just made of stone.”
“It would do ye good to build a few walls yerself, Niall. Look, I don’t mean to hurt ye.”
Niall gave a bitter bark of laughter. “Ye are more threatened by me than I realized, cousin, if ye are doing all of this to bring me down. Are ye that keen on getting the lairdship? That desperate to make war?”
Kenneth tightened his jaw, almost imperceptibly.
Bullseye, Niall thought grimly. His comment had hit its mark, but there wasn’t much satisfaction in it.
There, at the end of the corridor, he spotted a narrow door. Light gleamed all around it, the cool, purplish glow of twilight. He could almost feel the fresh air.
Better still, Kenneth was finally falling behind.
“Ye are nothing but nonsense, cousin,” Kenneth snarled. “Nobody takes ye seriously except me. Ye are right. I did not have to bother bribing the girl. Ye kept yerself out of my way in any case. Keep it that way, eh?”
Without waiting for a response he turned on his heel and strode back down the hallway, leaving his cousin to continue alone.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Niall’s fists landed squarely and satisfyingly against the practice dummy.
Generally speaking, trainees weren’t meant to punch the dummies. There were punching bags kept behind one of the outbuildings and occasionally hung up for use. They were of varying weights and hardnesses, suitable for just about every situation.
The dummies, stuffed with straw and only thinly padded, did not make for good punching bags. They had a wooden core to add weight, which made them too hard.
Niall didn’t particularly care. Or perhaps that’s exactly what he wanted—to hurt. His knuckles stung, and even in the fading light, he knew that blood was welling up, trickling between his fingers.
That was good. The pain was good. Pain sharpened the mind. Scars were marks of honor. Suffering mattered.
Because if a person didn’t believe that suffering mattered, that what they’d suffered through didn’t matter, then what was the point of it all?
Clenching his jaw, he delivered another punch to the mannequin’s chest. Something cracked. Not his hand, although pain flared through it even so. Pulling back, he flexed his fingers, shaking away the stinging numbness.
In the silence, he heard careful, steady footsteps approaching.
Not Kenneth. He sneaks around like a cat. Not Father, he never comes outdoors anymore. If it was Laird Farrish or his wild dog of an heir, they’d just stick me with an arrow from a distance.
“It’s ye, then, lass,” he said aloud, and only then allowed himself to glance over his shoulder. “Catriona.”
She stood at a wary distance, eyeing him. Wine clung to her skirts, splashing up the material, staining her apron. It looked like blood. Not as if she’d been injured, but as if she’d walked through a river of the stuff.
“Yer hands are bleeding,” she said at last. “I can see it from here.”
“That’s my concern, nae yers.”
Wordlessly, she reached into her pockets, bringing out a roll of bandages and a patch of gauze. When he said nothing, she inched closer and closer until she was close enough for him to smell lavender in her hair. Tightening his jaw, he glanced away.
“May I?”
Her words drew his gaze back to her. She was watching him, eyes wide and questioning, eyebrows raised. She gestured to his hands. He dropped his eyes, stretching out his hands. They were a bloody mess.
Foolish of me. Now I’ll have sore, healing hands for a few days. All to temporarily assuage my temper.
He gave a grunt, which she apparently took as a yes.
Gingerly, she curled her fingers around his wrist, drawing his right hand towards her.
Her skin was cold, fingers like little spots of ice on the inside of his wrist. Reaching into her pocket again, she drew out a little pot of greenish stuff.
Unscrewing it, she dipped her fingers inside.
The mixture was already half gone, and she used it sparingly, rubbing the paste over his injured knuckles.
It stung like hell, of course, but Niall did not allow himself to even give a grunt of surprise. Next, she placed a pad of cloth over the paste and began to wind the makeshift bandage round and round his palm, looping between his fingers.
“Kenneth told me, ye know,” he heard himself say.
Catriona stiffened. She had her head bowed over his hand and didn’t look up, but tension echoed in every line of her body.
“Oh?” she answered neutrally.
“He said that ye paid ye to watch me. To keep me busy while he took care of business.”
This time she didn’t reply. Her fingers tightened reflexively on his arm, just for a heartbeat, then pointedly loosened again.
She’s trying to seem calm.
“So ye see,” he continued, tilting his head back to stare at the darkening sky above him, “Ye cannot trust Kenneth. For all he knew, I might have gone wild and killed ye for betraying me. He does not care, because ye have served yer usefulness to him.”
She cleared her throat. “Ye have not even asked me if it’s true.”
He dropped his gaze, tearing his eyes away from the new stars shining above, tentatively peeking out through the almost-night sky.
“Is it true?”
She was quiet for a moment. Carefully tying off the knot around his wrist, she reached for his other hand and began to process again.
“Aye. It’s true. It wasnae coin I asked for, though. It was a favor.”
“What favor?”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’m likely to get it. But it was important. I’m no greedy fool, desperate for coin or attention or anything like that. Not that ye believe me, of course, not after—”
“I believe ye.”
That silenced her. She hitched in a breath, and suddenly Niall felt himself longing for her to look up, to look at him, so that he could see her eyes and read her expression.
She didn’t look up, though. In fact, she seemed to duck her head a little lower still.
“Ye cannot trust him, lass,” he whispered.
“I cannot trust anyone.”
“True enough.”
“Are…” she hesitated, green-smudged fingertips dancing over his knuckles, “Are ye not angry at me?”
“Angry? Och… aye, I’m furious. Ye betrayed me. But really, I am most angry at myself. I let it get this far with Kenneth, didn’t I? Ye see—”He gave a short, mirthless laugh and shook his head—“Kenneth gets everything. The power. The coin. The responsibility. Ye.”
She flinched at that, head coming up at last. She stared at him, blue eyes cool and clear.
“Me?” she echoed. “No. Never.”
Niall wet his lips, tongue darting out. Her eyes darted down to his mouth, just for an instant, before she dragged her gaze up again.
“What secrets do ye hold, lass?” he breathed. “Ye seem to drag mine out of me in the blink of an eye.”
“I… I cannot say.”
“No, of course not,” he responded, a little resentfully. “Ye will not say.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “I am looking for my family. That is all I dare tell ye.”
Is this the truth?
He stared into her eyes for what felt like an eternity.
I wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked me in the face.
“I see,” he said at last, nodding slowly.
She let out a long exhale, and he wondered if she had been holding her breath. She dropped his hand. He glanced down at his hands, both neatly bandaged, and noticed that the stinging pain had faded.
“I must go back in. Sukie will be looking for me,” Catriona said at last, apologetically. “I don’t know how I managed to evade her for so long.”
He bit his lower lip. “Listen to this, lass. Ye are responsible for whatever chaos ye are about to unleash. Ye cannot straddle the fence for much longer.”
She blinked, piqued. “I’m no fence-sitter.”
He snorted. “Aye, ye are. The time is rapidly approaching when all of us must take a side. Ye are no exception.”