Chapter 5 #3
It was her fine English dress that gave her away.
She shivered a little and Keane longed to put his arms around her to keep her warm. “Surely your mon must be missing ye?” he asked.
She didn’t respond, though she hesitated before taking another bite.
What Keane truly wished to know was whether there was someone waiting for her at home. “If ye’ll merely tell me where ye belong, I’ll see ye safely returned.”
She stopped eating and slid Keane a mean glance.
“I belong nowhere,” Lianae said, choosing her words carefully. “To no mon.”
A tiny smirk turned her captor’s lips, and she shivered yet again—but not with fear.
There was a knowing in his gaze that made Lianae wary, for he missed nothing.
His gaze slid over her lavish gown—not so much her form, she realized, for there was something far less lecherous about the inspection, and she understood that he was considering her dress.
His gaze returned to her face, lingering on her cheek, and his eyes narrowed slightly.
Wondering if he was looking at her bruise, or even if it was noticeable enough to see, Lianae resisted the urge to touch her face, and forced herself to eat.
“Art certain, lass?”
Her nerves frayed, Lianae turned on him then. “Of course I am certain, ye daft mon! If I belonged anywhere, wouldn’t I be the first to ken?”
Furiously, she took another bite of grouse, chewing under his watchful gaze, growing more confused by the instant.
It was more the way he considered her that sent her pulses skittering and her thoughts askew.
The expression on his face was full of what appeared to be concern, but Lianae knew better than to trust anyone in this day and age.
Go away, she silently prayed.
If she told him who she was and from whence she hailed, he would no doubt return her to the Earl.
Or if she confessed herself a rebel, here and now, he might even take her head.
If she begged him to take her to Ewen and Graeme, he would know her for a rebel and hand her over to his king.
Or worse, he could use her to ferret out her brothers.
Alive or dead, the sons of óengus would be worth more than their weight in gold—certainly more than a handful of charm stones.
Nay, she was better off telling him naught.
Let him think what he will.
Somewhere out there, Graeme and Ewen awaited her. All Lianae needed to do was find them. And once she retrieved her charm stones, she would have the means to buy information.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would find a way to leave—once the Earl’s men gave up their search.
“Ach, lass, ye must belong somewhere?” the man pressed.
And this time his tone was coaxing—like the will-o'-the-wisp, with their warm bright lights, luring hapless victims unto their deaths. Lianae shrugged and kept on eating, irritated by his presence and hardly knowing why. Thus far, he’d been even so much as kind.
Mayhap it was simply because his face appealed to her—a finely carved face with a strong jaw, and bright green eyes that invited her to let down her guard.
I will not.
After a time, he bent to scoop up a handful of snow and began to shape it between his palms. “I would say ye’re well born, by the looks o’ ye?” he continued to press.
But he could not know the half of it.
Lianae gave him a cutting look out of the corner of one eye, for there was still a question in his tone—a question she had no intention of answering.
She was a daughter to óengus of Moray. Her great grandfather MacBeth had been a man of the people.
As king, he’d brought Scotia seventeen years of peace—the only such peace her people had known since Kenneth MacAilpín murdered his Pecht overlords.
Today, half these earls had been supplanted here by William Rufus, the other half by his brother Henry.
They were all minions of the English—which was why MacBeth deposed Duncan.
No man of Moray could, in good conscience, follow a dirty Sassenach.
So, aye, she was well born, but with her brothers still at large, they would only see her as a threat.
And if they could not possess her, or use her against Ewen and Graeme, they would kill her.
“I am but a simple maid of Moray,” she said sweetly, meeting his gaze.
But that was a mistake, for her eyes were at once drawn to his woad…
to the wolf’s maw that peeked out from beneath his tunic.
The jaws opened over the cords of his neck, teeth bared over a vein in his throat.
Even in the strange twilight surrounding them, she could make out the woad clearly.
The sons of Fidach were said to be sons of the wolf…
They were in Lilidbrugh…
Was it a coincidence he was drawn to this place?
But nay, the sons of Fidach were all long gone, or so they claimed. Nevertheless, unnerved, she took another bite of the grouse and chewed thoughtfully, very much aware of the man seated beside her.
He continued to mold the snow between his hands, the muscles of his arms flexing as did the cords of his neck, making the wolf’s tattoo move as though the beast were moving its long, powerful jaws.
In fact, he was much like a wolf pup, she decided—with large, yearning eyes to tug at her heartstrings, and yet the instant she let down her guard, he would pounce.
It was a curious matter, for no Scotsman Lianae had ever met wore the woad of their ancestors.
Forsooth, her own people no longer wore the woad of her ancestors!
And yet, here was this man, wearing it still…
right along with David’s livery. And here he was in the lost city of the Pechts. It was a mystery, to be sure.
Confused, Lianae tore her gaze away. “Ye dinna expect a lass to confess herself to a man she does not know?”
He winked at her. “She would if she needed help,” he said, and continued to play with the snow in his hand at the same time he swept the toe of his boot over the ground where Lianae had concentrated her search.
Even with a new layer of snow, her foraging was perfectly evident.
His boot stopped abruptly and Lianae prayed it wasn’t because of her stones.
They were easy to recognize once they settled beneath your feet, because they were round and smooth.
Finishing her meal, she swiped at her mouth, and then set the napkin aside. She didn’t know how, but she knew in her heart there was something beneath his boot. “I have already said I do not.”
“But I think you do.”
Her gaze snapped to his face, searching for some sign that he knew… something. But what she spied there was more questions yet—and some of them mayhap her own. So Lianae called his bluff. She lifted her chin. “If ye believe it,” she challenged. “Then release me and see how long I stay?”
There was a smile in his eyes that didn’t appear on his lips.
“You are not a prisoner here.”
Surprised to hear him say so, Lianae furrowed her brow. “Nay?”
“Have I restrained you with ropes or chains?”
Lianae shook her head, realizing with a bit of chagrin that he spoke the truth.
“Have I assigned guards to watch o’er ye?”
Once again, she shook her head, for he had not—none aside from himself.
His lips curved into a smile, and he moved his boot and thrust a hand down into the snow, groping, searching for something, and then, seeming to find it, he plucked his hand back up, producing one of Uhtreda’s stones.
Lianae’s eyes widened.
“Something tells me, lass… if ye meant to leave, ye would already be gone.”