Chapter 24 #2
He left before she could answer. The corridors of Dun Ard felt narrower than usual. Servants moved aside at his approach. Two guards near the western stair straightened, and Roy nearly ordered them to inspect the apiary wall again merely because he could not bear the sight of men standing idle.
He climbed instead. Cold struck him as he emerged upon the battlements. The sea stretched black beneath the late afternoon sky. Wind drove against the cliffs, filling the air with salt and the distant violence of waves upon rock. Roy crossed to the outer wall and gripped the wet stone.
The cold should have cleared his thoughts. It did not.
He saw Donaldina in Cormac’s grasp, her on the horse, her shaking beside her bed while insisting she was fine. Roy bowed his head. The battlement door opened behind him. He did not turn.
“Ye left quickly,” Donaldina said.
“The council was finished.”
“The council was finished ten minutes before ye broke a marker and fled from it.”
“I didnae flee.”
“Nae. Ye advanced rapidly in another direction.”
Her footsteps approached. Roy looked toward the sea. Donaldina stopped beside him, near enough that the sleeve of her cloak brushed his arm. The wind pulled loose strands from her braid and pressed the wool against her body.
Neither spoke for a moment.
“The patrols are sound,” she said at last.
“They have gaps.”
“All patrols have gaps.”
“Cormac requires only one.”
“And we require only one man tae see him.”
Roy’s hand tightened upon the stone.
“Ye believe this is a calculation.”
“I believe everything becomes one when ye are frightened.”
He turned toward her. Donaldina did not retreat.
“I am nae frightened.”
“Then ye are doing an excellent imitation.”
The wind struck between them. Roy wanted to deny it. He wanted to return to the hall, review every route again and bury fear beneath orders until exhaustion made thought impossible.
Donaldina had already seen too much of him for the lie to survive.
“Every decision I make draws him closer,” he said.
Her expression softened.
“I strengthen the castle, and he strikes the villages. I send guards tae the roads, and he takes ye from a crowded square. I pursue him, and he waits inside a lodge prepared tae use ye as bait.”
“Ye rescued me.”
Roy looked toward the cliffs. “I can defend a gate. I can hold a road, break an army or follow a trail through darkness. But I cannae keep ye safe from something I cannae see.”
Donaldina’s voice was quiet. “I did not ask ye tae keep me from every danger.”
“Nae. Ye merely continue meeting them.”
“Usually because men decide me freedom is inconvenient.”
Roy’s jaw tightened. She placed one hand upon the battlement between them.
“Cormac chose this long before ye returned.”
“He escalated it because of me.”
“He revealed himself because of ye.”
“That distinction willnae matter if he reaches ye again.”
Donaldina turned to face him fully. “Then perhaps ye should remember that I am nae standing idle while ye defend me.”
Roy looked down at her bandaged wrists.
Her gaze sharpened. “Dinnae.”
“Dinnae what?” he asked.
“Look at me wounds as though they prove I failed.”
The words struck cleanly. Roy had not believed she failed. He believed himself responsible for every mark upon her. Yet perhaps those convictions were closer than he wished to admit.
“I left ye a trail,” she continued. “I fought Cormac’s men. I learned where he hid and how many followed him. I stood before the council today and told ye where our walls are weakest.”
“I ken.”
“Dae ye?” Her voice softened. “Because ye speak as though ye alone stand between Dun Ard and ruin.”
Roy looked away. Donaldina’s fingers touched the back of his hand. The contact was light, but his body recognized it instantly.
“Ye arenae carrying this alone,” she reminded him.
He felt the truth of it and resisted anyway. Sharing command was simple when it came to grain, patrols, and market stalls. Sharing fear was another matter.
Roy turned his hand beneath hers until their palms met.
“I need tae leave the walls,” he admitted. “If I remain inside that hall another hour, I will begin moving patrols merely tae quiet me own thoughts.”
“Then we shall go.”
Roy frowned. “We?”
“Aye.”
“Donaldina—”
“I have spent enough time confined by men who claim the walls are for me protection.”
“I wasnae confining ye.”
“Ye were preparing tae suggest I remain.”
He had been. She knew it. Roy exhaled. “Hamish will send escorts.”
“Nae.”
“Cormac remains—”
“Which is why half the castle is patrolling every road from here tae the river. We will stay upon open ground, within sight of the western watch.”
“Without escorts?”
Donaldina lifted one eyebrow. “Are ye suggesting Laird MacIver requires guards for a ride across his own moor?”
“Manipulation doesnae become more respectable merely because ye perform it prettily.”
“Did it succeed?”
Roy looked at her. The corner of her mouth moved. Against every instinct toward caution, command and miserable self-denial, something eased within him.
“Aye,” he muttered.
They descended to the courtyard together. The stable master asked no questions when Roy ordered two horses saddled. The man’s gaze moved once between them, then toward the battlements, where paired MacIver and MacNicol guards already began their first shared rotation.
Roy mounted and waited while Donaldina settled upon her mare. She looked toward the open gates.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I thought ye had decided.”
“I decided we would leave. Direction remains yer responsibility.”
“A dangerous division of authority.”
“It has served us thus far.”
The gates opened. They rode out beneath the fading light without banners, captains, or armed men behind them. Dun Ard remained upon the cliffs, its towers dark against the western sky while patrols moved along the walls.
The open moor stretched before them. Wind bent the long grass in silver waves. The road disappeared toward the hills, unguarded by stone and unrestricted by parchment.
Roy rode beside Donaldina.
For the first time since the council gathered, he allowed himself to breathe.