“Are they all so truly evil then?”
“Weel, I doubt there are many of that family who dinnae deserve a hanging.”
“Someone needs to cut away the rot like we did to the Grays,” said Sir Fingal.
“Aye, someone should,” Arianna agreed, “but it would take a long time and many a good mon would die in the doing of it. Right now all I care about is killing the ones who want to hurt my boys.”
“They willnae get those laddies. Ye dinnae need to worry on that.”
Arianna smiled at Sir Fingal. The determination weighing each word he said warmed her heart. The slow smile he gave her in return and the look in his eyes made her blush. She could easily see beyond the signs of age to the man who was able to seduce so many women. Then a scowling Mab elbowed him in the ribs and he frowned at his wife.
“Wheesht, Mab, I am truly wedded to ye but I am nay dead,” he said. “E’en with all that bruising on her wee face, she is a bonnie wee lass.” He winked at Arianna. “Pleased to see that my lad isnae as much like Ewan as he was pretending to be.”
Brian blushed, cursed, and ignored Arianna’s look of curiosity to glare at his father. “There was naught wrong with Ewan and ne’er was.”
“The mon was but a vow away from being a cursed monk,” snapped Sir Fingal. “It wasnae monly and ye were near as bad.”
“Da!” Ewan yelled, and slapped his hand on the table, making a sound so sharp and loud it drew the attention of everyone in the great hall. “We have a battle to plan. Ye can discuss Brian’s failings later.”
Brian glared at Ewan. “Thank ye.”
“Nay trouble. Now, Lady Arianna, we have sent word to your kinsmen. My son Ciaran and Kester, a lad from our cousin Liam’s keep, were sent out the moment your lads arrived and told us what was happening. We havenae gotten a reply yet but I expect one to arrive soon. We kenned who of your clan was the closest because Fiona and Liam’s wife, Keira, a cousin of yours, are forever writing to each other.”
Fiona frowned at her husband. “Ye make that sound like some crime.”
Ewan winked at her. “Just nay sure how ye can have so much to say to each other.”
“We both have husbands and children. There is always something to say when a lass has those.”
“She is telling tales about us, Ewan,” said Sir Fingal. “Think ye ought to put a stop to that.”
An argument started between Fiona and Sir Fingal but Arianna’s unease about that rapidly turned to amusement. She could see the glint of amusement in Sir Ewan’s eyes as well. It took only one look at Fiona to see that the woman was heartily enjoying herself. And so, Arianna realized, was Sir Fingal.
The argument soon veered off to one concerning what to do about the army that was being gathered by Amiel and the DeVeaux. Arianna wrestled with a crushing guilt over putting these people into the middle of her fight because she knew she would not change that even if she could. She also knew that Brian and his clan would not change it, either.
Arianna struggled to listen closely, even smiling at Sir Fingal’s insistence that they just ride out and kill the whole lot before they came to Scarglas, but her thoughts began to grow cloudy with exhaustion. It had not been a very long or arduous journey from Dubheidland to Scarglas but the fact that she was still healing from the injuries Amiel had inflicted on her had made it seem so. Her body was demanding more of the rest it needed to finish healing.
Before she could quietly ask to be excused so that she could seek that needed rest, Brian was doing it for her. He then called to a maid to escort her to their bedchamber. Arianna wanted to protest Brian’s arrogance, to remind him that she was a grown woman who needed no nursemaid, but the maid Joan was a big, sturdy woman who quickly, and somewhat forcefully, escorted her out of the great hall. Arianna decided she was just too tired to put up an efficient protest. She would let Brian taste her displeasure over such treatment later, after she had had enough sleep to sharpen her wits as well as her tongue.
“Ye are going to pay dearly for that,” said Fiona, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Brian as if he had just called her wench, a word that never failed to rouse her temper.
“She was about to fall asleep at the table,” Brian said.
“Doesnae matter. Ye just had her marched out of here as if ye were afraid she would hear all our secrets and then run to our nearest enemy to tell him everything.”
“I didnae.”
“Aye, ye did.”
“Nay, I didnae.”
“Och, aye, ye most certainly did.”
“Sir, is Anna nay weel?” asked Michel as he reached Brian’s side and tugged on his sleeve.
Relieved to escape what had sunk into a rather childish exchange, Brian looked at Michel. “Nay, she is just verra tired.”
“And hurt. I saw the bruises. Did she fall off her horse?”