Crossing the bridge on horseback during a storm was foolish, but Jack risked it.
The wind was so powerful that he felt like he and the gelding could be swept away, over the side and down into the moat, at any moment. Jack could feel the rattle of death in his teeth as he bared them, urging the horse to keep going, keep going. Soon he could see the portcullis looming in the dimness, a shadow against the dusk. And standing beneath it—preventing the gate from lowering—stood Adaira, limned in torchlight.
She looked furious.
Her expression fueled Jack long enough to canter past her, into the safety of the courtyard, before he dismounted in a heap, his legs collapsing under him. A groom rushed forward to take the horse, and between peals of thunder Jack heard Adaira give the command to drop the portcullis. The chains cranked, and the gate began to lower.
Jack turned and felt her hands on him, desperate and angry, seizing fistfuls of his tunic. Adaira was drenched, her clothes clinging to her body, her hair tangled down her back. How long had she stood in the storm waiting for him?
She pushed him across the courtyard until his back found a stone wall, and there they clung to each other as the rain fell, thick and cold.
“I was about to come after you,” she breathed.
He was relieved she hadn’t. He cupped her face in his hands, bending to her sharpness, her confidence.
“You were wise not to,” he said. “Not in this storm.”
She kissed him roughly, and he felt the edges of her teeth, the pang of her hunger and fear. It stirred him like embers blooming into fire, and he answered her, raking his hands through her hair, holding her against him.
She broke their kiss, grazing his ear with her lips. She whispered, “I’ll have to punish you later, for making me worry like this.”
Jack’s thumbs traced her throat until her head tilted back. “What shall my penance be, Heiress?”
Adaira never answered, although he imagined he saw it in her eyes. Lightning branched overhead, dousing them in silver. Thunder shook them both, and Adaira took his hand, drawing him through a side door.
“Kae?” she asked.
There were endless inferences to be made in her uttering that one name, which conjured Iagan once more in Jack’s mind, and the pain of Kae’s memory.
They would have to talk about this later, behind closed doors.
“She’s well,” he said, following Adaira up to their room.
“We’ll be late to dinner now,” she said with a weary sigh, her boots leaving a trail of water on the floor. “And prepare yourself. All the thanes and their heirs are here to meet Sidra. They’re lodging in the castle tonight since Innes has ordered the portcullis down.”
Her statement brought Jack up short. The idea of sleeping beneath the same roof as Rab Pierce chilled him, far more than the storm.
The Breccans’ hall was not what Sidra had expected. She took a moment to admire the shocking grandeur of it: the columns intricately crafted as rowan trees, the stained-glass windows, the chains of red jewels and boughs of greenery, the long table set with a feast. She let the sight of it ground her—the fragrance of juniper, the intimate flicker of candlelight, the smooth stone beneath her boots—because she didn’t know what to expect tonight. And that uncertainty had her heart pounding a frantic beat.
She had made the most of the hours leading up to this dinner. But despite all her preparations, things could still go awry.
Sidra followed Jack and Adaira to the table, her guards trailing close behind. She attempted to count the nobility—all of them armed with sheathed blades—who had gathered, but she made it only to twelve before she had to shift her focus. Innes stood at the head of the table, watching her arrival. Sidra refused to be intimidated by the laird, but she couldn’t deny that Innes was someone who inspired respect, even from an enemy.
She was so preoccupied by her own thoughts, wondering how offended Innes would be when Sidra enacted her plans, that she didn’t realize how quiet the hall had fallen. All the thanes and their heirs were silent, watching her as she took her seat between David and Jack.
Her ankle still throbbed after she had used the salve David gave her, though she was surprised by how much it had helped with the stiffness in her joint, easing her limp. Despite the twinge of pain, Sidra held her chin high and endured the stares. The circlet gleamed on her brow.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Innes said, addressing the nobility. “I know this is very unexpected and unprecedented, but we are facing a new trouble in the west. The blight continues to spread, and we are at a loss to halt it and heal ourselves. Some of you have come to me, revealing the names of your subjects who are infected, and I suspect that number is much higher than what we believe, given the shame-inducing nature of this illness. When my daughter suggested inviting a healer from the east to visit and collaborate with us for a cure, I was hesitant. Not only due to the history between our clans, but because I didn’t want the east to know of our pains. But as this storm only gains strength, I must reckon with an ugly truth: the time has come to cast off our pride before it drags us down to our own graves.”
She paused, looking at Sidra. She held out her hand and said, “I want to introduce Sidra Tamerlaine, Lady of the East, consort to the laird, who is renowned for her healing knowledge. She is here on my daughter’s invitation and will find shelter beneath my roof. She will be with us for five days, helping to find a cure for the blight, and she and her four guards fall beneath my protection. Should anyone seek to harm her or them, they will be met with immediate death.”
Sidra hadn’t anticipated this speech from Innes, and she nervously rushed her hands over her thighs, feeling the vial of Aethyn hidden in her skirt pocket and the small blisters that had risen on her forefinger and thumb. She had a moment of doubt—should she nix her plans?—but then she met Blair’s steady gaze. He was standing across the table from her, just behind Adaira’s chair. He gave her a subtle nod of reassurance.
Innes took a chalice of wine in her hands and held it up. David followed suit, as did the others seated at the table, preparing for a toast. Sidra’s hand was slick with sweat as she reached for her chalice. She gazed down at the dark red liquid, her face reflecting upon its surface. Perhaps it was all in her head and she was being ridiculous, worrying about a poisoned drink. But when she thought of her child growing within her, she knew she couldn’t risk it. Nor could she risk the ones she loved fiercely at the table—Jack and Adaira, who had both declined taking the Aethyn doses as well. All three of them were vulnerable now. Sidra stood.