“Indeed, Rab,” she said. “I hope you’ve settled the trouble that was on your land yesterday?”
Rab was quick and replied, “You’ll be pleased that I have. Perhaps we can speak more of it later?” His gaze dropped to the low neckline of her dress, where her golden half coin rested against her skin.
Adaira knew the Breccans wore rings to represent marriage vows. She knew they didn’t wear half coins around their necks, as some of the Tamerlaines did, but she had also made it clear to Rab that she was married and spoken for. And yet his eyes still lingered, as if he saw a challenge in the broken gold she displayed.
She didn’t have a chance to respond to him. Innes shifted the conversation to other matters, and Adaira chose to sit and listen, trying to pick up on the dynamic of the nobles. Some spoke often, while others were silent and pensive. One of the quiet ones was David, and Adaira caught his eye across the table a few times.
Her father was watching her closely, his brow furrowed.
Maybe he disliked her sitting in Moray’s chair.
She didn’t have the energy to care what he thought as she sipped the wine. Her stomach was beginning to ache. Her hands were going from icy to clammy, and she wondered if the Aethyn was about to finish burning through her.
She almost spilled her goblet when she set it on the table. It clanked against her plate, drawing Innes’s attention.
“I’ve gathered all of you here tonight to make an announcement,” the laird said suddenly, her voice rising above the others until the table froze with silence. “It has come to my attention that crime is growing again as resources become scarce. That the people under your watch are hungry, and autumn’s frost is still weeks from arriving.”
“Are you blessing a raid, Laird?” one of the thanes asked. “If so, I will lead it.”
Adaira stiffened. She could feel the heat of Rab’s stare, and of his mother’s. The eyes of the nobles bore into her, curious to see how she would react if her mother called a raid.
“There will be no raids,” Innes said. “But I am lifting the restriction on hunting. For two days only, you may hunt the wilds and the forests of the west. Each of your houses has the chance to kill up to five beasts, whether they be boars or deer, and up to twenty fowl, yet no more than that number. You will have to be shrewd and careful in deciding how the spoils are divided and should conflict arise, you will settle it swiftly.”
Whispers sprouted along the tables. Adaira could tell that the thanes and heirs were surprised by Innes’s announcement.
“You would risk the conservation of our lands rather than let us freely take from the east?” another thane asked. “I’m not certain how wise this is, Laird.”
“The land has rested for months now,” Innes said. “As long as you adhere to the regulations I’m enforcing, the wilds should recover in time for the autumnal hunting season.” She stood, bringing the feast to an end. “Go now and make your preparations. The hunt begins tomorrow at dawn.”
Adaira rose with the others. As she made brief eye contact with Innes, she remembered the laird’s instructions—as soon as I make my announcement, return to your room. Adaira began to wend her way through the hall.
She was walking beneath the carved arbor of rowan branches when Rab appeared at her side, close enough to brush her arm.
“Are you joining your mother on the hunt tomorrow?” he asked.
Adaira shifted away from him but had no choice but to slow her pace to reply. “No. I won’t be riding with her.”
“And why is that?”
“I have no interest in the hunt.”
“Shouldn’t you, though?”
Adaira sighed, reluctantly meeting Rab’s gaze. “Why do you say that?”
“She blames it on Moray being imprisoned by the Tamerlaines, but you are the true reason why Innes won’t bless a raid,” Rab said, lowering his voice. “I think many of us are beginning to wonder if you aren’t part spirit after all, setting a charm on her to do what you want.”
Adaira clenched her jaw, uncertain how to respond.
“Ride with me tomorrow,” Rab whispered, stepping closer. Adaira refused to lean away, to give up her ground. Even when she could feel his wine-stained breath coast over her face. “Prove that you are one of us after all, and not a spirit of the wind. Prove that your blood is of the west and you have no intention to harm our clan.”
“I don’t need to prove anything,” Adaira replied through her teeth. “And I don’t know why you continue to chase after me when I have no interest in you.”
“Because you’re lonely,” he said softly, holding her gaze. “I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in the way you walk. You need a friend.”
A knot welled in Adaira’s heart. She hated that he was right. She hated that his perceptiveness only deepened her loneliness.
“And you’ll soon learn, Cora,” he continued, “that this is a land full of long, cold, treacherous nights. Perhaps you won’t be surprised to hear that I am lonely, just as you are.”
“I’m married,” she said, finally giving herself the freedom to step away and let the distance swell between them. “As I have said to you before, I’m not interested in you or in what you can offer me.”
She began to stride away from him.
“You say that now,” Rab called after her. “But I promise, when the seasons begin to pass and your husband refuses to join you here, you’ll change your mind.”
Adaira turned to pin him with a cold stare. “I won’t be changing my mind about you.”
“Rab!” Griselda called sharply, embarrassed by how her son was panting after Adaira. “It’s time to go.”
Rab sketched a polished bow before he melted into the crowd.
Adaira released a deep exhale, hoping her face was composed. She noticed that some of the milling nobles had observed her tense exchange with Rab, and she didn’t know what to make of it. If she now appeared vulnerable and weak. There had been no scheming, deadly court to dance with in the east, and she told herself, You’ve lasted five weeks. You can endure many more as long as you don’t lose your temper.
But just before Adaira departed the hall she saw Innes, still standing at the table, watching it all with dark, inscrutable eyes.
It hit her half an hour later, when she was in her bedroom unwinding the cold blue jewels from her hair. The last ice of the Aethyn dose melted, and Adaira began to shake. She reached out to the desk to steady herself. Her vision was blurring at the edges. Perspiration dripped down her neck as her stomach roiled, again and again, like a storm-churned tide.
Innes had warned her of how unpleasant it would be when the first dose of the poison wore off. It would get a little easier the more she imbibed it, but only if she could hold the contents down.