Chapter 19

Honor? Firstly if she was able to get her teeth into the fossilized chicken leg Ulla, her face framed by a bonnet,now set before her, it would be a miracle on a par with the loaves and the fishes. Secondly there was no plate to put it on. Nor knife to cut it with. Clan wars had—thirdly--been started over less.

At least, fourthly, the hall had been cleaned. Winter greenery garlanded the undraped stone walls. She granted Lord Ewen that. Or maybe it was Archibald Kelty?

Probably it was. Already shed branches lay on the floor. It was hardly an old warrior's job to supervise garland weaving. And while his eyes were still black as coal, he was half blind in one of them.

"Some wine mah lady?" Ulla hovered at her elbow with a silver flagon.

"I—"

Kara's fingers hovered over the top of the goblet. While the dinner was in her honor it still seemed wrong somehow to eat and drink. Of course, to keep herself alive she'd taken the odd morsel. The odd slug of whiskey too. All right, more than.Much as she had when she was seventeen and had discovered the joys of … lots of things. But that was in the privacy of her room when she locked the door.Murder under trust didn't mean she should be the one starving to death.

She was accustomed to doing without. The chicken leg presented no difficulties that way. She'd sooner die than eat it. She might die if she did eat it. The wine? She'd already had a drink this evening. It wouldn't pay to have any more.

"We have unexpected visitors, I see." Archibald set his goblet down on the table. He dabbed his mouth.

"I'm sorry?"

Kara ceased her contemplation of the chicken leg. A pity. What the hell was he doing here striding into the hall as if he owned it? Gloweringly handsome in the worn plaid, leather breeches, and tunic, spurs jingling as he walked. With his targe and broadsword on his back, Dug at his heels, and the Murdies following close behind, the wet that dripped from all their clothes leaving droplets of water on the flagstones, he looked ready for battle. Or as though he'd just come back from one. Come to examine the guest list had he?The tastiness and general edibility of the piece of chicken?

If only she could make herself think so. The propriety of her actions required her belief—her solid belief—he was not a good man. He was a bad, ruthless man. As bad as his brother in some ways. That, not only was his protection owed, but if she was to get back her son, she would need to find her way out this awful place and past him.

So she wished to heaven that air of sexuality that roiled from him, like smoke off a bonfire, wasn't immediately apparent to every single woman in the hall. How, when the man looked as if he'd ridden hard through a whirling snowstorm, did he manage to look so magnificent that he made their men look the aberrations?

Her mind flitted to the other day. It wasn't just the looks was it? It was what he was inside that also drew these stares.

"Brither ..."

If she'd been a fraction less self possessed, she'd have frozen exactly as Ewen McDunnagh now did beneath the chilly regard sweeping the hall. So that wine? Especially given the way her heart sprung into action for a number of reasons? And there it was again, fascination mixed with fear?

Hurriedly she uncovered her goblet. "Thank you, Ulla. How very kind."

"Brither, hae a wee dram—"

"Not now, Ewen."

Kara's palm slickened on the tabletop. As the wine sloshed into the goblet, the Wolf's gaze continued its perusal of those present. Ice cool. Hard. How stupid to have imagined, even for one second, he was a pussycat. He might be a little uncomfortable not knowing of, or expecting this gathering, but he was hunting.

For the first time she could see the blood-lust of that moment he'd dragged those responsible for Morven behind his horse, all the way back to her father. She grabbed her goblet and swallowed a mouthful. A large one.

"I'm so sorry, my lord." Wiping her mouth, she offered Archibald Kelty her fullest smile. "Didn't you say the Black Wolf never attends parties?"

Only this afternoon in fact. So. firstly, when this one so obviously wasn't on the Wolf's itinerary, or he'd be better dressed, she must conclude that secondly, he'd found out about her father's plan.

Archibald's coal-black eyes flicked to her for a moment. "He doesn't."

"Well then, why on earth would he—"

"Unless there's trouble."

"Trouble?" If her throat hadn't dried, she'd not just swallow the wine blistering the back of it, she'd swallow the flagon. Archibald may have sat picking the skin off the chicken piece, she couldn't miss the careful way his fingers worked.

"Aye. And trouble for him, means trouble for us all. A pity on so fine a night. At least we know it will not be your folks. Not this time anyway."

Kara sat stone still, staring at her goblet.Who was to say it wasn't her folks? Who else would it be after all?

Apart from herself.She swallowed what barredher throat. Tried to anyway.

"Archibald—" The Wolf nodded to him.

And yet what was there to be afraid of?

There was no way on the face of this earth anyone here could know why she was really here, because firstly, there was no way anyone in their right mind, in her father's regime, would dare talk, let alone survive for two seconds, if they did. The pass was guarded on both sides. They'd have had to get here.

"Your pardon, Lady Kara." Shock still raked her scalp as Archibald got to his feet. "We are but slaves here of a greater good, as you'll see the longer you're here. I'll be right back."

She hoped so, even as she hoped not. Not with the Wolf anyway. "Don't hurry, my lord, there is no need. Certainly not on my account. Glen business is something I just must get used to."

"I'll do my best."

She fought not to fidget. The least that could possibly come out was that she was disgraced. The least, while not ideal, didn't make her guilty of murder.

Least? She had never thought to see the day she thought that, but here it was, a first time for everything.Still, so long as she could sit here and look 'normal' this was surely fine.And she would.She would do whatever it took.

"Some biscuit bread, mah lady?" Ulla shoved a wooden platter under her nose.

"Yes." While she'd sooner die, she lifted a piece. "Why not?"

She even took a bite although it nearly killed her. With the Wolf and Archibald huddled in the alcove, it was imperative should the silvery gaze turn her way he saw herlooking the part. She was, wasn't she? Smiling. Happy. Relaxed.Managing—just—to swallow large chunks of the biscuit bread.

"Who? Who made this? You, Ulla? Or—"

"Me, mah lady? Dinnae be stupit. That'll be the day Ah dae ony cooking. Nah. That was his lordship."

"His—"

"Aye. Lord Ewen. He's an awfie good cook, ye ken, when he leaves off his share o' the nips."

"You mean—"Kara covered her mouth.Didn't Ulla mean awful? Period. The choice was spit it out or choke. Forget thinking about what it would save if she choked. Maybe that was the whole idea?

"Aye." Ulla laughed. "He's no bad at ah'. Maybe he'll even mak your wedding cake, ye never ken. Stranger things have happened."

My God.Well, so long as she wasn't around to eat it. Keeping her smile nailed to her face, she glanced across the floor at her betrothed. He had left off reeling—the Wolf's dismissal of Ewen had been brutal, after all, enough to make anyone leave off doing anything, except glance round the hall. It would be her third shock of the evening if Ewen's gaze came anywhere near her. If he came anywhere near her. Just because he staggered through the reeling throng, it didn't mean it was towards her. It might be towards Ulla, the wine flagon, the biscuit bread she'd spat into her hand before she could stop herself,anything.

"Weel noo, madam."