Elizabeth McBride (16 page)

The next dance was unfamiliar, and she sighed and
turned toward the door, thinking to step outside. She didn't
see Elanta whisper in Oran's ear. Didn't see Oran command
Drosten to remain where he was. Didn't notice the child
skipping toward her until she was at her side, her face as
red as an apple and her eyes bright.

"Mhoire! Dance with us!"

"I don't know this dance, Oran."

"I'll teach you!"

"Idon't..."

"Come!" She dragged Mhoire to the spot where Drosten
was standing.

He lifted an eyebrow in greeting.

Mhoire's nerves began to flutter. "But Drosten is your
partner, Oran."

"It's a dance for three! Everybody hold hands!" She
grabbed Drosten's hand while still clutching Mhoire's.

Drosten smiled a shy, crooked smile. "We're captives,
mo milidh. I'll try not to break your toes." He took her
hand in his.

He held it firmly as they moved forward together, and
then back. Then they each took a turn dropping hands to
go under the joined arms of the other two, a movement that
caused Oran to launch into a fit of giggles as a very tall
Drosten struggled to get under her and Mhoire's low arch.
Then they made a small circle again, and Mhoire found
herself welcoming the feel of Drosten's warm, calloused
hand.

She glanced at his face and noticed the V of concentration between his brows. "You are doing very well," she
noted.

He grinned. "At least I haven't hurt anyone yet."

The threesome moved to the right. "Didn't your ladylove
teach you to dance?" she asked teasingly.

They shifted directions. Drosten stumbled slightly and
recovered. "I can't say I've ever had a ladylove."

"What about your princess?"

Her question took him by surprise, and he stopped. She
crashed into his side. He reached out and gripped her
around the waist to keep her from falling. This time, thank
God, she didn't scream. Instead, instinctively, her arms
went to his shoulders. For a second they stood close, so
close that her breasts grazed his chest and her legs pressed
into his thighs, hard as tree trunks. He looked completely
nonplussed by her words and she cursed herself for saying
them.

But then his eyes warmed. "If Princess Fionna was my
ladylove, then my horse is the angel Gabriel."

And then Oran pushed them into motion again. "Don't
stop! Keep dancing!"

His words buoyed her. She didn't even notice the others'
inquisitive looks, didn't care that her hair was coming loose
and framing her face with damp curls, that her gown clung
to the lush curves of her bottom, and that excitement
plumped her lips and turned them the color of foxgloves.
She only knew that when the harper stopped, Drosten kept
her hand in his.

"Play `Into the Woods, Lassie' !" Brigit called out.

"I don't know this one either," Mhoire murmured.

Drosten bent his head to hers. "Don't worry. Just follow
Oran's instructions. Did I tell you I'm going to enlist her
as my second in command?"

She laughed, and the music rang out once more-harp
and pipe both this time-and the threesome joined hands.
Mhoire did not know what she was in for. She was used
to courtly dances with stately steps, not the wild gambols
of the commoners. The tune was lively, and the onlookers
stomped and clapped. At a crescendo, Oran shouted, "Pick
me up!" and Drosten swung her high and around. And before Mhoire could even anticipate the next move, she was
in his arms and he was lifting her off her feet and she was gliding like a bird in the air and looking down into his
laughing eyes, and she smiled with the joy of it.

The truth hit her like an apple falling from a tree. God
help her. She had fallen in love with him.

And then suddenly the music stopped, cut off as if it
were sliced with a knife. Drosten set her back on her feet,
and she saw Grainne at the door. Beside her stood Irwin,
as thin as a crow and utterly expressionless.

The roar of the heavy sea and the wild skittering of the
rain followed the visitors in through the door. Irwin had
half a dozen men with him, all dripping water. Grainne
followed behind them.

"Are you lost, Irwin, or just hungry?" Drosten called out.

"I sent for him," Mhoire said.

Drosten dropped his hold on her waist. "You? Why?"

"Because I need help building the wall."

He drew a breath but did not answer.

Irwin pointed limply toward the hearth. "I wouldn't mind
taking a little warmth from that fire."

Mhoire stepped aside to let him pass.

The Pictish warriors moved off to one end of the hallnear the spot where their weapons were lying, Mhoire
noted with slight alarm-and Irwin and his men gathered
about the fire, where they sent out an odorous, wooly
steam. Harper Neill rested his instrument on the floor by
his side, clasped his hands over his thin belly, and pointed
his nose alertly upwards, like an animal checking the air
for interesting smells.

Drosten turned back to her.

"We have an agreement," he hissed. "You are to make
your way alone here."

"We never said that I couldn't pay someone to help me."

„? ."Pay

"Aye."

"What? What did you pay him?"

"A brooch."

"A brooch?"

"Aye. Of considerable value. It was my mother's."

"Your mother's?"

"Aye. He offered to help."

"Help?!"

"Why must you repeat everything I say? You're not a
simpleton!"

Drosten's eyebrows shot up. "Nay, mo milidh, I'm not."
He took a step closer. "You've given that fool a brooch,
but I think you promised him something more. And I wager
he thinks so, too."

Mhoire thanked Grainne for completing her mission and
poured out hot water flavored with mint-all she could offer
for drink-for Irwin and his men. She was looking over her
small supply of grain and debating whether courtesy required her to make her guests oatcakes when the women
surrounded her.

"Mhoire, what are you doing?" Brigit demanded.

Mhoire faced the group. Brigit's fists were on her hips,
and her face was as ruddy as the strands of hair that hung
about her face.

"We need Irwin's help. We must repair the wall."

"We have help," Elanta chimed in.

Mhoire turned to her. "I have explained all this before.
I cannot ask the Picts for help. My task is to make Dun
Darach prosper on my own. Then the Picts will leave here
and return to their own country."

"But you asked Irwin," Elanta said.

"I have paid Irwin. I gave him a brooch."

"Hah!" Brigit snorted. "Men only know one kind of payment, and it's under a woman's skirt."

Mhoire blushed.

Elanta's eyes widened. "Mhoire, you're not planning on
marrying Irwin, are you?"

Mhoire gathered her arguments. "It makes sense for me to marry him. He is wealthy, he needs a wife, and he is a
Scot. He's one of us."

The women said nothing.

"You are the ones who brought him to my attention."

"Aye, but only as a contrast," Elanta said woefully. "We
never thought you'd choose him for a husband. What about
Drosten? He's big and strong. And he wants you!"

Mhoire closed her eyes. How could she make them understand that Drosten was too big, too strong? He would
overwhelm her, like a sea that lifts and breaks. It would
drag her into its vastness. And it would drown her. She had
lived most of her life feeling frightened and helpless, and
she could not bear those emotions any longer.

"Listen to me. You know I don't particularly want to
marry anyone. I wish we had a stout fort and fields overflowing with grain. But we don't. We have nothing. You
saw my father. Do you think he will leave us be to peacefully plant posies? We're not safe here by ourselves. I can't
jeopardize your lives as well as my own. And Irwin would
be quiet. We'd hardly know he was around, not like-"
She bit her lip.

More silence.

She tried another tactic. "Look. Irwin has many fine men
under his command." She gestured toward the cluster
around the fire, but none of the women so much as turned
a head. "They're quite good-looking. I instructed Grainne
to ask Irwin to bring handsome ones."

"You what?" That was Brigit, outraged. "What do you
think we are? Horses to be traded?"

"Nay, Brigit! But you said you wanted husbands. I only
thought to arrange for some. Now look-" She took Brigit
by the shoulders and turned her to face Irwin's soldiers.
"See how attractive they are? Their tunics are clean, and
their hair is cut, and their weapons-see how fine their
weapons are? Look at that dark-haired one there, Brigit, talking to Irwin, or that bearded fellow next to him. The one
who's warming his hands."

Brigit made a face.

Mhoire turned her toward the Picts, who were huddled
in twos and threes, scowling. "Now look at these men.
They're ... they're scruffy. And their clothing is just ...
hanging about them. You can tell they don't care anything
about their appearance. And their hair needs trimming. It's
way too long and wild looking. And those ... those designs
they have pierced on their arms and legs. It's like they put
them there just to show off their big muscles. They're ...
they're..

"Masculine," Brigit said with an emphatic nod. "Good
brawny men. We like them."

The other women nodded their agreement.

"But you can't," Mhoire said limply.

"But we do," Brigit answered, turning to face her.
"We've already made our choices, and not for any lilyfaced boys like those ones over there." She bobbed her
head toward Irwin's soldiers.

"But the Picts are your longtime enemies, and Irwin's
men are our friends."

"Friends is as friends does," Brigit said. "And true
friends don't have to be paid."

"You have a very nice hall here." Mhoire and Irwin
stood next to the hearth. The others had moved a little
distance away. Except, that is, for Drosten. As soon as
Mhoire had approached Irwin, he had rooted himself, uninvited, at her side.

"Thank you. It's very spacious," she noted, surveying the
bare walls. She glanced at Drosten. He had his arms folded
across his chest and was frowning at the ground.

"Have you had an accident?"

Mhoire turned to Irwin with a puzzled brow. He was
staring at the bruises on her face.

"It's none of your affair," Drosten growled.

There was an awkward silence.

Mhoire scanned the room. Everyone was eyeing everyone else. Men looking at men, men looking at women, women looking at men-the undercurrent of turbulence
was enough to make her seasick.

"Would you care for a stroll around the room?" Irwin
asked.

"As you wish." A stroll seemed innocent enough.

She took a few steps away from the fire, with Irwin at
her right elbow.

Drosten fell in on her other side.

"I don't need a chaperone," she whispered loudly.

Drosten clasped his hands behind his back.

The triumvirate reached a corner and turned.

"You know, Drosten," Mhoire said, surveying the hall,
"I think you might want to go over there and say a word
to your men."

"Why?"

"Because I see a fight about to break out."

Drosten raised his eyes. Some of his soldiers had joined
Irwin's contingent and were talking loudly. He shrugged.

Stubborn!

They continued walking.

Mhoire cleared her throat. "I appreciate your assistance
with the wall, Irwin."

"Happy to help a fellow countryman ... er ... woman."

"You've been to Dun Darach before?"

"Of course."

"And did you watch it burn?" Drosten interjected, casting a sudden ferocious look over Mhoire's head.

Irwin hesitated. "I had no choice. If my men had joined
the battle, they would have been slaughtered. There was
nothing I could do to save the fort."

They turned another corner.

"I can only work on the wall tomorrow," Irwin said
abruptly. "Then I must return home and take the men with
me."

"I see." Mhoire frowned. For a brooch, she had expected
more.

"It's because of the Britons. I can't be away for long."

"What about the Britons?" Drosten asked.

"They're on the move. They've been spotted east of
here."

"And what do they want?" Mhoire asked, her brow furrowing.

"What everyone wants," Drosten answered. "Land. Especially land along the coast, like this island. Dun Darach
has a view of the sea lanes. Whoever controls the sea lanes
controls the entire countryside."

"So Dun Darach's location gives it value, regardless of
what the fields yield," Mhoire mused. "More value than
most holdings." She turned toward Irwin. "More value even
than your land."

"Perhaps." Irwin watched her with watery eyes.

"This is all about power, Mhoire," Drosten said. "With
the Danes closing in, only the powerful will survive."

"And the rest of us?"