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The Highlander’s Challenge (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) by Emilia Ferguson (4)

CONFRONTATION WITH THE EARL

The castle was quiet. The wind had dropped, leaving in its place a silence. Alina paused, listening to the silence in the hallway around her. The pale sun filtered through the clerestory windows in the hallway, patterning the flagstones with sunshine. Even so, the place was cool and sinister; a part of the castle that always seemed empty of life. Alina walked quietly ahead, feet soundless in her velvety shoes.

He asked. I need to know what was said. Perhaps I can stop this.

Alina walked purposefully down the hall. She was going to see her uncle.

She listened to the almost silence of the castle, letting it calm her restless self. Outside, somewhere, she could hear the clash and shouting of the men training, quiet with distance. She could hear someone washing something in the yard beyond the kitchens, water poured out on stone drains. She could hear the shriek of a child as their servants' girls and boys played by the stables. Closer, she heard the slow thump of her heart.

I need to see him. To do this.

Uncle Brien did not scare her. She disliked him, treated him with the cool aloofness with which she treated most people besides those she trusted and loved. Duncan, Amabel, Chrissie. Aunt Aili. Broderick. All those who were affected in her dream. That was why she must confront him.

She reached the stairs leading to the tower. The wind always seemed to drift down these stairs, no matter how still it was outside. Something about the west turret and the orientation of the windows. She brushed the tapestry aside where it obscured the entry to the stairs, and headed up the steps. She reached the arched doorway. She knocked.

Uncle?”

“I am here. Alina? Enter.”

Alina straightened her back and floated in, slippers soundless beneath the blue velvet train of her gown. She stood before the desk. A beam of sunlight fell through the one slotted window, spilling in chiseled sharpness on the stone. She stood in the beam, letting it make her brighter, taller, her shadow stretching to touch the desk.

Her black hair hung straight and loose down her back, her kirtle of silver, her hands at her sides, long velvet sleeves covering their slim form.

“I have a request.”

“Oh?” Lord Brien looked up from his book, brow raised. If Alina was coldly impassive, she had somehow inherited it from Brien or from her own father. Like her, these two men were the master of battles of wits. “Ask then, my niece.”

“Duncan MacConnoway requested to wed me,” she stated. “I wish to know what you told him.”

Brien looked at her. His face was carefully neutral, hands clasped before it. He raised a brow.

“Why, niece. You are correct in your assumption...he did, indeed, ask. And yes, I did tell him something. That is what you wish to know, is it not?”

“Yes.” Alina's voice was quiet, but it cracked like a whip in the silence.

“I told him what I would tell anyone,” he said mildly. “Find the sword that was stolen. Return it. Find the pearl that was lost and ask the question that was unsaid.”

Alina blinked. “You set him tasks?” She was astounded. Who did her uncle think he was – some ancient monarch, and Duncan some vassal nobleman? She could not believe it.

“Yes, I set him tasks,” Brien said and he, sensing the crack in her defense, seized at it. “And if he does not complete them? Well,” he shrugged. “You'll be free for another suitor. More suitable.”

Alina twisted her fingers in her sleeves, but she did not move anything else. She maintained her level gaze, posture straight.

“If he does not complete these tasks,” she said, very quietly, “all of us are in peril. You will die, uncle. And me. And Duncan too. And all of us. This castle will be a ruin and the winds will sing in it.”

Brien raised a brow. “I am unconvinced.”

Alina drew in a breath. She was mild again, unmoved. “Well, then. As you will, uncle. I do not need to convince you. I am right, but I do not rejoice in it. And nor will you.”

Brien stared at her. She said nothing more. She turned and walked out of the room.

 

* * *

 

When she reached the hallway, Alina headed down it, and down the stairs. She stopped when she reached the hallway that led towards her own chamber. She was shaking.

“The fool,” she whispered under her breath. “He should not have done this. If he does, there will be war.”

She sighed. Smoothed her dress. Let her heartbeat slowly return to its natural state. By the time she started walking again, she had already started unraveling the mysteries.

Her uncle had given matters away when he had mentioned other suitors, the “more suitable” suitors. She knew he had wished her to marry Fraser Gleeson, son of the thane of Conwray. He would not have done that had he not known that Conwray was at fierce war with his latest foe: the Blackwood's.

He means me to be the tool he uses to finish that war. Or, failing that, he will use Duncan.

She began to see where he was leading. If Brien set Duncan tasks, it was to accomplish things he would not be able to accomplish were Duncan her partner. If Duncan survived the tasks, and wed her, then all Brien's intentions would still have been realized. If he died, then she would be free to wed someone who suited his ends.

Fraser, soon-to-be thane of Conwray, mayhap.

That gave her an idea. Wherever the sword was, achieving its return would make a convenient excuse for war with the Blackwood's. That must mean they had possession of it.

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. If Duncan stole some precious article, the Blackwood's would challenge him. The MacConnaway's would spring to the defense of Duncan, and battle the Blackwood's for him. That would leave Brien with the chance to rid himself of enemies without expending troops. If Duncan failed, well, he would have lost nothing.

The more sense it made, the more Alina became convinced she was right. She closed the bedroom door behind her and sank down on the fireside stool, looking into flame.

There was only one person who would know if she was right. That was her mentor, Aunt Aili.

Straightening her back, Alina stood and checked her gown, smoothing the places where her fingers had twisted it. She glided out of the room towards the stairs. She was going to see Aili.

If anyone would know the answer to her question, it was her.

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