The Kindling Heart by Carmen Caine Page A

directly into the water. Hands reached out, pulling her up and pushing her through a long, narrow stair cut deep in the rocks leading to the castle.
    “Come, lass,” Her father’s voice boomed comfortingly. He grasped her elbow and pressed her forward.
    Cuilen swept past them, joining several burly men as Domnall led her through a smaller door near the kitchens. The smell of roasting mutton made her hungry. Weariness descended upon her all at once, and she staggered after her father up the narrowly winding stairs. Dimly, she wondered if she’d ever get to sleep again.
    They entered the great hall.
    Tables lined the length of the room with the laird’s table at the head. The MacLeod coat of arms hung above the fireplace, reflecting the dying light of the torches on the walls. Close by, stood a heavy iron chest with a lock. Her father pointed to it and told her that within the chest she’d find the famed Fairy Flag of Dunvegan, a treasure of the castle, but being so tired, she found it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying. The tables around her bore the cold, greasy remnants of the evening meal. A few men still lounged about, but most lay already stretched out, snoring amidst the rushes scattered on the floor.
    “Drink this, lass.”
    Someone thrust a cup into her hands. Wearily, she lifted her head to thank her benefactor, but they were already gone.
    Domnall pressed her down onto a bench, murmuring, “Wait here.” And he was gone.
    Gratefully, Bree sipped the warm and spicy contents of the cup. She’d never tasted anything quite like it. With each swallow, a comforting heat grew in her throat and then her stomach. She drained the last drop with regret, but a passing stranger kindly filled it once more. She was nearly finished with what she thought was her third cup when Domnall startled her from the pleasant stupor.
    “Come, lass.”
    She winced. His voice was abominably loud, much louder than usual.
    With a hint of impatience, he repeated, “Come!”
    Glowering, Bree struggled to her feet. It took several attempts before she succeeded, and she protested when Domnall wrenched the cup from her hands.
    Her father chuckled, sniffing the contents. “I see. Mayhap, ‘tis best this way.”
    Clasping her arm, he half-carried her forward. “This way, lass, ‘tis nae far. They are waiting.”
    Wondering foggily who they might be, Bree allowed him to support her down a narrow passageway and into a small chamber.
    Men filled the room, clustering around a large wooden table. She searched the sea of strange faces, the features blurring eerily in the shadows cast by the dancing fire. They were dressed remarkably alike in mustard colored shirts and brown plaids of various shades.
    “Nae what you were expecting, eh, Ruan?” Domnall laughed.
    Bree blinked. Ruan . The name was familiar, though she could not remember why. Far more pressing was the concern she might retch. Her stomach rolled, and for the first time she suspected just what she’d been drinking. She tripped, but her father caught her elbow, drawing her to the table as the occupants around it began a heated exchange.
    “No!” a man’s deep voice chafed from close by. “Aye, I agreed to Aislin, nae this one! Find another man!”
    “Ruan, lad, dinna be so ungrateful!” someone laughed.
    “Gratefulness has naught to do with it, Robert!” the man’s baritone continued. “Find another man! I’ll nae do this, nae with Domnall’s daughter! No!”
    At that, Bree tried to focus her blurred vision on the speaker, but was distracted as a large man seated at the table began to pound his fist angrily.
    “Silence!” the strange man said, raising his voice.
    He was the only one seated in the room.
    As his blue, watery eyes swept over her, Bree felt her flesh crawl. This was a cold man, a disturbing one. Instinctively, she drew back, but her father pressed her forward and the voices abruptly fell silent.
    The man pinned her with a long, silent look, and