Gail Martin - Dark Lady_s Chosen

To his astonishment, Macaria slipped inside. The door slammed shut behind her and the bolts clanked into place. "How did you get in?" he asked, crossing to take her in his arms. The bruise on the side of her head where Crevan had hit her with the pitcher had faded, and the swelling had gone down considerably.

Macaria looked down, avoiding his eyes. "I lied to Harrtuck. Please forgive me." "What did you tell him?"

"I told him we'd made a secret handfasting, and I claimed a wife's right to visit." She lifted her head defiantly. "They have to allow it. It's old law. Even the condemned-" She broke off suddenly, as Carroway began to laugh.

"Forgive you? I'm only sorry that it's not the truth. I didn't think I'd see you again-this side of my hanging, anyhow." She cringed. "Don't say that."

He sighed and held her to him. "Came a heartbeat away from swinging a few candlemarks ago. Won't be surprised if the mob returns. Maybe it's for the best."

She pushed away and stared at him, aghast. "The best? You risked everything to save Kiara's life. You're innocent. How could that possibly be best?"

Carroway lifted his bandaged hand. "Innocent or guilty, there's no life for me without my music, and there's no music without my hand."

Macaria put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a glare. "Riordan Carroway! You have a voice like one of the Lady's consorts. You write the best ballads in the Winter Kingdoms, and you have invitations from four kingdoms to arrange their next holiday feasts. Cerise said the hand may heal-"

"And it may not," he finished for her. "I can't move it without terrible pain. I'm no use to anyone, Macaria."

Her eyes relented and she wrapped her arms around him. "I disagree, but I didn't come to

fight with you. I figured you'd want to know how Kiara is doing."

"And?"

"She's in and out of consciousness. She hasn't lost the baby, but she's not well. Cerise said it's the wormroot. Even if Kiara and the baby survive, Cerise has no idea what that high a

dose of wormroot might do. It's possible the baby could live and not be right." Carroway bowed his head. "I'm so sorry. If I'd just been faster-" "That you got there at all was amazing," Macaria interrupted him. "You're all that stopped Crevan from killing her-and probably the rest of us, too."

"Harrtuck said that's going to be hard to prove," Carroway said quietly. "When you look at it from what Harrtuck and his men saw, what's to say I didn't barge in there intending to kill Kiara and Crevan died trying to stop me?"

Macaria looked away. "Dame Nuray has already been spreading that version of the story." "Have you seen Paiva and Bandele?"

Macaria shook her head. "They're probably lying low, waiting for some of this to blow over." "If it comes to trial, they have the evidence against Crevan," Carroway said in a low voice only she could hear. "That's how I knew to come after him. They brought it to show me, and they must have smuggled it out of my room at the inn after I left. Without it, there's no reason why I would pick last night to escape or why Crevan intended to kill her on Candles Night." He paused. "What about Alle and the others? How are they?" Macaria shrugged. "Alle, the cook and the scullery maid are fine. Jae, too. Cerise was able to save two of the king's dogs, but the mastiff must have eaten the largest share of poisoned meat. He was already dead."

"What a mess," Carroway said. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head and breathed in the scent of her hair, wanting to remember how it felt to have her arms around him. "I can't believe you told Harrtuck we were handfasted." "Are you angry with me?"

Carroway chuckled. "Angry? Not at all. But I don't want my shame to taint you." Macaria stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him. "I don't care what anyone thinks." She took the heavy woolen scarf from around her neck and clasped his right hand with hers, winding the scarf around their wrists. "There. It's hardly official, but now it's not a lie. It's as fasted as my parents ever were. Will you have me, Riordan Carroway?"

He looked at her, astonished. "For all my days, however long or short that is. But why would you bind yourself to me now? I'm as good as dead."

"No one knows how many days are left. My dad didn't mean to drown in the river, and my mum didn't set out to die of pox. I'll take these days, however many there are, and be glad for

them," Macaria replied, meeting his eyes. "No regrets." He bent down to kiss her. "None at all."

Cam of Cairnrach waited to die. The explosion at the fuller's mill had tossed him into the cold winter air and hurled him into a snow bank; no small feat considering his bulk. Scorched and bleeding, he lay in the snow amid the rain of wreckage. He could still see the flames that danced high into the night sky and despite his pain, he laughed. Abruptly he stopped, and coughed up blood.

"Let the sword be sheathed, and the helm shuttered," he murmured. "Prepare a feast in the hall of your fallen heroes. Cam of Cairnrach was stupid enough to be captured and blew his own ass sky high. Overlook that, please, and make his passage swift and his journey easy, until his soul rests in the arms of the Lady."

Jonmarc was probably right. Nobody's listening. And if the Goddess was, she'd be laughing. What a ridiculous way to die, half burned and half frozen and spattered with fuller's muck. "Cam! Cam of Cairnrach!" The voice came from a distance. The accent was odd and managed to mangle "rach" into "reech." Cam listened, certain he was hallucinating. "Cam! Cam of Cairnrach!" Cam tried to respond and managed to nearly choke on his own blood. You can't answer a vision. Dying men hear strange things. Most of them hear their mothers. It figures I'd be called to my eternal rest by a vision that can't even pronounce my name right. Unable to move, he looked about but saw no one. Then he spotted a battered tin pot lying where it had fallen in the explosion, hanging from a piece of splintered wood. With his good hand, Cam squashed a handful of snow until it became a hard pellet of ice. He threw it against the pot, sending it clattering into the wreckage. "I heard something. Over here!" With my luck, he'll be a divisionist with a sharp knife. To his utter amazement, Rhistiart appeared out of the smoke. "I found him!" Rhistiart dropped to his knees beside Cam and motioned for two men to follow. Cam recognized one of the men as Trygve, Donelan's personal battle healer. The other man held a sword and remained standing, taking up a position that let him ward away any unwanted newcomers.

"You got through," Cam rasped.

Rhistiart grinned. "Aye. For once in my gods-forsaken life, I did something right. And the king promised me a pardon if I could lead them to you. So here I am!" "Lie still and don't talk," Trygve commanded sternly. Cam wanted to tell him that neither one was a stretch, but instead, he turned his head and spat blood.

"Your sister will have my hide if this doesn't work," Trygve murmured. "And you don't want a healer like her mad at you. So I'll have to do my best to heal you, and you're going to have to do your best not to die. Do we have an understanding?" Cam gave the barest of nods. "Good. Let's get started."

The snow chilled him through, dulling the pain as Trygve began the healing. Overhead, the moon crossed the sky as the candlemarks passed. And when Trygve reached to Rhistiart for help with the healing, to Cam's surprise, the fugitive silversmith agreed. From the look on Rhistiart's face, Cam guessed that this had become the greatest adventure of the man's life.

"No, Donelan didn't come himself," Trygve answered Cam's unspoken question. "But he sent the Veigonn, with a direct order to execute the men who captured you and to do it slowly if you were dead."