“Lady Cora,” a voice rang through the tense air. “May I ask why you have interrupted the culling?”
She dragged her gaze from Jack to look at Godfrey, the dungeon master who oversaw the fights. He was walking across the arena, arms stretched wide as a perplexed smile wrinkled his face. He was trying to sound respectful to her, but Adaira could tell he was annoyed that she had brought the killing to a halt.
Oh, she was beyond ready to speak with Jack. Her fingers curled on the balustrade, nails scratching the stone. But before she spoke, Adaira glanced over her shoulder, expecting a challenge. Innes stood close behind her, watching with inscrutable eyes. But her brow was arched in surprise, as if she was just as shocked as the rest of the Breccans by Adaira’s interruption of the culling.
Innes gave her a slight nod, as if to say, Go on.
“Godfrey,” Adaira greeted him brightly. “What is the name of this man who is fighting Oathbreaker?”
The dungeon master came to a stop beside Jack. “This is John Breccan.”
“And what is his crime?”
“He is a thief.”
“What did he steal?”
Godfrey hesitated, but he chuckled. He glanced beyond Adaira, and she knew he was looking at Innes.
“Don’t look at my mother,” Adaira said. “Look at me. I am the one speaking to you.”
Godfrey blinked, stunned by her words. He finally dropped his pretense and glared up at her. “He stole a harp, Lady Cora. A grave offense in the west.”
“A crime that can’t be proven, no doubt. And who brought him into the dungeons?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Lady, and now that you have—”
“Why hasn’t he removed his helm?” she asked.
Godfrey glanced down at Jack. “Because it’s fastened to his chin.”
“Fastened? Do you mean it is locked to him?”
“Yes.”
“Unlock it. Immediately. I want to see his face.”
Godfrey sighed, greatly inconvenienced, but he did as she wanted. He took the ring of keys from his belt. He unlocked the helm.
Adaira held her breath as Jack laid his hands on the helmet. He lifted the steel away, and his hair tumbled across his face. He yanked the gag from his mouth and tossed it aside.
She drank him in. Those ocean-dark eyes of his, the wry tilt of his lips, the hunger in his expression as he gazed up at her, still on his knees. The arena, the Breccans, the stars and the moon and the night all melted away as her chest rose and fell, as her blood hummed at his nearness.
A small sound escaped her, a sound that almost broke her composure. She stifled it, told herself to hold on. She could release her emotions later, behind closed doors.
She unfastened the plaid at her shoulder.
Everything within her ached to drape Jack with it herself, but to jump from the balcony to the sand below would break her legs. She could take the inner route down to the arena doors, but she didn’t dare let Jack out of her sight. Not until she had claimed him.
“Godfrey?” she called. “Take my plaid and drape it around my husband.”
“Your husband, Lady Cora?”
“Yes. Come closer.”
Godfrey looked pale as a wraith, as if the blood had been drained from him. He finally realized who had nearly died in the arena under his watch, and he meekly held up his hand and caught the plaid as she dropped it to him.
Adaira watched as he shook out the wrinkles and draped the blue-and-violet-checkered wool over Jack’s shoulders.
She laid her palm over her breast, where her heart beat like thunder, and spoke the ancient words over him.
“I claim you, Jack Tamerlaine. From this day forth, you will be sheltered in my house, and will drink from my cup, and will find rest beneath my watch. If anyone lifts a sword against you, they raise one against me. Such a challenge will not go unanswered. You are mine to defend until the isle takes your bones or you desire it otherwise. Rise, and renew your heart.”
Jack stood.
Murmurs began to ripple through the crowd. The Breccans were rooted to the spot, transfixed by the draping, so when someone began to move through the gathering, Adaira’s eyes were drawn away from Jack.
She saw Rab Pierce leaving the arena stands in a hurry.
Adaira knew everything in that split second. She knew who had found Jack as he was traveling, who had taken him unjustly to the dungeons. Who had gagged him and locked his helm in place and tossed him into an arena to fight his own father.
She stared at Rab, her expression cold and hard as stone, even as her mind splintered into a hundred thoughts. He must have felt it, the way her ire was boring into him. He dared to glance over his shoulder and their eyes locked. He stumbled, caught his balance, and rushed away even faster.