“Innes?” Adaira said, taking a smooth step back. She continued to watch Rab, predicting which door he was going to slip through, which castle route he was going to take as he fled to the stables. “Will you personally see to it that Jack is safely escorted to my chambers, and that a warm bath is drawn for him and a good supper is delivered?”
Innes took hold of her arm. “Where are you going?”
Adaira’s gaze slid to meet Innes’s. Her voice was calm, but her teeth flashed in the firelight as she whispered, “No one hurts those who I love. No one.”
She didn’t know whether or not her mother heard the implication of what she had said. If Innes had been aware of Jack’s presence in the arena. But Adaira’s suspicions were beginning to grow claws, tearing through the fragile bonds she had been forging with her mother.
Innes’s nostrils flared. Yes, she had heard the quiet threat. But they would have to discuss this later.
“I’ll see to your requests, Cora. But don’t kill Rab. Not unless you want a war.”
“I’m not going to kill him.”
Innes said nothing, but her eyes searched Adaira’s. She must have seen what she wanted, seen the passion in her daughter’s blood that she had perhaps inherited from her mother, passion that had fallen dormant in the east.
Innes released Adaira’s arm.
Adaira knew Jack was gazing up at her. But she didn’t have time to reassure him. Rab had vanished from the arena, and Adaira turned and exited through the doors, letting them slam against the walls.
She flew through the castle in pursuit of him.
Chapter 23
Jack watched Adaira leave the balcony without giving him a second glance. But he had seen what had drawn her attention. He had seen Rab fleeing the arena, and Jack’s chest swelled beneath his armor. His lungs filled with cool night air, with firelight and justice and blood-tingling awe at Adaira.
Best of luck to you, Rab!
But then the thrill waned, and Jack shivered, returning to the moment.
He was in the arena that had almost seen his blood spilled before hundreds of Breccans. Utter strangers who continued to stare at him like he was an anomaly. He felt naked, even though he was draped in the warmth of Adaira’s plaid, which smelled faintly of her, like lavender and honey. He was standing on sand that his boots had marked when he had been fleeing his father. His father, whom he had completely forgotten existed at the sound of Adaira’s voice.
Jack shuddered again, drawing the plaid closer around his shoulders. He could see movement at the corner of his eye. Someone was approaching and staring intently at him. Jack fought the temptation to meet that gaze as fear surged through him like a tide.
“Jack?”
The voice was deep and gentle, hoarse with shock. It sounded nothing like it had moments before, through the steel of the helm and the smoke of survival.
Jack looked at his father.
Niall was pale as he took in all the features that were solely Jack’s, and the ones that he had been given by Mirin. Her eyes, her coloring. The proud slant of the shoulders. All of it had come from his mother, and Jack watched as Niall saw these traces of Mirin. As he saw traces of himself.
“Jack,” Niall said, extending his hand. The space between them suddenly felt vast, uncrossable.
Jack didn’t know what to think, what to say. His words froze, and all he could do was stand and breathe.
Niall came another step closer, but he must have felt the divide between them. He must have felt the waste of twenty-two years. He collapsed to his knees as the truth pierced his heart.
Niall Breccan, Oathbreaker, undefeated, sprawled on the sand and wept.
Jack flinched, unable to stomach the sight, the sounds of his father’s devastation. He began to move toward him, slowly, as though the air were thick. He would cross the divide, but Godfrey came between them.
The dungeon keeper took hold of his arm in an iron grip and began to lead him from the arena.
“Come, Jack Tamerlaine. The laird has asked for you.”
Jack scarcely heard Godfrey as his nerves began to sing again. He walked obediently to a door in the wall, but he glanced back to see his father being surrounded by guards.
A protest rose in Jack’s chest.
He had to force it down, even as it ached to be expressed. He had to tear his gaze away from Niall and allow Godfrey to guide him into the castle.
He didn’t know what he expected, but the corridors were similar to Sloane’s in the east. The air was fragrant with juniper boughs, and the firelight was generous, the floors polished. Tapestries hung on the walls and condensation fogged the windows.