They stepped into the hall and Abigail sucked in a breath.
The interior was every bit as imposing as the exterior and far more austere. No colorful silks adorned the stone walls to give the hall a more cheerful aspect. No chairs surrounded the huge fireplace, conspicuously unlit despite the late-afternoon chill in the cavernous room. The sun might shine outside, but it had not penetrated the thick stone walls of Talorc’s tower home. The only furnishings in the great hall were two long tables with backless benches down each side.
“How many of the soldiers dine in the hall?” she asked Guaire, rather than commenting on the cheerless aspect of the huge room.
“Ten of the elite soldiers live here in the hall as well as Talorc’s advisor, Osgard, and myself. Another ten to fifteen of the unmarried soldiers will join us for the midday or evening meal.”
“The married soldiers never share a meal with their laird?” That surprised her. Talorc struck her as a leader who would prefer to stay connected to all his people.
“It would be considered rude to leave their wives and families for such. Is it not the same in England?”
“Well, I know that all Sir Hamilton’s soldiers were on rotation to eat in the great hall once a month. It was considered an honor.”
“As it should be.”
“Of course, their families were welcome to join them. Some did and some preferred not to. My mother liked to lord her position over the other women living in my stepfather’s barony.”
“Interesting.” Guaire did not appear as if the comment was merely a polite one. He looked intrigued. “I do not think we have had a child at the laird’s table since Talorc and Caitriona themselves were children.”
“Perhaps it is time to change that.”
Guaire smiled at her, his expression saying he was amused but approved. “Perhaps it is.”
“How long have you lived in the laird’s tower?” she asked as Guaire guided her up the stairs.
The stone steps curved in a gentle spiral along the wall up to the first story, which was a good fifteen feet above the great hall. She understood Talorc’s insistence on her having an escort a little better. The stairs were not wide enough for two people to walk abreast and they had nothing between them and a sheer drop to the main floor.
Guaire led her one step ahead, while her hand was held firmly in the crook of his arm. “Since the laird’s sister left to live with the Balmoral clan. I had been seneschal for two years already then, but not afforded the privilege of living within my laird’s home.”
“Well, I’m glad you do now. The stairs are very narrow,” she observed.
Guaire led her across the small landing at the top of the stairs and through a doorway there. “It is a tactical advantage.”
“Talorc seems very concerned with the safety of his fortress.”
“Not the safety of the fortress.” Guaire stopped and gave her a look that conveyed his desire for her to understand. “Our laird cares greatly for the security of the people that live within it.”
“Because of what happened to his father?”
“More like because of what his father’s actions allowed to happen to the rest of the clan. Our former laird was only one of many that died when his bitch of a wife betrayed the clan to her English friends.”
“I can’t imagine an English force coming this far north to wage war on a Scottish clan. What could they possibly hope to gain?”
Guaire shrugged and she was sure it did not mean that he did not have an answer, but that it was one he didn’t wished to share. “Does it matter? They came and they killed.”
“Yes.” At the behest of a woman who should have been loyal to the old laird and his people. And Abigail’s husband
“He did not have a choice. You are his mate, a true one if he willingly acknowledged so to the Chrechte warriors.”
“I didn’t even realize he saw me as his friend. It is an honor I plan to live up to.”
Guaire gave her a puzzled look. “Friend?”
“His mate.”
The redhead’s leaf green eyes widened. “He did not tell you what it meant to be his mate?”
“We discussed it last night.” Sort of. In a roundabout way. “We both feel it is a blessing for a husband and wife to be true friends.”
Guaire seemed to be choking on something, but he just shook his head and led her down the hallway that bisected the first story. He pushed open the first door on the right. “This is Talorc’s chamber, now yours as well.”
Considering the sparsity of furnishings and decor on the main floor, she should not have been surprised by this room. However, it would make a monastic cell appear decadent by comparison. A pile of furs much like the ones she and her husband had slept in on the trip north occupied a spot against the far wall. There was a chest under the window but no chairs or chest of drawers.
The only decor, if you could call it that, was a huge well-oiled sword and a selection of knives hanging above the fireplace mantel. She turned in a circle and noted torch holders on either side of the door. That was something at least. A small indication that her husband acknowledged they were no longer cave dwellers.
“It’s, um . . . is he having a bed made?”
Guaire’s look was definitely tinged with humor this time, and maybe a little pity. “I do not believe so.”
“You would know, I’m guessing.”
“Aye.”
She sighed. The furs had been comfortable enough the past few nights, she supposed. “He is a man of few indulgences.”
“I think ‘few’ may be overstating the case.”
That was what she was afraid of.
“She is your true mate?” Barr asked Talorc with nothing less than shock.
He and a small group of Chrechte warriors had come into the great hall after Talorc had dismissed the clansmen.
Talorc looked toward the floor above as if he could see his beautiful blond wife through the timbers. He sighed at his own foolishness. She wasn’t even up there. Guaire had taken her on a tour of the fortress. “Aye.”
“But . . .” Clearly his second-in-command did not know what to say because he did not finish his thought.
Osgard’s feelings were easily read. He was furious, his craggy, aged features tightened in fierce lines. “Impossible.”
“You doubt my ability to read the signs?”
“Your father insisted Tamara was his true mate as well, but we all know how that turned out.” Osgard snorted. “The man was infatuated and that was that.”
“I am not infatuated with my wife.” He was protective of her, possessive in a way he never would have anticipated, but that was all because of the wolf. She was not just his wife. She was his sacred mate. “I have no intention of sharing the secrets of our clan or our people with her.”
“Your father did not intend to tell your mother about the Royal Treasure either, but he did it all the same.”
“I am not my father,” Talorc growled.
Osgard was still hurt from his former laird’s betrayal, but no one knew the pain of looking up to that man as sire and having all feelings of respect and admiration wiped out in a single night. No one but Talorc.
“Our lady does not know she is your mate?” Niall asked, scowling.
“She thinks it means we are true friends.” And Talorc refused to feel bad about that. Abigail was human. She would not understand anyway.
The fact that her sister seemed to in her bond with Lachlan of the Balmoral was not something Talorc wanted to examine closely.
Talorc’s words startled a laugh from Osgard. “The English are fools.”
