The ghost of a smile graced Hamish’s lips. He rocked off the bed and onto his feet. “If you’re going to follow me like a bad smell, then we should get you fed. You look ready to keel over, nae wonder you’re spouting gibberish.”
Darshan could only nod. Food and a chance to recuperate would be best before he attempted to dissimulate the feelings that had come to light in the wake of the past few hours. And figure out just what he was going to do with whatever conclusion he came to.
Making use of Hamish’s washbasin, Darshan scrubbed his hands until they hurt. His bloody overcoat was a lost cause, best abandoned to the servants. Only when he was finally clean did they leave.
The guards made no movement beyond a crisp salute as Darshan exited the room close on Hamish’s heels. They watched though, their dark eyes boring into Darshan’s consciousness. Word would reach Queen Fiona.
He ground his teeth. For all his professions of not caring that the woman knew, he would’ve vastly preferred keeping her in the dark. Especially when it came to the truth behind the attack. I must tell Gordon. He had promised the man and Hamish trusted his brother. Perhaps, between the three of them, they could come up with a plan.
He lost track of their passage after the first set of stairs, his mind too focused on trying to determine just how he would explain the predicament to Gordon. He barely lifted his gaze from Hamish’s broad back until the smoky scent of cooked meat tweaked his nose. Just where was his lover leading him to? The kitchens? That posed no risk of bumping into the queen, but—
The yawning double doors of the dining hall entrance greeted his questing gaze. Inside, the customary family table sat in the middle of an otherwise empty room. Much of Hamish’s kin were already gathered, bar the ruling couple.
“I hope you dinnae mind the company,” Hamish said, lifting one shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “But I figured since they’d all be eating…”
Darshan barely heard his lover, his attention almost wholeheartedly on the laden table. As it had been during the first night they had dined with the family, great slabs of meat dominated the platters. Food. His legs moved almost of their own accord, stumbling towards the feast.
The rest of Hamish’s family must’ve been informed of the bear attack, for they asked no questions of their kin or Darshan.
He planted himself into the closest chair and began the methodical task of loading his plate with a piece of everything within reach. Some barely graced the plate before heading directly into his mouth. He chewed, humming appreciatively.
“Mum willnae be happy to see you here,” Nora warned as he continued to pile his plate high. She eyed him as if a ravenous stray dog had wandered into the palace kitchens.
Darshan held up a forefinger in acknowledgement whilst he chugged down a mug of beer someone had placed within arm’s reach. Wiping the froth from his moustache, he turned to the woman. “I shall only stay a short while.” Long enough to take the edge of his hunger, then he would retire with his haul to his usual dining accommodations in the guest quarters.
His lover settled in the vacant chair next to Darshan. He eyed the doors they’d entered through as if expecting a pack of wolves to burst through them. “And just what is Mum doing?”
“Our parents,” Gordon grumbled around a mouthful of potato. The man was sitting across from Darshan and specks of food flew dangerously close to his own plate. “Are busy entertaining the guests in the main hall.”
Darshan slowed his chewing whilst he pondered that snippet of information. If the ruling couple were entertaining the few competitors who had arrived, along with their families no doubt, then why weren’t the rest of the royal family also there? Was it traditional, or did Queen Fiona not want to highlight the possible absence of her two sons by having the rest in attendance?
Whatever the answer, Hamish seemed to perk up at the news. “So they willnae be eating with us?”
Gordon shrugged and returned to his food.
“Maybe,” Nora replied. “Maybe not. You ken how Mum prefers nae to eat at public dos.”
Waving his fork in the direction of his sister, Gordon swallowed and added, “But if she doesnae have even a wee bit of something, the clan leaders will get suspicious. Remember that time she was sick with Caitlyn?” Both of the man’s siblings had barely nodded before he turned to Darshan. “I was just a lad of eight years and completed me first successful solo hunt. A few of the larger clans had joined us in celebrating and me mum just couldnae eat more than a weak broth without being sick. And I’m meaning proper sick. Like a dog after scarfing down too much jellied meat.”
Darshan quietly shuffled the contents of a pie to one side, uncertain if he could eat it despite his questioning stomach.
Across the table, Nora wrinkled her nose. “The point Gor is trying to make—and doing a terrible job of it, unless he’s after a re-enactment—is that the leaders from some of the bigger clans insisted that her refusal to eat meant the food was poisoned. She was forced to announce her pregnancy, far earlier than is expected, before they accepted the truth behind her lack of appetite.”
“Aye,” Gordon muttered. He rolled his eyes, the green shade twinkling in the lantern light. “As if the sight of us all tucking into the grub wasn’t proof enough that it was nae deadly.”
“Perhaps they thought you all immune?” It had been years since anyone had tried such a method with himself or his twin, but he remembered it well.
He’d been twelve and engaging in his first alcoholic drink as an adult. A slave, who had once belonged to a rival house, had slipped the poison into Darshan’s goblet under the guise of a grape, although
