“The hour grows late,” he said.
Oriana had to restrain the impulse to leap to her feet and flee the hall, but managed to rise gracefully. “Thank you for your kind hospitality, my lady. I bid you a restful night.”
As if on cue, Ula burst into tears. “With my dear Cadell dead, sleep will surely elude me.”
“I will mix you a soothing sleeping potion, my lady. Come, allow me to escort you to your chamber.”
Egan waited for the pair, huddled close, to leave, then slid his arm around Oriana’s waist. He leaned down to whisper, “I’ve always suspected Garrick was Ula’s lover.”
Considering it unwise to speculate where the other Druids and solicitous servants might overhear, Oriana remained silent until they reached the winding staircase. “I doubt Ula would have dared incur your father’s wrath, but this whole fortress is alive with evil forces. I do not envy you having to rule here.”
His thoughts moving in another direction entirely, Egan was grateful flickering torchlight hid the hunger in his expression. “There are compensations,” he murmured, thinking she was most definitely among them.
Oriana was too preoccupied to catch the husky note of desire in his voice. “I may have survived my first meal here, but we should have fabricated some credible story about my background. To describe me as your mistress obviously isn’t enough. Garrick will continue to pry, wheedle, and coax, but he’ll never accept what little we told him.”
Egan stroked her hair. “You needn’t worry so. My father never relied upon Garrick as Ula does, and he has no real power here.”
“No, you’re very wrong. The Druids will fight to preserve and extend their influence, whatever the cost.”
Convinced of the truth of her words, Oriana girded herself for another bitter argument, but as she stepped out into the corridor, a Druid standing by Egan’s doorway brought her worst fears to life. He was taller than Garrick, and with his hood pulled low, even more imposing. Sighting them, he came forward with a long purposeful stride that billowed his dark cloak into ominous wings.
Oriana shrank back against Egan, but if her name had been enough to alert the Druids to the very real threat she posed, then no champion could save her. Her breath caught in her throat as the Druid reached out, and she fainted before the dark folds of his sleeves could brush her face.
Chapter Seven
Oriana awoke with a start. She was lying across Egan’s bed, and both he and the Druid were leaning over her. Each wore a mask of such tender concern that she was ashamed to have been so badly frightened.
The Druid’s cowl now rested on his shoulders. His hair was the color of ripening wheat, and his eyes were as vivid a green as the first leaves of spring. He appeared to have wandered far in his travels, for he was deeply tanned, and in his own way, as handsome a man as Egan.
“Albyn,” she whispered.
“I’m gratified that you’ve heard my name, but you must rest, my lady,” he urged. “I should not want you to faint again while Egan and I were not present to catch you.”
Relieved she had responded so promptly to the cool cloth he had dabbed at her cheeks, he leaned back and shot Egan a grin. “While I’d not thought it possible, your lady is even more lovely awake. I feared you were alone with your grief and am pleased you’ve had her comfort.”
Unable to accept that absurd assumption graciously, Egan moved back a step and straightened up. “Oriana is scarcely the type to faint.” He studied the incriminating blush flooding her cheeks and easily drew the correct conclusion. “You’re the one who frightened her so badly, Albyn, and I’ve never known you to have that affect upon women.”
With Albyn standing at the foot of the wide bed and Egan at her side, Oriana felt trapped and had to fight her earlier breath-stealing panic. “Please forgive me, Albyn. This fortress abounds with menacing shadows, and I’d not expected Egan’s dear friend to emerge from one.”
Albyn responded with a mock bow. “You are forgiven, my lady. Perhaps I should sing when I approach so that you’ll recognize me even in the dim light.”
Egan thought Albyn’s charm misplaced, but Oriana’s bashful smile tore at his heart. “I’ve heard you sing, and Oriana won’t be the only lass to faint if you begin howling through our corridors.”
“I do not howl.” Albyn was tempted to hurl the damp cloth at Egan, but at the last moment wadded it up and set it beside the pitcher of water. “You must not believe a word Egan says about me,” he warned. “He’s my closest friend, but he treats the rushes beneath his feet with more compassion.”
“Have some compassion for our ears,” Egan countered.
Oriana listened without comment as the two old friends exchanged teasing taunts. They had easily accepted her explanation for her fright, but should they delve any deeper, she was certain they would swiftly recognize its true cause. She moved to put the wall at her back, but the chill stone offered no consolation.
Egan watched her draw a fur up to her chin and assumed she must be tired. He thought he had had enough wine to deaden his pain and bring rest, but now that Albyn had arrived, he longed to confide his anguish over his father’s untimely death.
“A fire should be banked in your room. Let’s converse there so Oriana might rest,” Egan suggested.
Albyn immediately moved toward the door. “Of course. I bid you a good night, dear lady.” He paused a moment to muse aloud, “Though I’ll not sing tonight, your name does inspire music. A peasant once told me of a magical child named Oriana, whom he believed to have a gift for prophecy. That she exists is a persistent rumor, but she is more elusive than the gods, and I doubt anyone has ever actually met her.”
Oriana dug her nails into her palms. She knew Egan trusted Albyn with his life, and
therefore hers, but she trusted no Druid and never would. “ ’Tis a shame such fanciful tales never prove true,” she responded wistfully.