Firebrand Read Online Free PDF Page A

I used to insult before running, fast. He’d beaten her three hours earlier in a swordplay bout—oh, the heat and the sweat and the ferocity—but he’d loved the fight in her and had presented her with an elaborate silver arm ring by way of a compliment. Now, curled against him, she had a look that was half smug, half lustful.
    ‘Griogair!’ yelled one of Kate’s fighters. ‘Send Cù Chaorach to deal with Kilrevin next time. The brute would never show his face again.’
    Griogair smiled thinly. ‘Alasdair Kilrevin’s mine. I need the exercise once in a while.’
    Orach dug me proudly in the ribs, and the hall echoed with laughter.
    ‘You let him off lightly,’ growled a voice. ‘Every time. He needs killing.’
    Griogair wasn’t used to being criticised about Kilrevin, and for a moment he only stared in silence at the speaker. The surly-faced lieutenant sitting in the shadows had had one too many whiskies, and Griogair obviously decided it wasn’t worth a quarrel. Kate was watching the drinker too, and I could not decipher the expression on her face.
    ‘He kills for the sake of it,’ the lieutenant said. ‘He kills for pleasure, and the slower the better. I saw the last settlement he routed. I was there to clear the corpses.’ He took another swig of whisky. ‘Give Kate his head.’
    Kate laughed lightly. ‘Now, what would I want with such a thing?’
    Griogair’s smile had grown tighter. ‘Anyone can tell atrocity stories.’
    ‘Are you saying I’m a liar?’
    ‘Hey.’ Conal’s smile took in both men. ‘It’s late. It isn’t the time for this talk.’
    ‘It’s past time for it,’ snarled the drinker. ‘Kilrevin’s a thug and a bandit.’
    ‘And no worse than he ever was,’ shrugged Conal, running a hand through the redhead’s braided hair to loosen it. ‘He keeps the Lammyr at bay beyond the borders, doesn’t he? You want that dirty job yourself?’
    ‘That’s enough,’ said Leonora, and her cool quiet voice was enough to shut them all up. ‘You were right the first time, Cù Chaorach: this isn’t the time. Righil! Carraig! Broc! I thought you’d give us music, but perhaps you’re too drunk?’
    That was a challenge they wouldn’t let go, so bleak talk of thugs and Lammyr gave way, as it should, to fiddle and bodhran. I didn’t dance with Orach, though I loved the furious beat. I waited for my own moment, when the dancers tired, and the drummers eased their sweating rhythm.
    The first time I sang—I think I was ten—I did it out of bloody-mindedness more than anything. Convention demanded they shut up and listen to a singer, which made a pleasant change, and I wasn’t shy. But as it turned out, I could sing quite well. I didn’t have a sweet or a pure voice—it hadn’t broken by then, though there was already something rough-edged about it, raw and wild—but for some reason the clann liked it. From that first night and the first few notes,they let me sing. They’d say nothing afterwards, but I’d know from their fascinated eyes and their tense bodies that while I kept my song going, they were mine to entrance.
    It was the same the night Kate and my mother came to the dun. As a single bow drew a long sad melody out of a single fiddle, I lifted my head in my shadowy corner and sang. And one by one, they shut up and listened.
    I didn’t want centre-stage; I didn’t need their applause. Leaning casually in my corner, arms folded, I sang a sad and angry war-lament. Orach leaned on her fists and listened, entranced. Griogair watched me, silent. Conal smiled, one arm tightening around his redhead. When I finished my song I pushed myself away from the wall and walked back to Orach, not waiting for approval that would never come. Sure enough, the conversation swelled again almost instantly. But I’d held them all spellbound for long minutes, and I felt a violent screw-you pleasure at it, and anyway singing made me high. It always did. I knew I wouldn’t sleep well.
    Sure