Page 90 of Fang & Fury

Her thoughts drifted to their future then—a new habit, and one that irritated her. It was foolish to think about what lay ahead, for who knew if any of them would survive the coming battle.

But if they did, what then?

To her knowledge, Lara hadn’t spoken to him about her intentions, but if Darach did become King of Braewall, he’d be a man always needed elsewhere—in councils, on the ramparts, at the head of armies.

He loved Ailsa, but he’d made her no promises.

Part of her was relieved about that.

What if he proposed to her? Did she want to become queen consort, locked up in a stuffy broch, or forever watching her man from the walls, waiting for whatever scraps of him were left over at the end of each day?

No, she didn’t.

She loved him, aye, but she wasn’t sure that was enough.

She frowned then. What’s the matter with you today? Did you come up here to brood?

From a few yards away, she marked the queen’s chief-enforcer’s dark and brooding presence. He was a big man, with short dark hair and woad tattoos covering his bare arms. Cailean mac Brochan observed the training, his sharp-featured face stern. Next to him sat a massive dog. It had a thick moss-green coat, pricked ears, and a tail like a giant plume. Golden eyes tracked the movements of the sparring warriors.

This was Skaal, a fae hound, and she followed the chief-enforcer everywhere.

The sparring continued, and Ailsa studied it with interest, marking the different strikes and defenses they used.

“Want to go a few rounds as well?”

A woman’s voice roused her, and she turned. Clad in fighting leathers, with several iron blades strapped to her body, the queen’s bodyguard strode purposefully along the wall toward her.

This was Bree. They’d spoken briefly, a couple of times at mealtimes, but the woman hadn’t sought her out before.

Bree was a contradiction: small and curvaceous with a thick braid of oak-colored hair hanging over one shoulder, yet a fierce warrior that Lara trusted with her life.

Bree was wed to the chief-enforcer, and that alone made her fascinating.

Just the day before, Ailsa had discovered Bree and Gil were brother and sister—another intriguing fact about her.

“I’d like that.” Ailsa cut a glance back down at the training yard, where Cailean had now waded in and was barking instructions at his enforcers. “Although I should warn you … I have a unique fighting style.”

“Aye?” Bree cocked an eyebrow, and Ailsa turned to face her fully.

After she’d told Lara and Alar who her mother was, she’d expected word to spread. But Bree’s response now suggested the queen had been discreet.

Ailsa had kept to herself mostly since her arrival here. Even so, every time she stepped into the hall at mealtimes, she marked the way many of the men stared at her. Her unusual looks, and her mouth especially, made it difficult for her to blend into the background.

Not that she wanted to.

Not any longer.

All the same, maybe it was time she explained to Bree that she fought best by raking her nails down her opponent’s face.

“I’m half Marav, half bavaan,” she said simply. “When I fight, the predator in me takes over.”

Bree’s hazel eyes widened. She then murmured an oath, casting another, speculative look over Ailsa. “Ashes,” she breathed. Her gaze then dropped to her right hand. “Well … that explains the claws.”

Ailsa flexed her fingers in response. She hadn’t filed her nails since arriving here. They’d grown long and curving, and they’d earned her more stares too. She wasn’t going to trim them though. They were part of who she was, and she needed them sharp for the battle to come.

“My bavaan mother lay with my druid father before she killed him … and I was the result.”

She waited then.