Free Morning's Journey by Kim Iverson Headlee Page B

concluded after the roaring approval had died, grinning at the association of Niall with the impossible offspring of a hound and a pig, “when you report to my workroom for your assignments. Now, to the quartermaster with you.”
    She shook her head at Per when he rose to join the men. He sat again, and they watched the tavern empty.
    The proprietor scurried over with a jar of his best wine, demonstrating a remarkable memory for her preferences. She hadn’t returned to this establishment since the day, months ago, when she had first begun to understand the depth of her folly in becoming Urien’s betrothed.
    Gyan accepted the wine with thanks and downed the first cupful in one breath.
    “You didn’t talk about the other fight,” Per said quietly, in Caledonaiche.
    She didn’t believe Arthur would have mentioned his duel with Urien but wasn’t surprised that Per had found out. “I’ll defer to the storytellers,” she answered, also switching to Caledonaiche.
    “But you were there?”
    “Oh, yes.” Closing her eyes, she relived that whirlwind night, when at swordpoint Arthur had challenged Urien’s right to become Àrd-Ceoigin of Clan Argyll. For the first time, she felt the full impact of how many lives had ridden on the outcome. Gyan’s people, and Urien’s, and Arthur’s army, and those who depended upon the army for aid in peacetime and in war. “But I was too nervous about who was going to win. I don’t remember many details,” she confessed. “Let it grow with the retelling. There is no harm in it.”
    “Not for Artyr, and no mistake.” He gripped her shield arm over her consort’s dragon tattoo. “He is a good man, Gyan. But Urien…”
    She sighed, staring into her empty cup, half expecting to see Urien’s face leering back. “I suppose this was Artyr’s idea. To give me extra protection.”
    “What, sending some of our clansmen to Maun? In a way, it was. He gave me leave to select my men.”
    She debated whether to be irritated that Arthur seemed to think she couldn’t take care of herself or grateful for his considerate actions. She opted for the latter. Thinking about him heightened the ache of their separation, but the harder she tried to clutch pleasant memories, the quicker her thoughts returned to the enemy of everyone she held dear.
    “Do you know what Urien is doing now?” She reached for the wine jar, mulling over Angusel’s accident and Urien’s probable involvement. “Have there been any other incidents?”
    “ Other incidents?”
    She chided herself for the slip. To the rest of the world, Urien had appeared innocent. Per was the last person to whom she’d ever confide her suspicions; the political chaos he would create by taking matters into his own hands was too disturbing to contemplate.
    “At the cavalry games, he seemed…insulted.” She poured more wine, took a long swallow, and stared into the cup.
    “Something happened yesterday, in fact.” A catch in his voice made her look up. “A Caledonach in Fourth Ala was flogged.”
    “What?” She felt her eyes narrow as her anger rose. “Unjustly?”
    “No. The man failed to obey his decurion’s orders.”
    She didn’t want to ask her next question, afraid of how she might react to the answer, but she had to know, “Was he of Argyll?”
    Per shook his head. “Clan Tarsuinn.” Again that strange tone—disbelief? “Urien flogged the man himself.”
    Normally, a soldier’s direct commander administered discipline, not an officer several ranks higher. To Gyan, Urien’s involvement smacked of revenge.
    Instead of sharing this troubling idea with Per, however, she asked, “Is the warrior all right?”
    “He will recover. The rest of the cohort is spitting mad, but no one dares to speak out for fear of finding himself on the wrong end of the lash.”
    She hoped her countrymen would continue to exercise restraint. At least Per and some of her clansmen had escaped beyond Urien’s reach, thanks to Arthur’s