Page 138 of Blood & Claw

His face had gone rigid. His tawny eyes glittered.

He looked as if he’d just seen the Ben Neeya washing his clothes.

But it wasn’t the Washerwoman sitting before them.

The man in the carven chair was in his early thirties. His oak-colored hair was swept back from a handsome face. Close-fitting leathers encased his strong frame, and a wolfskin cloak draped from his shoulders. Firelight gleamed off the golden torque about his neck and the amber rings studding his fingers.

Ailsa stifled a gasp.

She’d caught glimpses of him often enough over the years—had watched from a distance as he’d taken his uncle’s place on the throne and then rebelled against the High Queen of Albia.

King Niall of Braewall was waiting for them.

35: THE SAME SIN

THE KING’S GAZE widened as he took in the three prisoners.

His eyes were dark blue. Nothing like Darach’s.

But the likeness was there all the same. The same jaw and nose, only Niall’s features were smoother, more classically handsome.

Pushing aside the remnants of his meal, the king rose smoothly to his feet. The scrape of his chair echoed in the hush. “Do my eyes deceive me?”

Darach didn’t answer.

Niall’s gaze slid to Gregor. “You know who he is?”

The druid frowned, tensing. “No, sire.”

Shouldering aside the slave who had been about to refill his cup, Niall stepped down from the high-seat. His boots crunched on the rushes as he crossed the floor. A few yards from Darach, he halted.

Darach stood unmoving, wrists bound, shoulders squared. His expression was shuttered. Only the glint in his amber eyes betrayed the gathering storm.

“You sly dog,” Niall greeted him softly. “How many assassins did I send after you … four?”

“Six.” The response was clipped.

Niall pulled a face. “I was sure the last one would do the job … the man was a beast.”

Ailsa stilled, recalling the huge, tattooed warrior who’d lunged from the mist on that hilltop. Indeed, he’d been difficult to beat.

A murmur rippled through the hall.

Everyone knew who Darach was now.

“But you slew him too?” The king’s gaze sharpened. “How is it you avoid an assassin’s blade … yet end up here?”

Silence followed. Gregor answered when Darach would not. “He and the lass tried to rescue the tattooist last night, sire.”

Niall’s attention shifted to Kayla. “So, this is the tattooist of Braewall?”

“Aye … the woman was once a sacrificer. We trained together on the Isle of Arryn.”

The king nodded, taking this in before his gaze traveled to Ailsa, where it lingered. “And who’s this?”

“My daughter,” Kayla said before Ailsa could speak. “Let her go. It’s me you want.”

Ailsa blinked. Kayla had claimed her as kin before, yet hearing the word now tugged unexpectedly at her chest.