‘Uncle,’ she said shortly. She glared at me for a moment as if it were my fault he was no longer with us. ‘Very well. My quarters at 11 a.m.’ Then, in case I tried to change the time again, she marched away.

I watched her go. If I played this correctly, I’d have her vote to get me into the Games. Perfect. I looked at Tipsania and Byron who were both still watching me. ‘Tipsy,’ I called out cheerfully, ‘where is your father right now? I’d love to catch up with him.’

She turned away, pretending not to hear me.

‘He’s at the main tent out the front,’ Byron told me. There was a question in his eyes: why would I seek out the Bull when I’d run away from his so-called guardianship when I was a child? There was clearly no love lost between us. But Byron didn’t know everything.

I called my thanks and beckoned to my posse. ‘I need you to stay here. Sooner or later someone will show us where we can sleep. They won’t want to lose face by having us bed down here.’

‘They should have taken us there the moment we arrived,’ Brochan growled.

‘Let them play their petty games,’ I said. ‘We’ll keep our big guns for the important stuff.’

Lexie fiddled with her hair. ‘I’ve been trying to get the Sidhe onside. They’re all being very friendly but as soon as I mention your name…’

‘I know. Someone’s been spreading nasty rumours about me.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. Much as it galls me to accept it, Aifric has promised to give me his support and if I go and talk to the Bull now, I can force him to do it too. It looks like Chieftain MacBain might just be our third supporter.’

Taylor’s chest puffed out. ‘That’s my girl.’

I grinned.

Chapter Seven

Byron was correct: the moment I stepped into the vast tent designed to keep the Games’ attendees pampered and refreshed, I spotted the Bull leaning heavily against the bar. At least it was still early, so the tent was virtually empty. No doubt it would be a different scenario tomorrow when the Games began.

Weaving my way through the empty tables and chairs – and avoiding the harassed-looking servants of every ethnicity and race who were under pressure to make everything ready – I made a beeline for him. I didn’t think he had registered my approach but he didn’t look surprised when I made my presence known.

‘Chieftain Scrymgeour,’ I said, with a hint of amusement. ‘Buy me a drink?’

The sour turn to his mouth proved how unhappy he was to see me but he couldn’t refuse. In order to save his life, he’d given me his true name and now he was mine. He couldn’t say no to me – no matter what I asked of him. He did, however, have some wiggle room.

‘I’ll have a Buckie Delight for the lady,’ he said, crooking a finger at the barman.