by Lynn Kurland
She clutched the bow to her. “I will, thank you. Enjoy your life.”
“I’ll think of you fondly whenever I breathe.”
“You do that.” She moved past him to collect the crossbow bolts, then paused before she touched them. She took a deep breath, gathered them up, then turned to look at him. “Why are you still here?”
He refrained from comment, partly because his offended feelings—and there weren’t many of those, truthfully—never stayed pricked for more than a moment or two and partly because he knew she was speaking from a place of fear. He couldn’t blame her for that, but the truth was, he had to leave—and quickly. It was one thing to hide in a barn and try to be a regular sort of bloke. It was another thing entirely to have a pair of mages know who he was and want to kill him.
He was starting to have a bit of sympathy for those he had stalked over the course of his long and illustrious career of making hay. That feeling unsettled him almost more than knowing how close he had come to dying a handful of moments ago. Things had to change. The next thing he knew, he was going to be offering to hoist a sword in the defense of a horse miss.
“Don’t let me keep you.”
He shot her a look. “You go first.”
“Nay, you. I’ll follow right behind.”
He blew his hair out of his eyes, then turned and left what had served as a bedchamber of sorts for far too long. He realized after a handful of steps that he’d forgotten his cloak, which he supposed, in hindsight, was what kept him from walking them both into something that might have gone badly for them.
Three men were entering the far end of the passageway, obviously coming inside to see to something. Acair backed up a pace or two into deeper shadows. He felt Léirsinn’s crossbow in his back and hoped she would have a moment of altruism and refrain from using it on him. He held his breath as the men came their way. Fortunately the trio of whoresons continued on past them as if they’d noted nothing amiss, which Acair supposed had been the case.
“Move,” Léirsinn whispered. “I want to see what they’re planning.”
“A quick return to bed after they scrape the manure from their boots would be my guess,” he murmured.
“They’re in a barn,” she said pointedly. “Unless the world has changed a great deal in the past hour, they’re here for a horse. I have to see which one they’re looking at.”
Acair sighed. Horses. Women. Intrigue. Soilléir couldn’t have given him three things more bothersome if he’d planned it, which Acair wasn’t at all sure he hadn’t.
He stepped aside. “Best of luck to you.”
She hardly glanced at him as she pushed past him, which he supposed shouldn’t have offended him. She was a horse miss, he was a powerful mage with plans to rule the world when his sentence of having to be pleasant had ended. He couldn’t have cared less if she looked at him or not. There were princesses and noblewomen and even the occasional wizardess who found him quite to their liking—
He rolled his eyes. He was losing his wits, that was it. Too much do-gooding was, as he had noted on more than one occasion, very bad for a man.
He took a moment to consider what he might do next. Perhaps he could find a wooded area and live off the land, robbing the occasional unwary nobleman, and refraining from killing the ones who annoyed him. That would surely satisfy that annoying finger-waggler from Cothromaiche and then he would have some peace and quiet.
That might also mean that he would no longer be troubled by manure, minor noblemen with delusions of grandeur, and red-haired stable lassies who had somehow found their way under his skin and troubled him even in his dreams. The sooner he was away from all three, the better.
He swung his cloak around his shoulders and strode off toward the nearest exit. His future awaited and it would no doubt be one full of deeds worthy of song.
Nine
Léirsinn wondered when her life was going to return to normal.
First it had been the shadows that weren’t quite shadows but apparently existed with enough substance to affect those who came near them. Then it had been eavesdropping on men she couldn’t and didn’t want to identify, men who had been instructed to kill Acair because he had—she had to take a deep breath to even dredge up the word—magic. That right there should have been enough to send her off either into gales of laughter or straight to her bed. What a daft idea. Men were men, horses were horses, and things were as she had come to count on them being.
But Acair? Magic?
She pushed aside the thought, though it was difficult to push it far enough away from her to make her comfortable, mostly because she had actually seen two men hovering in the air over Acair like a pair of vultures. She hadn’t imagined it, she had seen them there. And if she hadn’t taken that bloody crossbow and put arrows into both those monsters, they would have slain Acair.
She would be long in forgetting that sight.
She was fast coming to the realization that she would have to concede that there were things afoot in Briàghde, things she didn’t want to get close to. And if murder and mayhem were the order of the day on her uncle’s land, who knew what sorts of things were going on in greater Sàraichte? Given the fact that Mistress Cailleach and Acair seemed to know each other, perhaps there were things in town that might make her uneasy as well. Who knew how far the madness extended?
At least Acair was gone. One less distraction for her. He would be safely off doing whatever he did with whatever supernatural abilities he might or might not have had and she would return to her sensible, normal life. Perhaps even those odd shadows would disappear, then no one would even give her another thought. It wasn’t as if she intended to say a damned thing about them. Perhaps with a bit of luck, she would find a way to earn more and do that more quickly, then she could also be away from Sàraichte and at peace.
She slipped in and out of the shadows, a task made much easier by the utter lack of light in the barn save for where her uncle stood with Slaidear. Their companion had obviously been sent on ahead in the company of Doghail, who had obviously been roused from his bed for that purpose.
She stopped far enough away from her uncle that she was fairly sure he wouldn’t see or hear her, but she could certainly see and hear him.
“My lord,” Slaidear said slowly, “I don’t see—”
“Slaidear, your task isn’t to see, your task is to do,” Fuadain said. “If you won’t kill her yourself, find a man in the village willing to see to it. A rough sort. You know the type.”
Léirsinn could hardly stop herself from making a noise of horror. What was he planning now, to start slaying horses? She quickly ran through the list of mares and wondered which one Fuadain could possibly be talking about—
“But Léirsinn is your niece.”
Léirsinn froze. She would have rubbed her ears to make sure they were functioning properly, but she found she simply couldn’t lift her hands. It was all she could do to allow them to remain by her sides and shake.
“My niece sees too much,” Fuadain said sharply.
“She sees too much of what, my lord?”
“Things you don’t need to know about,” Fuadain said shortly. “If you want to make it as clean as possible, slay her, then blame it on that new lad. Kill him afterward.” He paused. “Odd, isn’t it, that name? Acair?”
“Very odd,” Slaidear agreed.
“I wonder . . . nay, the one I’m thinking of would never find himself laboring in a barn. Now, if you haven’t the stomach to see to this yourself, trot off to the village and find someone to do it for you. I’m off to sell a horse.”
Léirsinn started forward to protest only to find there was a hand suddenly on her arm, pulling her back into the shadows. She went, because apparently she had lost all ability to do anything but stand about stupidly, stunned by what she was hearing. The only thing she could say for herself at present was at l
east she hadn’t fainted. She thought that might be due to Acair’s holding her up.
She somehow wasn’t surprised to find that he had returned and rescued her. It was becoming something of a bad habit for him.
She didn’t argue when he pulled her behind him. She would have told him she had no intention of forgoing the opportunity to use him as a shield, but she couldn’t form words at the moment. She leaned her head back against the wall and fought the urge to indulge in some sort of display that wouldn’t have done her credit. Histrionics, or a swoon, or perhaps simply bursting into loud, messy tears.
Acair was very still and his stillness rapidly became hers. His hand on her arm was warm, all things considered, and gave her an unexpected measure of comfort. The beating of her heart was so loud in her ears, though, she feared that everyone in the barn might be able to hear it. She forced herself to ignore it and see if she could hear any more details from the men conversing about her death, but they had obviously finished and were both off to see to their tasks. Acair fumbled for her hand.
“Let’s go,” he whispered.
“But—”
“Come now. You don’t want to have anything to do with any of this.”
She would have argued a bit longer, but it wasn’t every day that she listened to someone plot her demise. She slipped through the shadows with Acair, remaining on her feet only because he kept her moving as surely as she would have a recalcitrant colt. Terror was apparently a very good means of inspiring all sorts of things, mostly flight. She was fairly sure she didn’t take a decent breath until they were outside the barn and out of sight behind a pile of lumber intended for future fencing. She looked at Acair.
“Well, I’m here,” she said, taking hold of the first thing that came to mind. “What do you want?”
He looked at her in disbelief. “I want you not to be dead.”
“Very kind of you.”
“Trust me, I’m not usually this altruistic.”
“Then I’ve caught you on a good night,” she said. “But you needn’t worry. I’m not going to die.”
He turned to face her. “Weren’t you listening?” he asked in astonishment. “In truth? Léirsinn, they weren’t making a jest at your expense. Your uncle wants you dead!”
“He wants everyone dead,” she began, then a thought occurred to her that she likely should have had long before then and that was that perhaps Acair and her uncle knew each other far more intimately than she suspected. She looked at Acair and felt as though she’d never seen him before.
“Oh, nay,” he began. “Don’t start with that.”
She backed away. “He said you were going to kill me—”
“Nay, he said someone else was going to kill you,” he said, reaching for her, “and make it look as if I’d done it.”
She held him off. “You could be lying.”
“I don’t lie. ’Tis my one and only virtue.” He took a step closer to her. “Think it through, Léirsinn,” he said urgently. “If I were going to kill you, why would we be here right now?”
“So I won’t bleed on the barn and leave Doghail to cleaning it up on the morrow?”
He didn’t smile. “If I wanted to do you in, I wouldn’t have brought you outside where you could run. I would have pinned you in a stall where you couldn’t escape.”
“You sound far too familiar with that sort of strategy for my peace of mind,” she said, her teeth beginning to chatter.
“I’m familiar with many things that would make you uncomfortable, but let’s discuss those later. For now, believe me when I say that I don’t want you dead. Unfortunately, others apparently don’t share that sentiment, which is why we need to go now.”
She wished she could stop shivering. She couldn’t believe she was having a conversation that involved death, more particularly her death. It felt as if she’d stumbled into a play where she’d been drawn up onto the stage and forced into a role she’d never wanted and didn’t know how to escape.
“Let’s go.”
She realized Acair was still talking to her and she’d missed what he’d been saying. She started to walk, then what he’d said actually made sense to her. She pulled up short.
“Go?” she echoed. “Go where?”
“Out of Sàraichte, obviously,” he said. “I don’t think either of us is safe here any longer. I didn’t intend on bringing company along with me, but ’tis obvious you can’t remain behind.”
“But I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said in surprise. “I can’t leave my grandfather.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Acair said dismissively. “He’ll be fine.”
She could scarce believe her ears. “You’re daft,” she managed. “They’ll kill him as well!”
“Killing your grandfather is the last thing Fuadain will do,” he said seriously.
“But why would they keep him alive if they were willing to kill me?”
“Leverage,” he said. “They believe you know too much about things you apparently shouldn’t, which is why they want you dead. If you flee, they’ll want you to come back here so they can, again, see you dead.” He shrugged. “Leverage.”
She felt something slide down her spine. “How would you possibly know that? Are you in league—”
He shook his head sharply. “I don’t know your uncle, but I know his type very well.”
“But I can’t leave my grandfather,” she said firmly. “I have a responsibility to keep him safe.”
“At this point, neither of us can keep him safe here,” he said. “We definitely cannot bring him with us.”
She looked at him in surprise. “I didn’t ask you to.”
He looked around him, as if he feared something might be listening, then he took her by the arms. “I can save him, but not at the moment. I definitely can’t save him if I’m dead. You can’t save him if you’re dead either. Hence our need for saving our own sweet necks first.”
“You’re speaking in riddles.”
“I know,” he said grimly, “and it’s giving me pains in my head.” He blew out his breath. “I am almost an entire bloody year away from being free of a charge laid on me. Once that sentence is served, I can return and see to your grandfather.”
“Sentence?” She looked at him narrowly. “You’ve escaped from some sort of gaol, haven’t you?”
“I would say I’d walked right into one, but you can think of it however you care to. As for your grandfather, if you can trust me, I can help you. But I can’t help either of us if we’re dead, which is why we need to escape Briàghde before your uncle realizes we’ve left.”
“Who are you?” she asked. “More to the point, why do I keep asking?”
He smiled. She had to admit that he was terribly handsome when he frowned, but when he smiled . . .
She shook her head to clear it. Perhaps there was magic after all and she’d been put under some horrible spell that was attempting to lead her away from her very sensible existence where the only sort of males she had to encounter had four feet instead of two. The current one walking on two looked around him, then leaned closer as if he had some terrible secret to share.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” he whispered, “but I think I might be allowed this much.” He paused. “The truth is, I am a mage.”
She blinked, then smiled. “Of course you are.”
“You don’t believe me?” he asked in surprise.
“Of course I don’t believe you,” she said with a snort. “Magic? Are you utterly mad? I think what you’re suffering from is an enormous ego and delusions of grandeur, but perhaps that’s too blunt.”
“I deserve this,” he muttered. “And somewhere, someone is having himself a jolly good laugh over it all.” He looked at her. “Believe me or don’t, at this point it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we get away from this place
as quickly as possible.”
She stopped just short of wringing her hands. “But how do I leave him behind?” she whispered. “He’s helpless.”
Acair chewed on his words until he seemingly found ones he could spew out. “How long had his illness been coming on?”
“I can’t say with certainty,” she said slowly. “He took care of me the night I arrived and seemed perfectly sound. The next night he was in his current state.”
“And what happened to you when he had this sudden decline?”
“I was sent to the stables.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then put his arm around her shoulders and turned her away from the pile of timbers. “I didn’t have a very good look at him, but I’m guessing the cause of his illness wasn’t natural, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m ignoring that because it’s ridiculous.”
“All the more reason to have a bit of faith in it,” he said firmly. “And if this makes you feel any better, I think the more notice you take off him and put on to yourself, the better off he will be. Fleeing Sàraichte is a fine way to do it.”
She didn’t want to agree that might be true, but she could see the sense in it. She considered, then looked at him. “Where are we going to run to?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I don’t have very many safe harbors.”
The poor man. “Because you’re a mage,” she said slowly.
“A bad one.”
“As in, you don’t mage very well or you do it too well and people don’t like you for it?”
He shot her a dark look. “You aren’t taking me at all seriously, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“What of those lads you slew in the barn?”
“Oh, those,” she said. She took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to think. I could have been imagining them.”
“Believe that as long as you can.” He looked to his right, swore, then pulled her back behind the fencing. “At least one of our friends is off into the night. Your uncle, by the looks of him.”