Conor laughed. “She doesn’t scare easily.” His laughter turned to a cough that seized his lungs and clutched at his chest. He gulped his own whiskey. Finished and then wished he had the energy to get up and pour himself a second.
“You should see Jamys about the mage sickness.” As if reading his thoughts, his father got up and took Conor’s empty glass, refilling it. “He could enhance your healing. Speed things up.” He handed it back.
Conor took it gratefully. “It’s better.”
Mikhal ran a tired hand through his hair. “You always were hard-headed. We’re not without our gifts. We may not all be amhas-draoi, but the blood of the Other runs in our veins as surely as it flows in yours.”
His father had managed that one smoothly. Turned the conversation right back to where Conor didn’t want to take it.
“That’s not what I meant. And you know it.” He gripped the chair arms—hard. “After Ysbel’s death, can you honestly believe this creature isn’t as dangerous as I describe him?”
“Never think that, Conor. I know he’s capable of inflicting great misery. We live under it every day. But it’s you I worry about now. I see a change taking place. It’s greatest in your eyes. They see more. Show less. The fey in you is taking over.”
Conor threw himself to his feet, the rug sliding to the floor. “I’m doing what needs to be done. If that means pushing my powers to their limits, so be it.”
He paced, wishing he’d had any other choice but to come here. With Ellery. But his chest ached even now as if he’d been running. The mage sickness knifed through him—seizing joints, cramping muscles, pulling him apart inch by inch. Still, he hated this inactivity—this hiding. At the window, he leaned against the sill, stared out into the rain.
What day was it? Thursday? Friday? He’d lost track. But he had little more than two weeks to heal before Beltane and his final confrontation with Asher. Only a little more than two weeks left with Ellery.
God, was it that long? An eternity. A blink of an eye. He crushed that thought down deep. He wouldn’t think about it. She would be gone. Things would return to normal. Life would move on.
“I’m all right, Father,” he said, “It’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s always been a balancing act, hasn’t it? The human in us. The fey.”
His father regarded him with a steady look. “Perhaps. But I sense you’ve gone beyond. Is it vengeance driving you to trade your humanity for power?”
Conor’s mind still burned with Asher’s threats; his hands tightened on the sill.
Mikhal’s quiet voice pierced the growing rage. “Is it guilt?” His throat closed around a knot. He gripped the sill. So tightly, splinters of wood pushed beneath his skin. Forced him into the present. He pressed his forehead against the cool of the glass. “I failed her,” he said. “She was blameless. But because of me, she suffered.”
He spun around. Lines etched his father’s face. Sorrow and worry aged this man who’d been more to Conor than any other. He would not fail him a second time. “Asher’s days are numbered. I’ll make him pay.”
Mikhal shook his head. “We’ll talk no more about it tonight. But see Jamys, will you?”
“I’m all right,” Conor repeated.
“Humor an old man. See your cousin. You’ll need all your strength. The fey expose every weakness.”
“If it’ll make you sleep easier.”
“You need to protect that woman of yours. She’s depending on you.”
Conor froze. “I told you. She’s not my woman.” Did his father know what Ellery’s true purpose was in all this? Had he sensed Conor’s growing doubts? “She doesn’t even like me.”
Mikhal chuckled. “Perhaps. But she could be the saving of you, Conor.”
Those smoky blue eyes. The luscious weight of her soft against him. The sweet honey of her kiss. His father was right. She could be.
But if he went through with his plans and sacrificed Ellery in her father’s place at Beltane, she could be the destruction of Asher.
It was one or the other. And either way, Conor lost.
He stood at the door, a hand on the knob. Ysbel’s chambers lay just beyond. Had they packed her things away? Did the rooms lay bare? Or would it look as if she’d simply stepped away for a moment. Hair ribbons tangled on her dressing table, a book open on her bed next to her embroidery basket. A gown hanging over a chair back.
What would he trade to hear her teasing laughter again? Or to see her gentle smile as they sat and talked? How far would he go to exact revenge? He glanced down the corridor. Gram had put Ellery only steps away.
As if scalded, he snatched his hand away. Stalked back the way he’d come. He’d find Jamys.
If only his cousin could heal a conscience.
Ellery came awake to an inky black room, damning whatever woke her. She’d been having a glorious dream. The kind you wish you could summon on demand. Her body still thrummed with the pleasure of Conor’s hands on her bare skin, his mouth greedy and demanding against her own.
Steps sounded in the hall outside, and a mumbling that droned on and on, the words too quiet to catch through the closed door. Then both stopped. Her latch rattled.
Asher. Every muscle knotted in panic. Her mind screamed. Conor. Where was Conor? Then she remembered. She was on her own.
She forced herself to breathe, fumbling in the dark for anything to use as a weapon. She’d been lulled by reassurances into giving up Conor’s dagger. Now, her hands brushed against and curled around the candlestick by her bed. She wouldn’t be completely defenseless.
The latch rattled again. A shaft of gray light appeared as the door cracked open. Ellery grabbed up the candlestick.
In the hall, someone called out. A second voice that shattered the agonizing tension. The door closed with a slam. Footsteps hurried away.
Outside her room, two people stood in conversation. She recognized Morgan’s voice. The other was unfamiliar. “Do you think she woke Miss Reskeen?”
“I doubt it. But from now on, you have to give her the draught at bedtime. Her night walking has increased. She’s liable to fall down the stairs or walk out a window if we’re not careful.”
As overwhelming as the wild panic had come, it receded, leaving Ellery empty and more tired than ever. She lay back down, trying to regain the sweet torture of her dream. But the fantasy was lost amid more frightening images.
She did not sleep again.
Chapter Fifteen
Conor stood at the edge of the barrows, a row of humped mounds rising out of the dawn mist like islands. Gray, shrouded branches scraped and shushed in the morning breeze, and behind him water rushed over rocks heading toward the Channel. He took a step back from the reliquary. The dark mage energy it gave off turned his stomach even as it pulled on him, tempting him with the power trapped inside. The remaining brothers fought to get out. Sensed his magic and used it to entice him. He needed to keep it out of harm’s way. Out of his way. This was the safest place he could think of. Now if only They would agree.
The lone fey stood within the mist, the stern beauty of his face as cold as marble. Only his eyes glowed purple as amethysts. “We shall do this for you. But it cannot stay among us for long. Asher will discover it. And Asher will use it to destroy us. And you.”
“Do you think I don’t know this?” Conor didn’t need a reminder. He needed help. “It’s only until Beltane. The power available at the turning of the season and within the quoit’s sphere will be enough to send Asher back.”
“And the girl. Her blood will assure you of victory over the Triad?”
Maybe it wasn’t the reliquary making him sick. “That’s the idea.”
“Did you sleep well?” Morgan passed Ellery the sausage. The platter was the third to pass by her. And it didn’t constitute half the groaning sideboard. For someone used to buttered toast and weak tea for breakfast, it was a bit overwhelming.
“Yes, I slept fine,” she lied, praying the coffee in front of her was str
ong and hot.
“We were worried. My aunt was restless. When she’s in a mood, it’s rare anyone sleeps.”
“So that was who it was.”
“We did disturb you,” Morgan said. “Sorry. Aunt Glynnis hasn’t been this bad in months.”
The coffee slid down Ellery’s throat, burning her insides. Clearing her brain. “We had a sergeant who walked in his sleep,” she said. “He woke up after taking a wrong turn and climbing in bed with his lieutenant.”
Ruan Bligh, Morgan’s older brother, laughed as he spread gobs of marmalade on his toast. “Poor bugger.”
“It wouldn’t have been so bad if the lieutenant hadn’t thought it a French attack, panicked and bayoneted him.”
Ruan choked on his toast, sputtering and coughing. “He didn’t. Bloody hell.”
Morgan rolled her eyes. “I apologize for my brother. He’s been at sea for eight months, and he wasn’t that refined to begin with.”
“You’re hardly fit to throw stones,” he shot back.
“That is more than enough, both of you.” Conor’s grandmother rapped her knuckles on the table for order.
Ruan flashed Ellery a contrite smile meant to melt her knees.
With his sinfully dark eyes and sleek good looks, it might have worked. That is if he hadn’t had a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and a dab of marmalade on one cheek.
“This is why I choose to stay as far away from Daggerfell as possible,” he said. “I’d rather be carrying full sail in a hurricane than spend my meals being treated like a two-year-old.”
“Then you should act as if you had some sense,” Lowenna snapped. “Think with your head and not your—”
“Gram!” Morgan shouted.
Ruan eyed Ellery, gauging her reaction. He’d be disappointed. She’d heard far worse.
Even so, his scrutiny made her very aware of the state of her borrowed gown. She nearly spilled out of the bodice. Morgan was far taller and far skinnier. Ellery was all bosom and hips.
“A feast for a man,” one of her father’s women had commented once. “Something they can sink themselves into like a meal.”
Ellery had been disgusted, even if she had understood. She hadn’t been blind to the stares then. She wasn’t now. She’d just grown immune to them.
Conor pushed open the door to the dining room. His eyes scanned the group, his gaze centering on her. Her temperature shot up just seeing him. All right, so maybe not immune to every man’s attentions. She deliberately looked away.
Another man followed him in. A slighter, blonder version of the others she’d met, she knew him instantly for a Bligh. But his smaller stature did little to lessen the impact of his prowling grace, lean muscled body, and hard angled face. This family didn’t turn out anything but man-god material.
Before anything else, he approached Lowenna, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Good morning, Dama-wynn. Sleep well?”
It was the man’s voice from the hallway last night. Lowenna patted his cheek. “Sleep is for the old. I have too much to do.”
“You have to rest sometime.”
She shooed him toward a seat. “I’ll do plenty of resting in the grave. Now, where have you two been? Breakfast’s cold.”
“I had work,” Conor said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Ellery watched him from beneath lowered lashes. He caught her staring, and she looked away, frightened of the intensity she encountered in that sun-gold gaze.
“Then Jamys and I rode the boundary lines,” he added, dropping his gaze to his eggs.
“Checked the ward stones. Strengthened a few. Seemed the energy across the lines was fluctuating. And we need all the protection the wards can provide right now.”
The blond held out a hand across the table to Ellery. “We haven’t been properly introduced, but I’m Jamys Bligh. Ruan’s younger brother. Morgan’s older.”
His grip was firm, the palm callused. Despite the trappings of wealth, the Blighs worked hard for their money. “Conor’s filled me in on the Keun Marow’s attack. You two are lucky to be alive.”
Conor slammed his fist on the table. “Is anyone listening? Have you noticed the instability of the wards before?”
Morgan finished chewing her bacon. “No. I rode the boundaries yesterday, and the wards were strong.”
Jamys picked at his breakfast, concentration furrowing his brow. “There’s no explanation for the fluidity in the stones’ power. I’ve never felt such a surge and ebb in the mage energy as I did this morning. At times it was overwhelming. At others a mere fraction of the strength needed.”
“Asher?” Ruan asked.
“Perhaps,” Conor said, but his eyes sought Ellery out, settled on her with a long curious look.
Her pulse skittered, and a throbbing started deep in her body. God, was she so weak that he had only to look at her to send her temperature rising? He was a killer. He’d killed her father. Killed the men with him. She repeated it to herself over and over. But last night’s battle with Asher kept superimposing itself over her anger. He’d saved her. Didn’t that count for something?
“I’ve encountered its like before. On the road,” Conor said.
“Then again last night.”
“Asher’s followed you here? To Daggerfell?” Ruan sounded ready for a fight.
The others began to speak. The voices piling on top of one another like dominoes. Layer upon layer of questions and answers until Ellery lost the thread of conversation. Found she didn’t care. Conor’s stare pinned her like a butterfly under glass. She wanted to squirm. Wanted to look away. Wanted to run from the room.
“No,” Conor whispered. Or was it only in her head? “No. I think I’ve brought this problem with me through the front door.”
Ellery leaned over the top board of the loose box, watching the old groom poultice the bay, his hands deftly swathing the horse’s ankle in wrap.
“Comfrey’s what does it,” Jock said, tying off the end and sitting back to admire his handiwork. He lifted a patch over his left eye, wiped his face with a swipe of his sleeve before dropping the patch back into place. “Draws the heat from the bruise, that’s what.”
The horse swung its neck around, nudged Ellery’s hands, snuffling its interest. Searching for treats. She rubbed its nose, blew into its nostrils to show she meant no harm. “I saw locals in Spain use manure. They’d bind the leg with a cloth of sheep or cow dung. Swore it never failed to work.”
“Saw that myself a time or two. A foolish bunch of nonsense.” Jock snorted his contempt, but eyed her with interest.
“What in the world were ye doin’ in that devil of a place?”
“My father served.”
“Did he now?” was his only comment. Ellery relaxed when he didn’t seek any more information than that. Instead, he stood, patting the horse on its rump. Rummaged in his pocket for a crooked, brown carrot. “I served in the 95th ’til a musket ball blinded me on the left. Not much of a rifleman without two good eyes.” He offered her an almost toothless grin.
“Did you grow up here?” she asked.
“With a name like Jock Fraser? Not likely. I’m from up north. Aberdeen. Haven’t been back since I was a lad. Arrived here in ’09 after Coruna. Capt’n Bligh brought me back here with him.”
“Ruan Bligh?”
“Master Ruan? No, you’d not catch him on a battlefield. His heart’s with the sea. ’Twas Master Conor invited me to stay.”
Ellery’s hands clenched the partition. The horse shifted and backed away nervously. “Conor was at Coruna?” She should have known. He’d told her he served.
An odd nervous feeling quivered through her, thinking she had been so close to him once. She squashed it. She didn’t want to feel anything for Conor Bligh.
“Aye. Ragged as a beggar like the lot of us. Strolled into the barn where the injured had been billeted. An hour later, he’d done his best for more than half a dozen of the worst there. Me among ’em.” Jock shook his head. “Damned if I’d ever seen the
like.” He took out a handkerchief, wiped his hands and stuffed it back into his apron. “That’ll do the old thing,” he said of the horse. “I’ll check on him in a few hours.” He left the box, giving the bay a rub on his muzzle as he passed.
“But what happened then?” Ellery asked.
Jock shrugged. “He left right after. Never said a word. But I knew he’d done somethin’ special. My old aunty had told me of eldritch healers who could save with a touch. I found the captain later. Outside a gin shop. He looked bad as I felt. I stuck with him ’til he recovered. Never left his side after that.”
“He must be something special to inspire that kind of loyalty.”
Jock ambled down the aisle, checking pails for water, mangers for hay. “Aye. He’s quiet. And downright scary. That’s what throws people off. They don’t look past that to see the man inside, that’s what.” Pausing outside a stall door, he pointed back up the aisle. “Would ye bring me that carry-all there? It’s got my brushes in it.”
“Jock? Are you in here?” Shadows fell across the stable floor. Startled Ellery into dropping the box.
Conor seemed just as surprised. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” His words were bitten off and sharp.
At breakfast she’d had the family to act as a buffer. Here, it was only Jock. Her face went hot, but she met him stare for stare. Showed him how little he meant to her. “I came to check on the horses we st—, I mean borrowed from Evan.” She snatched up the tote full of brushes, hoping he’d understand she didn’t want to talk.
It didn’t work. A gleam lit his eyes. “They’ll go back this afternoon. With remittance in full.” He glanced down at her load. “Is Jock making you help? Or is it your own sense of guilt causing you to worry over the hacks?” He leveled an unsettling stare on her. “I’m sorry, Ellery.”
And she knew he wasn’t speaking of the stolen horses. She looked away. Afraid of the regret she saw in his eyes. She didn’t want him to get past her defenses. Allow her to dream again. Even if she knew her dream was a fool’s wish. Conor was off-limits. End of story.
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