“Easy, Ailpein,” he muttered. “First the lady needs to agree.”
Aine cast a look at Diocail, who shrugged. “I never turn down an extra sword.”
She shifted her attention back to Uallas. Thus far she had only seen him in court attire: silks and embroidered linens, unarmed but for the dagger at his belt. Perhaps she’d even thought him a little soft. In his plain tunic, trews, and leather vest with a long sword on his back, he looked anything but soft. In fact, he reminded her a bit of her brother Calhoun.
Or Conor.
Pain spiked through her and left the niggling trace of guilt in its wake. But that was silly. Surely she had nothing to feel guilty about.
“My lady?” Uallas’s careful question made her realize she’d been staring at him. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
“Forgive me, my lord. I was just thinking how much you remind me of my brother.”
A self-deprecating smile tilted his lips. “I’m not sure that was the comparison I’d hoped for.”
Aine swallowed, and her cheeks burned hotter. “In any case, Lord Uallas, we’d welcome the company.”
“Ailpein thanks you, as do I.” He grinned at her, and she found herself returning the smile.
The guardsmen took their mounts, and the stable boy led the mare to her side. “This is Banrion, my lady. She’s gentle. You should have no fear of her.”
Aine hid her smile and gave the boy a somber nod. “Thank you. I’m sure we will do just fine.” Assuming she could coax a canter out of this four-footed dove.
Uallas was at her side in an instant. “Allow me, my lady.”
For a second, she held her breath, thinking he meant to lift her atop her mount, but he only knelt and laced his fingers together. She grasped the horse’s mane and accepted the leg up and then settled herself atop the horse’s blanketed back.
Uallas hovered near the mare’s head. “Take care, my lady. I wouldn’t want you to swoon the minute she starts into a brisk walk.”
The lord’s eyes twinkled and Aine repressed her laugh. He returned to his own mount and vaulted atop it with the ease of a natural horseman. She flushed when she realized her attention was verging on admiring and jerked her eyes away. She had done nothing worthy of guilt. So why did merely noting another man’s existence feel like a betrayal?
She loved Conor, and she would continue to love him until the day she died. They were meant to be together. How else could she explain the connection she’d felt to him the first time they saw each other in Lisdara’s hall, that feeling of destiny? She had been so sure when they left Seare and sealed their union officially aboard the Resolute that it would be forever.
What if she’d been wrong?
What if she would spend the rest of her life alone, loving the memory of a man she had been allowed to know for far too short a time?
Lachaidh took the lead from the courtyard through the front gates. Except for a flicker of surprise from Cé, who was again on duty, no one seemed to mark their passing. The guardsmen closed ranks around her, Uallas in the rear, as they made their way down the switchback toward the village below. Once there, they turned northeast and Lachaidh held his horse back to speak with her.
“Where to, my lady?”
“There’s a meadow a few minutes north of here that has some plants I need. Let’s start there and we’ll proceed to the river.”
“As you wish.”
Aine smiled her thanks. Once they cleared the village, she lifted her face to the sky and inhaled the scent of earth and vegetation. Despite the gray clouds overhead, the fresh air was a balm to her wounded heart. Guaire was right. Having a purpose didn’t lessen the pain she felt over Conor, but it gave her the means to live through it. She sifted through her mental list of locations and herbs. If she didn’t tarry too long, she would be able to gather all the items on her list and still return in time for supper in the hall. The fact that Macha had not yet commented on her activities said that she either didn’t know or didn’t care. Whichever it was, Aine preferred to keep it that way.
After about twenty minutes, the rocky hills emptied into a wide, shallow meadow filled with grasses and late-summer flowers. She called a halt and dismounted, then rummaged through the satchel for one of her fabric sacks and her small hand-spade.
Roidh and Lachaidh remained on horseback, but Oisean dismounted and nocked an arrow to his bowstring in readiness.
“Are you expecting an attack?” Aine asked.
Oisean shrugged. “Diocail’s orders.”
“You cannot blame them, my lady,” Uallas murmured at her shoulder. “To lose Lord Alsandair’s heir because of carelessness . . .”
“Is that what I am?” Aine took a few long strides into the meadow. Uallas followed.
“Among other things.” He matched her pace, checking his sword over his shoulder with a movement that seemed more reflex than conscious action. For some reason, it made her edgy.
She knelt beside a bushy tormentil plant, its trailing stems heavy with yellow flowers, and drew out her spade. Carefully, she dug beneath the plant to remove it from the earth, root and all, and tucked it into the sack.
“Right here?”
She twisted to see Uallas mimicking her motion, his knife poised above the earth like a spade. “You’re picking flowers for me?”
“Why? Is gathering herbs not a manly pursuit?”
Aine shrugged. “Most men would think not.”
“I’m not most men. Besides, I don’t plan to braid them together and wear them as a crown.” Uallas grinned at her, but rather than easing her discomfort, it only twisted the knot in her chest tighter. He should not be so likable. She thrust the sack at him before tramping off to another patch of flowers several feet away.
They worked in silence for several minutes. Aine gathered the plants in her overskirt until Uallas held out the sack for her. She emptied her bounty and raised her eyes to his face.
“You miss him.”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. She took a step back. “I do.”
“As do I. My wife, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Lady Aine.”
“You don’t.”
“I won’t insult you by saying I’m just trying to be your friend.” That quiet smile surfaced again, and this time Aine thought she caught some sadness behind it. “I don’t even presume to know you. But I do know what you must be feeling. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”
Love. Not loved. She shot a surprised look at him, noted the tension in his jaw. So his marriage had been a love match too, and he was as far from being over his wife as Aine was from being over Conor. Somehow that made her feel better.
And made her ill at the same time. If she acknowledged that bit of commonality with him, it would be like saying she had given up on her husband. That she was abandoning him.
She touched the wheel charm at her neckline, rubbing her fingers over the smooth ivory. At last she managed to force out, “My husband is still alive, Lord Uallas. I must continue to believe that.”
“For your sake, I truly hope you’re right.”
She gave him a jerky nod and turned back to her work, praying as she harvested. Please, Comdiu. Bring Conor back to me. And whatever this is with Uallas, let it cease. She couldn’t bear the way he looked at her. She couldn’t bear that some part of her enjoyed the attention.
She took the sack from Uallas and stuffed her last handful of flowers into it without looking at him. They trudged back to where the other guards waited, and once more he helped her onto her horse.
“There’s a marshy spot near Black Creek that will have meadowsweet and oxterful,” she said to Lachaidh. “Do you know it?”
“I do, my lady. There’s a pond nearby. My brother and I used to fish there as children.”
“You grew up near here?”
“Less than a league away, my lady.” The guard dipped his head, seeming almost shy. It was an incongruous expression on such a
seasoned face. “Had I known, I would have brought a line.”
“And Diocail would have summarily dismissed you.” Uallas’s tone was light, but his expression was serious. Lachaidh gave a quick nod of acknowledgment and adjusted his reins.
Aine looked between the two of them in confusion. Uallas just gave another smile and mounted up. But when they turned east toward Black Creek, the lord guided his horse alongside hers, so close that their legs nearly brushed.
“You may cease now, my lady,” he murmured. “Their allegiance is assured.”
“Cease what?”
An impish smile crossed Uallas’s face. “Your witchcraft.”
“Witchcraft!” The exclamation drew startled looks from the guards. “I don’t know what you mean! I’m merely a healer. Gathering herbs—”
“You know very well of what I speak. I cannot blame you, given your lady aunt’s dislike of you, but much more and these poor men will be useless for anything but being your lapdogs. And that is counterproductive to your aims, I think.”
Aine stiffened atop her mare and threw him a stern look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lord Uallas. Speak plainly if you must, but quit your accusations.”
“You really don’t know, do you?” His gaze took her in much too thoroughly for her comfort. “No. You don’t. If you did, it would not work nearly so well.”
Aine’s heart pounded. She was missing something very important here, but Lord Uallas seemed determined to speak in riddles. “What—?”
“Not here. When we stop, I will explain.” He nudged his horse into a trot and rode forward to converse with Lachaidh.
Aine’s mind whirled as she tried to figure out Uallas’s meaning. He thought she was somehow trying to manipulate the guards to switch their allegiance from Macha to her? Why would she do that? How? She hadn’t even asked for these particular guards. She’d expected only one companion when she’d asked Guaire for an escort.
Before she could ponder it further, Lachaidh raised his hand and pointed at the patch of trees clustered along a small, rushing creek. “My lady, we’ve arrived.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
They reined in their horses near the edge of the forest, and Aine dismounted quickly, desperate for a distraction. She took her entire satchel this time, unsure how many herbs she would gather, but before she could make it more than a few steps, Uallas took the pack from her hand. “Allow me.”
Aine nodded and kept walking, aware that he kept pace a half step behind. The guards dismounted with their bows and spread out, keeping a close eye on their surroundings. Their vigilance scraped her nerves raw. Did the men think they might come under attack? Had Aron become so dangerous they feared ambush a mere two or three leagues from Forrais, within sight of the keep’s towers?
As soon as they reached the edge of the forest, Aine spun to face Uallas. “Explain.”
Uallas lowered himself onto a fallen log, but she remained standing, her arms crossed over her chest. A slight smile twitched at his lips. “Men are drawn to you, my lady.”
This was what he wanted to talk about? She waved a hand. “Aye, I know. Alsandair’s heir, extensive wealth. No doubt if it were not for the little problem of me being married, Lady Macha would already be flooded with suits for my hand.”
“Don’t think she isn’t already.” That hint of humor surfaced again. “You would certainly be an attractive wife for what you brought to the marriage. But that’s not what I mean. Men seem to lose themselves around you”—he held up a hand before she could protest—“and not in the way you imagine.
“Look at them out there.” He nodded back toward the guards. “They met you this morning, yet they’re behaving as though they’ve devoted their entire lives to your service.”
“That’s their job,” Aine said slowly, but she couldn’t deny that their behavior was odd.
“How did you make your way alone to Forrais?”
“I had help. Three mercenaries rescued me and brought me home.”
“For what gain?”
“No gain.” Hadn’t she herself thought that was strange, that the mercenaries had taken her all the way to Forrais? Aye, Taran had said Comdiu had sent him, but he’d been willing to kill a landed lord to protect her secret. Even more telling, he’d given up his plans of revenge for her.
“You’re beginning to see now,” Uallas said. “Whenever you were in need, someone stepped forward to assist you. To protect you.”
Her heart rose into her throat. When she’d mapped the wards on the Siomaigh front, the men had looked upon her as a sister to be protected, despite their commander’s fears. Then there had been Lorcan’s unflagging devotion from the day she’d taken him into her service. Keondric’s sacrifice. Hadn’t even Lia noticed how Diocail reacted to her that first day in the practice yard? She sank to the log beside Uallas, her hand grasping at her chest as if it could release the band around it.
“Aine, breathe.” Uallas gripped her shoulder and shook her. It snapped her out of her panic and made her suck in a deep breath.
“It’s true. I never saw.” She raised her eyes to his. “Then you know that what you’re feeling is just a product of whatever this is.”
“There are worse things.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder, then leaned forward the barest degree, as if testing.
Aine jumped up before he could do any more. “No. You mustn’t. I don’t understand what I’m doing, but I do not mean to give you the impression I would welcome your attentions.”
Uallas glanced up at her, repressed laughter playing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “You don’t have that effect on me, my lady. Not since I became aware of it.”
That was even worse. He’d almost kissed her because he wanted to, because he wanted to see if she would allow it. “What do I do?”
His amusement faded. “You must be careful. You must learn to control it. Barring that, you must learn to use it wisely. Your aunt already fears you. If she learned you can command men with your very presence—”
“But they only feel compelled to protect me!”
“It would simply take a few words to convince the men that Lady Macha was endangering your life.”
He was right. And should Macha think Aine was swaying men to her cause, her life would be in danger. The clan chief would not hesitate to strike quickly and directly. Aine pressed her hands to her face. Why was this happening to her? Why had Comdiu given her this gift? Despite the problems it could cause, it was undoubtedly a gift.
Uallas’s eyes widened. She twisted and followed his gaze just as something whizzed by her and embedded in the tree trunk behind them. An arrow.
“Get down!” Uallas leapt to his feet and pushed her to the ground, drawing his sword in the same swift movement. Aine hit the dirt hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Before she could comprehend what was happening, an arrow sprouted from Uallas’s chest. He sank slowly to his knees.
“Ambush!” Aine screamed. “Help us!” She pulled Uallas to the ground and threw herself over him, making them as small a target as she could while another arrow sailed over her head. Shouts and footfalls neared, joined by the rapid thrum of bowstrings. Uallas shuddered and gasped beneath her.
“Hold on,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare die on me now. Not when it’s my fault.”
Uallas gave a gurgling laugh. “I told you your power doesn’t work on me.” He coughed, and blood splattered from his lips.
Outside the narrow tunnel of her vision, she heard approaching footfalls. She grabbed for Uallas’s fallen sword.
“My lady, it’s us. You’re safe.”
Oisean. Relief flooded her as Lachaidh and Roidh stepped up behind him. “Did you get them?”
“No, my lady.” Oisean’s expression darkened. “But they’re gone now.”
Uallas coughed, drawing her attention back to the man on the ground beside her. Unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing a breastplate. The arrow protruded from his r
ibs several inches below his heart, likely puncturing his lungs. A blessing, that, or she wouldn’t have time to do anything.
“Help me,” she said. “We need to get the arrow out.”
Lachaidh knelt beside her and surveyed the location. “He’ll bleed to death, my lady. If he doesn’t suffocate first.”
“Trust me, Lachaidh. I can save him. But you must do what I say. Break the fletching and push it out through the back.”
Lachaidh didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and gestured to Roidh. “Roll him onto his side.” He looked at Uallas. “This is going to hurt.”
“Compared to the pleasant sensation right now?” Uallas forced a smile, but by the glassy look in his eyes, Aine could tell he was fading fast. When Roidh rolled him to his side, a pool of blood stained the earth.
“Are you sure about this?” Lachaidh asked.
“He’s going to die anyway. Do it, and quickly.”
Lachaidh grimaced, but he snapped off the arrow, eliciting a deep groan from Uallas. When he gripped the shaft and forced it out through the back, Uallas screamed.
“Almost over,” she whispered, gripping the lord’s hand. “You must endure a bit longer.”
“It’s out.” Lachaidh held up the bloody arrow. “If you’re going to do something, do it now. He’s got a minute, maybe two.”
And in a minute or two, my fate at Forrais will be sealed.
Aine gestured for Roidh to lay Uallas back down. Then she stripped off her gloves and laid her hands on his chest, focusing on the wounds. Close. Heal. Please, Comdiu, don’t let him die. Let this work.
But as seconds ticked by, Uallas’s body slackened and his eyes drifted closed. Tears pricked her eyes. She had been too late. “It didn’t work. I was so sure . . .”
Then a shuddering breath racked Uallas. His eyes snapped open. “What happened?”
Relief took the strength from her legs, and she thunked to the ground beside him. “You almost died, you foolish man.” With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned his jacket and pushed up his shirt. The flesh beneath showed only a faint pink scar.
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