‘I wouldn’t dare.’ There was laughter in Iolaire’s throat.
Jed closed his eyes, lulled by the echoing beat of his lover’s heart through his ribs. He knew the dream wouldn’t come again, not tonight, but he thought sleep wouldn’t either. He was wrong. It was Iolaire who lay wakeful and motionless, staring at the play of reflected sea-light on the wooden rafters and listening to the little dream-grunts of the white wolf, unwilling to move, unwilling to risk waking Jed.
Sleep was one thing, dreams another. Iolaire lifted a hand and rested it gently, so gently on the back of Jed’s neck.
Deviousness and treachery came easier to him than they once had. And one small breach of trust might be forgiveable. His fingertip tingled where it touched the very base of Jed’s skull.
Anyway, who said memories couldn’t spark unbidden?
Nearly two years. So much less distant than Skinshanks, he’d have thought fate might be kind enough to let him dream that every night, instead of the Lammyr. All the same, even in his sleep Jed felt a disembodied kind of shock at the sudden chill and pleasure of the recall.
A light breeze, and a bright summer day, clear to the horizon. Seth had taken the stone steps two at a time to join Fearna on the battlement, the pair of them staring out at the rider, still distant but riding ever closer across the machair.
‘He’s blocking, Fearna.’
‘Aye, but I know his handsome face fine. It’s Iolaire MacEarchar.’
Seth slanted his eyes at Jed, five yards away, but Jed could only look away, fix his stare at the man on horseback. He had not felt this panicked terror since he was seventeen and facing his first Lammyr. Seth must know what had stirred inside him the day they brawled with a detachment of Kate’s at Kinlaggan. A proper, weaponless slugfest on neutral territory, alcohol-fuelled and cathartic and bloody; and in the midst of it, two rival fighters slumped across each other beneath upturned tables, forgotten, exhausted, and grinning, and finally laughing so hard the fight had flagged and ended before they even staggered back to their feet.
Seth must know it. He’d been in his head often enough, before Jed banished him.
‘Send out a guard, Fearna.’ Seth’s voice broke into Jed’s thoughts now. ‘Disarm him and bring him in.’
Iolaire’s horse ambled at an easy walk, watched by every man and woman on the parapet. Two of Seth’s fighters rode out of the gate of the dun, and Iolaire stretched his arms out wide as they drew their horses abreast of him.
Calmly Iolaire reached for the buckle of his sword belt and unfastened it, passing it to the man on his right. He did the same with his dirk, and his hunting knife, then clasped his wrists in front of him to let the woman on his left bind his hands. Only when the three were riding back abreast, only when every other eye in the dun was on them; only then did Jed let himself steal another glance at Seth. This time it was Seth who wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Seth reached the courtyard as the guards rode in with the newcomer, and the murmuring crowd drew back to let them pass. Jed was five paces behind Seth, loath to follow, unable to stop himself.
One of the guards dismounted and went to help Iolaire off his horse, but he shrugged her off and swung his leg over his horse’s neck, stumbling only slightly as he jumped to the ground. He straightened as Seth approached him.
‘What do you want, Iolaire?’
The young man’s beautiful eyes burned. The pain in them was like a writhing snake, and its coils might as well have been around Jed’s throat.
‘I’m your bondsman, Murlainn,’ said Iolaire flatly, ‘that, or kill me. Up to you.’
Seth wrinkled his nose, then glanced at Sionnach, who raised his eyebrows slightly.
‘Iolaire,’ he said, and stepped close to him. ‘Permit me.’
Iolaire’s lip curled, but he didn’t flinch as Seth gripped his head. Neither of them closed their eyes. They stared at each other silently for long seconds, and no-one in the courtyard breathed or moved.
Seth took a harsh breath and pulled away, then turned to the man who held Iolaire’s weapons. ‘Give me his dagger.’
The man held it out, eyeing Iolaire apprehensively.
Seth unsheathed the blade with a sound like ripping silk. Lifting Iolaire’s bound hands, he slit the cords and stepped back.
‘Give him back his sword, Fearna,’ he said. ‘Welcome, Iolaire. I’m happy you came to me.’ Then he turned and walked away, and he only glanced once at Jed, hanging back on the edge of the crowd, weak with sick relief.
Jed shut his eyes, then opened them again. Cowardice wasn’t alien to him, but it didn’t fit well with his self-image. Before he could change his mind again, he knocked on the door.
‘What is it?’ The voice was empty.
Forcing stillness into his hands, Jed pushed open the door and stepped inside. Iolaire stood in front of the little bunk, his naked sword in one hand and a whetstone in the other. His hard face softened as he looked at Jed.
‘Hello, Cuilean,’ he said, and sheathed the blade.
Jed turned slowly, studying the room. Not so long ago it had been a weapons store, only converted recently to a place for sentries to rest and grab an hour’s uneasy sleep. It was so cramped it looked overcrowded by the small hard bed and the rough shelf beside it. And here beneath the gate it was so cold Jed could feel it seeping into his bones already.
Anger and embarrassment constricted his throat. ‘This isn’t what Murlainn intended.’
‘This is fine for me.’
‘I’m going to report this,’ said Jed. ‘Who assigned you this room? They’ll be lucky if he doesn’t have them flogged.’
‘Hey, Cuilean, it’s fine.’ Iolaire tilted his head and watched him. ‘Thanks for minding. Really. But the man was in a hurry. And I seem to remember killing a friend of his. Don’t get him in trouble for my sake, because it is fine.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Besides, I heard Murlainn banned floggings and burned the post.’
‘That’s true.’ Jed looked at the floor, then back up at him. ‘I’m ashamed. You rode a long way. I’ll sleep here; I’ll show you to my room. You can have it tonight and I’ll have a word with Seth in the morning. Quietly. Honest.’ He smiled.
‘I wouldn’t hear of it, Cuilean. But thanks.’
‘You don’t understand. I’ll sleep here; you sleep in my room. If you don’t agree, I’ll sleep in the courtyard.’ He couldn’t quite meet Iolaire’s sea-coloured eyes. ‘And bay at the moon all night outside your door.’
Iolaire was silent for such a long time that eventually Jed had to look at him, and then his expression was unreadable. There was gentleness in it, though.
‘You’re kind, Cuilean.’
‘I’m not, believe me.’ Jed gave him a thin smile.
‘All right. I agree, then. On one condition: you don’t sleep here either. You sleep in your own room too.’
Jed swallowed. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the floor.’
‘No,’ said Iolaire. He stepped forward, and took Jed’s hand, and kissed him.
Jed drew back, though his fingers stayed laced in the man’s dark hair. ‘Iolaire. Why are you here?’
‘Your captain knows. No-one else. I’ll tell you. But not now.’ Iolaire kissed the corner of his mouth again, but Jed drew back.
‘I’m nobody’s rebound,’ he said softly.
‘Indeed you’re not.’ Iolaire stepped back to pull his jumper over his head, then his t-shirt. He was lean and brown and beautiful. ‘That was my old life, Jed, and it is behind me. My new life is you. Understand? I didn’t come here first and foremost to be Murlainn’s bondsman. I came to be yours.’
Jed raised his eyes to his, the terror of the minutes on the battlement still lingering. ‘If he’d killed you?’
Iolaire looked away. ‘That would have been fine too. Now, Cuilean.’ He turned to him again and gave him a smile of breathtaking beauty and longing. ‘This room is lacking warmth. Let’s give it some before we leave it forever.’
As the rippling silver sea-ligh
t faded, and the dawn sun painted the rafters gold, and the white wolf stretched and yawned, Iolaire lay and gazed at the roof, while Jed slept, and did not dream of Lammyr.
HANNAH
‘That horse isn’t even shod.’ I flung another armful of dead wood onto the pile in the courtyard, wondering which of my many newly discovered muscles was going to hurt tomorrow. I was knackered. And I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near those massive hooves if Rory’s father hadn’t had a firm grip of one of them, howking out a stone with a knife.
Seth glanced up with his teeth clenched, but I had the annoying notion they were clenched against a smile. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, shaking a lock of black hair out of his eye. ‘You give me any more cheek and I’ll get you to shoe him.’
I curled my lip. ‘It’s your horse.’
‘Yeah. That he is.’
‘You’re that possessive. I reckon you care more about that horse than you do about–’
‘Don’t finish that sentence.’ His eyes glinted silver. ‘It’s not possessiveness. You want to ride him, go ahead, and don’t blame me when you’re dead.’ He dropped the roan’s hoof and it blew affectionately at his neck. ‘And don’t go thinking you know more about my son than I do.’
He was a snappy swine, but I liked him. I studied his face as I plaited my hair into a single twist. ‘You make Rory nervous, y’know.’
Seth leaned back against the roan’s flank, looking nonplussed. ‘I make him nervous?’
‘Yup.’ Coming to the end of my braid, I folded my arms.
Seth was watching me very intently and I thought, as I often had over the last days, that I did not like his eyes. Well, it wasn’t so much dislike as sharp discomfort. Sometimes it chilled my spine to look at him but sometimes, if I caught him off guard – which was not often and never for long – I could have watched his eyes indefinitely. After all he had beautiful eyes, grey and crystal-clear and so deep-set that the silver light in them shone out of shadow with fierce intensity. But the open laughter of Rory’s eyes wasn’t there. Seth’s were haunted eyes, and the ghosts weren’t friendly. They haunted me too: I saw those eyes in my dreams. Maybe I’d murdered Seth in a past life. More likely he’d murdered me.
‘He’s a bit on his own, that’s all,’ said Seth.
I remembered in the nick of time that we were talking about Rory. ‘Yeah? So why can’t you let him lead a normal life?’
‘Don’t get me started.’
‘Aw, you could give him a bit more freedom. Lighten up, you big Nazi.’
It was supposed to be a joke, but his eyes chilled. ‘Thing is, I care where Rory is and what he does. You go where you like and do what you like,’ said Seth viciously, ‘because nobody gives a damn.’
His venom was so unexpected it was like a punch in the stomach. He’d bitten his lip and sworn at himself before I caught my breath.
‘You mean Rory has a father,’ I spat. ‘Even if it’s a shit-for-morals control freak, at least he’s got one.’
‘Forgive me, Hannah. I…’
‘No.’
‘All right. I’m sorry anyway.’ He folded his knife into its bone handle with a snap. ‘You’re something else, you are.’
‘Yeah. Like I’m not used to insults.’
‘That wasn’t an insult.’ Half-closing his eyes he eased his shoulder blades and pressed them against the horse’s shoulder. Rumbling in its throat, it turned its head to blow into his hair. ‘Listen, Hannah, Rory’s special. That’s not sentiment from his doting father. He has responsibilities to a lot of people and I have a responsibility to keep him safe. There are people who would dearly like to get their hands on him.’
Starting with me, I thought, and Seth laughed aloud.
I gave him a dark glare. ‘Cut that out. I mean it. You stay out of my head.’
‘I’m not in it. You shouldn’t think so loud.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, Rory didn’t choose this life, but it found him anyway. He has to thole it for the foreseeable future, and if you want to be his friend, so do you.’
I bristled. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘It is.’ He gave me a gorgeous smile. ‘Absolutely.’
I couldn’t think of an adequate answer. There wasn’t another adult on earth who would dare talk to me like that.
‘Listen,’ he said more gently. ‘Do you want me to deal with your uncle?’
Speechless, I forced my jaw shut. I didn’t have to be a telepath to know exactly what he meant. If he’d been joking, I’d have said it was a tempting offer.
When I’d got my composure back, I shook my head violently. ‘No. Um, no thanks.’
‘I mean, tell me to mind my own business if you like.’
I shook my head again, too dumbfounded to tell him any such thing.
‘Only I know what he is, you know.’
‘Yeah. Uh-huh. Me too.’ I managed a gorgeous smile back. ‘But no thanks.’
‘Let me know if you change your mind.’
‘I can handle him. Really. I appreciate it, honest.’ Then I laughed, couldn’t help it. ‘You’re something else too.’
‘I’ll take that not to be an insult either.’ Grinning, he slewed his gaze over my shoulder. ‘Rory. Your brother awake yet?’
Rory came silently to my side. ‘Nah. Iolaire won’t let me near him. That’s three days in a row he’s been asleep till ten.’
‘Good. You would be too if you had his nights. Now listen.’ Seth gave him a look that could slice bricks. ‘You can go out of the dun, but you take Branndair and Liath with you. It’s that or an escort of six guards. And I don’t want you near that castle up at the Cailleach’s Loch.’ Seth shook his head. ‘That’s a bad habit you’ve got, sneaking round that place.’
‘It’s a ruin, Dad.’
‘It’s a ruin now. I knew the man it belonged to. It’s an evil place.’
‘You should see it now. On the other side, I mean. Honest to God, it needs a bit of evil to set off the tartan.’
‘I’ve seen it.’ Seth bit back a smile. ‘No, it’s still evil. If you know where to look.’
‘You’re thinking of some place else, anyway,’ I put in. ‘That castle’s been unoccupied for hundreds of years. The last owner’s horribly dead.’
‘I’m not thinking of any place else. I’m sure he is deliciously, horribly and entertainingly dead, but I’d be happier if I’d seen his body.’
‘Ghoul.’
‘Takes one to know one. Now get this, Rory. I’m going to the watergate at Loch Sgillinn and I won’t be more than a few hours. You’d better be here when I get back, okay?’
‘Yeah?’ I winked. ‘What if he’s not?’
Seth winked back. ‘There’ll be a full-scale war and many casualties.’ He slipped a bridle onto the roan’s head and buckled the throatlash, then gripped its withers and hauled himself onto its bare back. ‘I might be bringing somebody back. Try and be civilised, will you?’ He leaned down to rumple Rory’s hair, like he was five or something.
I half-closed one eye. That was the paternal expression I liked least on Seth, the one that made me most uncomfortable. Perhaps it was sheer jealousy, because there had never been anyone to look at me like that; or maybe it was just that it didn’t look natural, like it was too recently learned to fit his hard face.
Beneath the weight of the sheathed sword on his back Seth stretched his shoulders as a stablehand led out a garron. Seth took its lead rein, then spoke to his horse and rode out of the dun with the pony behind him.
I gave Rory a sidelong glance, and a wicked smirk.
‘And now,’ I said, ‘let’s misbehave.’
FINN
When I broke the surface, and my lungs filled with the right air for the first time in thirteen years, it tasted different instantly. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to hoot. All I could do was stagger forward, undignified, into shallow water. With the weight of my backpack dragging me sideways, I only narrowly saved myself from floundering back for a proper soaking.
Behind me,
there was a guttural mortified shriek as Faramach breached the water’s skin and vanished into the dull dazzle of sunlight. I pulled a limp strand of weed from my hair and flicked it back into the loch. Watergates: always such a dignified way to travel. And of course, it was at exactly that moment I realised I wasn’t alone.
Seth’s impulsive smile disappeared as fast as mine. He rode forward from the bank till the blue roan was up to its hocks in the water, then left the reins loose on its neck and folded his arms. The breeze that feathered the gull-wing loch lifted the black hair on his neck and stirred the roan’s mane; smelling the distant sea, it snuffed and blew and pawed the water. Beyond them, on the bank, a thickset garron browsed the heather.
I hooked my thumbs into my backpack straps, wriggling my shoulders.
‘Glad that still works,’ I said, to the roan rather than to Seth. ‘Be embarrassing if they had to drag the loch for me.’
Seth didn’t smile. ‘You’ve been a while.’
‘Longer than I meant to, big cousin.’ I looked at the sky. ‘Where’s Faramach gone?’
‘That bird always hated watergates. He’ll be back when his dignity is, more’s the pity.’ He stared at me without a hint of a welcoming smile.
I pushed a wisp of hair out of my eyes. ‘Seth. What did I do this time?’
‘Nothing.’ He bit his lip. ‘Nothing, Finn. I’m only selfish. It’s kind of hard to change.’
‘Don’t, then.’ I let myself smile at him again as he rode a circle round me.
He didn’t look any different. I’d seen him now and again over the years, the last time a year ago, and he never looked any different. He still wore his hair long, and strands of it still fell forward into his clear grey eyes. His face was just as sharp and beautiful as it always had been. He looked as he had when I’d left him on the beach more than a decade ago with a toddler on his shoulders. Thirteen years: that was nothing for him. Nothing.
For me it was forever, that was all.
I found I couldn’t speak; not that there was nothing I wanted to say. There was so much of it, it was a logjam in my head. A year it was since I’d said goodbye to him last, since my gaunt and frightened mother had gripped my arm at the door of Tornashee as if afraid he’d steal me away there and then. His eyes meeting hers over my shoulder, his understanding with her complete, their deal unbroken. He’d walked away down the drive with his pack slung over his shoulder, and he hadn’t looked back. And I hadn’t run to him, I hadn’t shouted after him, because if I’d done that he’d have turned back for me, I know he would. And my deal with her was intact, too. Back then it was.
Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels) Page 8