by Lynn Kurland
“I owe you an apology,” he said seriously, “and I’m offering it.”
“But why would you bother with me?” she asked in surprise.
He said nothing; he simply looked at her in silence for far longer than she was comfortable with. It came to the point that she had to say something, anything, to break the silence.
“You held my head whilst I was, ah, indisposed,” she said quickly. “That erases anything you may or may not have said at any other time. Not that it—”
“It matters,” he interrupted. “Because you are a woman, you were put into my care, and I failed to display the chivalry I should have. And before either of us thinks on that overmuch, let us turn to this rousing tale here in my hands. You can enjoy it along with the breakfast William has brought you. Here, lad, set it here and I’ll see to serving her.”
“As you will, my lord,” the lad said, setting a tray down on a table that Rùnach pulled close to the bed. He made Rùnach a bow, then scampered off.
“Are you a lord?” Aisling asked, struggling to sit up a bit more.
“Why do you need a mercenary?”
She blinked, then smiled when she realized what he was doing. “I thought we were limiting ourselves to one question a day?”
“That might make for not much conversation, so perhaps we would do better to trade a question for a question, with the accompanying answers attached. And I’ll answer yours in good faith. I am no lord, though I am curious as to why you need a mercenary.”
“I told you why,” she said, carefully.
“Did you?”
“That smells wonderful,” she said, looking at what Lord Nicholas’s page had brought. “I’m not sure I recognize half of what’s there.”
He filled a plate for her and handed it to her without comment. She looked at him eventually, because she supposed she couldn’t sit with him in the same chamber and ignore him. He was watching her with a small smile.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said.
“Hedging?”
“Is that what you call it?”
She almost laughed. It had been so long since she’d had even the desire to smile, she hardly knew what to do with herself. There was just something about Rùnach that led her to contemplating all manner of things she had almost given up for lost. If she were to judge his condition by the scars on his hands and face, she would have assumed he would be bitter and angry, yet he wasn’t. He was polite, solicitous, and possessing a dry sense of humor that left her wanting to smile in spite of herself.
She didn’t answer, because she knew he didn’t expect an answer. She simply ate everything she was given, wondering in truth if she had died and found herself in another world where the food was the best she’d ever eaten and the company quite decent.
An hour later, she was very full, the tale was finished, and she was ready for a nap. She didn’t protest when Rùnach helped her lie down, nor when he sat back down in his chair.
“That was a lovely story,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve always been fond of legends.”
“Legends?”
She suppressed a yawn. “You don’t believe those sorts of tales, do you?” She looked at him blearily. “In truth?”
His mouth worked for a moment or two, but apparently the fantastical nature of the tale had done its work on him as well.
“I should like to know how to wield a sword as Mehar did, though,” she said with a sigh.
“As protection?” he said, apparently having found his tongue.
She nodded even though acquiring sword skill hadn’t been in her plans. She’d had her hands full with trying to acquire an assassin. Only now she had not only the inability to wield a sword, but she had no one to send to Taigh Hall at the appropriate time—
Which, she realized, the peddler had said would be three months from the date he’d sent her off into the darkness. It wasn’t possible that that was the end of her period of grace.
Was it?
In truth, she was becoming heartily sick of trying to determine just what the man had meant. She wished he’d written it down for her, so she could have read the paper over and over again until the ink was faded and the paper whisper-soft from being folded and unfolded scores of times. What did it matter if she had three se’nnights, three fortnights, or three months if the end result was she would be dead?
“Aisling?”
She focused on Rùnach. “What were we talking about?”
“You were giving me the details about the trouble in your village. What was it called?”
She blinked, then her mouth fell open. “I was not.”
He smiled, a small, mischievous smile that was appallingly charming. She put her hand over her eyes in self-defense.
“Stop that,” she said.
“It was worth a try.”
She pursed her lips, then looked at him. “I was saying I wished I could defend myself, though I think a sword is beyond me. Perhaps a knife, though I’m not sure I could stab someone in the heart. Whilst looking them in the eye, that is.”
“But you could do it from a distance?”
“Perhaps,” she said. She considered, then looked at him. “Could you teach me to defend myself?”
He blinked. “Right now? With a sword?”
“Nay, later. With something else.”
“Are you unsatisfied with what Weger taught you?”
“He taught me to poke a man in the eyes, elbow him in the gut, and hope I could run fast enough to escape whilst he was catching his breath,” she said. “So, aye, I am unsatisfied with what he taught me.”
Rùnach studied her for so long, she began to grow uncomfortable.
“Why?” he asked, finally.
“Because I am tired of being at the mercy of others,” she said, because she was too tired to guard her tongue. “I never want to be so again.” She looked at him. “Have you ever killed anyone, Rùnach?”
His mouth fell open. “You ask the damndest questions.”
She watched him, but apparently he wasn’t going to answer her. She turned on her side so she could look at him more easily.
He had the most remarkable pair of green eyes. She perhaps wouldn’t have known that sitting in a candlelit chamber if she hadn’t spent the previous several days looking into his eyes and learning their color. The scar over his cheek, though…she looked away, because she realized she was looking too closely. There was something strange about it, though she couldn’t say what it was—
She turned away from the whole thought because it was more scrutiny than he deserved. At least he hadn’t been watching her watch him, though she supposed he was accustomed to it.
“Is anything as it seems?” she asked.
He stopped his idle flipping of pages and looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked warily.
She would have shrugged, but she was too tired. “I’m not sure. It’s just…” She yawned in spite of herself. “I thought things were a certain way. I was told things were a certain way,” she amended. “And now I’m beginning to suspect they aren’t that way at all.” She looked at him seriously. “I think I’ve been lied to.”
“About what?”
She shook her head. “You’ve already asked too many questions for the morning. And as for the other, in truth I’m not unhappy with what Weger tried to teach me, though I didn’t learn it very well and it certainly didn’t help me any when I truly needed it. So, aye, I would like to learn something else, if I have the time. But not the sword.”
He studied her for a moment or two in silence. “I’ll think about other things whilst you nap.”
“Am I napping?”
“You look like you’re considering it.”
She yawned again before she could stop herself. She perhaps would have disagreed with him and tried harder to keep herself awake, but for the first time in over a month, she found herself contemplating sleep without fearing she was falling into death.
She struggled to focu
s on him. “What will you do?”
“Oh, I have a little project I’m working on.”
“What sort of project?”
“A mystery.”
She had a mystery for him, and that was why in the world she was still alive when she was supposed to be dead. She frowned.
“Is it possible to tell when someone is lying?”
He studied her, more closely than she cared for. “Why do you ask?”
“’Tis a mystery.”
He grunted. “I daresay. And aye, I suppose there are ways to tell. You could take the miscreant in question and threaten him with a blade until he blurted out the truth. With others, simply making note of when they’re speaking is enough to tell you what you need to know.”
She considered that. “What if the soul in question seemed trustworthy, but you now doubt his truthfulness?”
“This is a mystery,” Rùnach said. “I would, of course, need all the details in order to know how best to advise you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t give you the details.”
“Does it have to do with your mercenary?”
“It might.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to ferret out the truth yourself,” he said with a shrug. “Lord Nicholas’s library below is quite extensive.”
She nodded, then felt her eyelids begin to close. She settled herself more comfortably, then sighed deeply. “Is he a king?” she murmured.
“Why do you ask?”
“I saw a crown on his head,” she murmured. “Gold, heavy, adorned with all manner of gems and filigree…and…runes—”
She wasn’t sure he answered. It was almost enough to bring her back to herself to find out why he asked, but the pull of sleep was too strong.
She felt herself falling into darkness and didn’t try to stop herself.
Thirteen
Rùnach sat in the buttery of the university enjoying a spectacular stew and gave thought to many things that intrigued him. His own life was a mystery he was happy to put off for a bit, but there were so many other things to investigate that he didn’t lack for things to mull over.
Such as why Aisling of a place yet to be determined had thought she was going to die when she touched a spinning wheel, or why she had been so desperate to speak to Weger each night before midnight for those first pair of days in Gobhann, or why she had given that up and settled for counting on her fingers when she thought he wasn’t looking.
If those things weren’t interesting enough, there was the mystery of why she was so reluctant to tell him anything about her past, her village, or the particulars of her errand. In honor of that, he had spent a fair bit of the day making a painfully detailed list of kingdoms, counties within kingdoms, and kingdoms that were kingdoms no longer. He was frankly quite appalled to see how many other lands Neroche had absorbed over the centuries, which he would absolutely poke Miach about when he saw him next. He hadn’t begun to even consider the languages of each area, much less speculate about the variations in those languages that had no doubt occurred over hundreds of years.
Perhaps less puzzling, though, was the identity of that fat chestnut-colored cat rolling on the floor in front of him and smirking.
“Do you care for more, sir?”
Rùnach looked up to find Nicholas’s cook standing there, two large bowls of stew in his hands. He couldn’t in good conscience send the man away disappointed, now could he?
He was fairly sure his mother would have been quite pleased with his recent recapturing of his good manners.
“Only if you will join me,” Rùnach said politely.
“If you insist,” Cook said, setting one of the bowls in front of Rùnach and placing the other in front of himself before he sat down happily and set to his meal without hesitation.
“This is delicious,” Rùnach noted, “but unsurprising given the exceptional quality of everything that comes from your kitchen.”
Cook accepted the compliment with the modesty that was obviously his trademark and motioned for one of his lads to refill Rùnach’s mug of ale. And once he had sampled his own wares to his satisfaction, he settled himself with his own hefty bit of liquid sustenance, then reached down and scratched their table companion behind the ears.
“Don’t know where this lad came from, but he’s the best mouser I’ve ever seen,” Cook said, beaming down at that purring fiend, who was obviously prepared to accept any and all compliments. “Don’t have much use for feral male pusses as a rule, but in his case, I’ve made an exception.”
“I’m sure he appreciates it,” Rùnach said dryly. He thought it wise to pretend not to notice that the mighty mouser’s purrs sounded remarkably similar to equine snorts. He also decided that purposely neglecting to tell the cook that his mouser wouldn’t linger forever was actually the kindest thing to do.
He eventually thanked the cook for his excellent stew, left his horse turned feline savouring a bowl of heavy cream, and walked back along paths and past doorways to see how his charge fared. He was actually slightly surprised to find her pacing around the edge of the courtyard, swathed in a very luxurious cloak. He stopped alongside the lord of Lismòr, who seemed to be equally interested in seeing how she fared.
“She doesn’t look unwell,” Rùnach offered. “Definitely not dying.”
Nicholas smiled. “Nay, not dying. Fighting a headache, I dare-say.”
“How do you know?”
“She said as much.”
Rùnach smiled ruefully. “She doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Perhaps you intimidate her.”
“I’m certain that’s it.”
Nicholas looked at him, clear-eyed. “Rùnach, my dearest boy, you forget who you are—”
“Were—”
“Are,” Nicholas stressed.
“There is nothing of what I was in my veins,” Rùnach said, managing it without too much bitterness. “I am simply a man who will live an extraordinarily long time to enjoy my terribly ordinary life. There is nothing to be intimidated by.”
“I think others might disagree, but we’ll leave that for the time being. As for the other, there is something to be said for the simpler pleasures of this world.”
Rùnach leaned his shoulder against a pillar and looked at the uncle he hadn’t known lived still until he’d encountered him at Mhorghain’s wedding. It was odd how he felt as if he’d known Nicholas his entire life. “Is there something to be said for them, in truth?”
“Fine wine, good food, well-loved books,” Nicholas said easily. “Children, if you can manage them, either your own or someone else’s.”
Rùnach took a careful breath. “I will thank you in my mother’s stead for watching over Mhorghain for all those years. She would have been, and I certainly am grateful beyond what words might convey.”
“It was gladly done,” Nicholas said with a smile. “I imagine you would do the same for any of your nieces or nephews, though I suspect you’ll have children enough of your own to love.”
“Should I find a woman willing to wed me.”
“Charm, Rùnach. Rediscover your charm.”
Rùnach sighed. “I believe I left it somewhere in Seanagarra along with all my notes.”
“I thought you left those on the plains of Ailean.”
Rùnach pursed his lips. “Been having tea with the notoriously loose-lipped king of Neroche?”
“We chat from time to time,” Nicholas conceded, “though you can thank Soilléir for that last tidbit.”
Rùnach dragged his hand through his hair and started to speak, then watched Aisling disappear down a passageway. “Where is she going?”
“Why don’t you go ask her?”
“I’d rather have a very strong drink in your solar.”
“I didn’t think you partook of anything very strong.”
“I thought I would try, to see if it improved my sour self any.”
“I imagine she’s gone back to bed, so perhaps you would enjoy a brief g
lass of port in my solar before you go check on her. I’m sure we’ll find something to discuss.”
Rùnach imagined they would. He also supposed Aisling wouldn’t be unhappy for a bit of privacy, so he followed Nicholas to a very luxurious solar and happily accepted the proffered spot on a sofa. The port was indeed fine, the fire very lovely, and the feeling of safety palpable.
He was happy he’d enjoyed all three for the quarter hour he managed before Nicholas handed him a particular ring and ruined them all.
Rùnach looked at his father’s ring, that flat onyx stone set in a silver that never tarnished, then looked at his uncle.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Ruith gave it to me, of course.”
“Dare I ask why?” Rùnach said grimly.
Nicholas seemed to be considering his words rather more carefully than Rùnach was comfortable with. “I believe he thought I might find another keeper for it when the time was right.”
“Me?” Rùnach asked with a weary sigh.
“It would seem so. And how fortunate that you’ve arrived just in time to take it with you.”
“Foresight, my lord uncle?”
“A hunch.”
“Which for you is the same thing,” Rùnach said sourly. He shot Nicholas a look. “Why is it I suspect nothing ever happened within the borders of Diarmailt that you didn’t see beforehand and plan for?”
Nicholas smiled. “What leads you to believe my sight was limited to my own borders?”
Rùnach laughed in spite of himself “You and Miach. You no doubt leave the Council of Kings all aflutter.”
“I certainly don’t,” Nicholas said, “not any longer. No one knows I’m alive, which is as it should be. It saves Simeon the trouble of wondering what I think of how he managed to lose the crown to that damned Stefan of Wychweald. Greedy little wretch.”
“Who?” Rùnach asked with a smile. “Your nephew Simeon or Miach’s cousin?”
“Both, which is why Diarmailt is nothing more than a very wealthy duchy absorbed into a larger realm, to my eternal disgust.” Nicholas sighed. “I imagine none of them cares any longer.”
“Don’t they?” Rùnach asked.