Dreamspinner

by Lynn Kurland

Nicholas shook his head. “Simeon has magic of his own, of course, and a great amount of it, but he’s less worried about it than he is with the keeping up of the library. It leaves all the practical working of spells to the lads at Buidseachd, but I suppose there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “Things change,” Rùnach offered.

  “They do, don’t they?”

  Rùnach shot his uncle a warning look. “The only thing that’s going to change with me is my plan to use Weger’s mark to secure a position with some obscure lord who won’t have a clue who I am. I’ve no interest in the inner workings of the Nine Kingdoms.” He looked at the ring, then at his uncle. “And as such, this might be better given to someone else.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Nicholas said. “You’ll find a use for it eventually, I imagine. I wouldn’t lose it, though, like you did your notes.”

  Rùnach blew the hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t intend to lose my notes.”

  “You might want to find them sooner rather than later, you know.”

  Rùnach shook his head. “They were just scribblings. Nothing anyone would find to be useful. Nothing will come of it.”

  “So say all who regret things later,” Nicholas said with a smile, “though in this case you may be right.” He started to speak, then shook his head. “I don’t know, Rùnach. My dreams are troubled of late.”

  Rùnach suppressed the urge to groan. First the ship’s captain, then Weger, and now Nicholas. He held up his hand to ward his uncle off.

  “Things are as they should be,” he said firmly. “Ruith sealed my father into that pitiful little garden, Lothar’s safely tucked into Gobhann, and all is right with the world.”

  “And your bastard brothers?”

  “The keep at Ceangail—”

  “Aingidheachd,” Nicholas interjected mildly.

  Rùnach looked at him evenly. “We never refer to it as such. Ever. We called it Doibhail.”

  “That was not the original name, which your father well knew,” Nicholas said quietly. “There was evil there at that keep before he ever took the place for his own. You might as well call it by its true name.” He looked at Rùnach seriously. “I believe, my lad, that you might do well to make calling things by their proper names a habit.”

  Rùnach suppressed the urge to get up and pace. Just hearing the name, he had to admit, was enough to send chills down his spine. “Very well,” he said, trying to match Nicholas’s tone, “Aingidheachd is destroyed, which leaves my bastard brothers seeking shelter in the witchwoman of Fàs’s potting shed, a place I understand Franciscus of Cothromaiche found to his liking recently.”

  Nicholas only smiled. “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, though I understand she was passing fond of you.”

  “As unlikely as that is,” Rùnach admitted, “there is truth to it. Then again, I believe I endeared myself to her warty-nosed self by building her an extension to her greenhouse with my own two hands and crafting a spell that endlessly watered her more delicate plants without her having to do anything.”

  Nicholas laughed a little. “And what possessed you to do either?”

  “It annoyed my father,” Rùnach muttered. “That, and she is, as you know, a meticulous journalist of the obscure and difficult to ferret out. I wanted a look in her library.”

  “Did she offer it?”

  “Repeatedly.” Rùnach couldn’t help but smile a little at memories he hadn’t brought to mind in years. “She is not as unpleasant a woman as she’s rumored to be, her personal habits aside. Her sons give her a bad reputation.” He shook his head slowly, then looked down at what he was holding in his hand. He considered, then looked at Nicholas. “I can’t imagine this will come in handy as I will never, ever come close enough to Aingidheachd for it to be of any use.”

  “Ah, never,” Nicholas said, rubbing his hands together, “what an interesting word.”

  “You know, Your Majesty, the only reason I’m not swearing at you right now is because I was taught to be kind to old men.”

  Nicholas laughed merrily. “Cheeky whelp.”

  “Does that mean you won’t slay me for telling you you’re a thoroughly obnoxious, interfering, exasperating…” Rùnach took a deep breath. “Good breeding prevents me from saying more.”

  Nicholas smiled. “Rùnach, my dearest boy, you are truly your mother’s son.” His smile faded. “The only thing that comforts me is that she saw you as a man. I know she was pleased.”

  “I daresay she wouldn’t have been pleased with my having hidden in Buidseachd for so long,” Rùnach said with a sigh.

  “You did what you thought appropriate,” Nicholas said. “And even I will admit that no time spent in the company of that young rogue from Cothromaiche is ever wasted.”

  “Young?” Rùnach said with a snort. “He’s at least a pair of millennia older than you are.”

  “Ah, but I’m so much more mature and seasoned,” Nicholas said with absolutely no concession to irony. “The burden of kingship, don’t you know.”

  “Nay, Your Grace, I wouldn’t know,” Rùnach said, “thankfully.”

  Nicholas put his hands on his knees. “We can discuss that later, perhaps. I understand we have a very talented puss in the kitchen, decimating the mouse population. I think I should like to have a look at him.”

  “It’s my horse. He was a gift from Sgath.”

  Nicholas winked at him. “So he said as he was lying on my hearth rug late last night, filling me in on all your activities. He is angling for a mighty adventure, in case you were curious.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Bragging rights, I daresay, should he ever encounter his Angesand cousins.” Nicholas nodded wisely. “That pony has plans.”

  “He’s a menace.”

  Nicholas laughed and rose. “Take your ease here, nephew, until you grow weary enough to be abed. I wouldn’t worry about anything untoward. There is protection enough laid over the university.”

  Rùnach looked at him sharply. “I wasn’t worried.”

  Nicholas only shrugged. “Just making conversation.” He walked over to the door, then paused with his hand on the latch. “I saw someone interesting walking along the road from Gobhann to Bere the other day.”

  “Dare I ask who it was?” Rùnach said, shifting on the sofa to look at his uncle.

  “Acair of Ceangail.”

  Rùnach shrugged, ignoring how the solar had become suddenly so completely still. He didn’t like the way even the fire had paused, as if it held its breath. It occurred to him that he might have seen Acair as well, though he couldn’t bring himself to even begin to think about why his father’s youngest bastard would have been walking toward Gobhann.

  “Interesting,” Rùnach managed. “Perhaps he was simply out for a stroll.”

  Nicholas lifted his eyebrows briefly. “He’s a bit far from home, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I have nothing to say about the activities of my father’s natural sons,” Rùnach said evenly. “They’re free to carry on as they please, without my interference.”

  Nicholas smiled briefly. “And so they are. If you think about it, though, you might want to mention it to Miach.”

  Rùnach looked at him sharply. “Why would I want to do that? And why would I see Miach?”

  “Aren’t you taking Aisling to Tor Neroche? I understand she’s looking for a lad to do a bit of dirty work.”

  “Eavesdropping, Your Grace?”

  “She talks in her sleep.”

  “I didn’t hear her.”

  “You were too busy snoring in front of the fire,” Nicholas said cheerfully, then opened the door and left the solar.

  Rùnach scowled. He suspected that just making conversation was one thing the former wizard king of Diarmailt never did. If something was said, it meant more than was apparent at first blush.

  Rùnach stared down at the ring in his hand and contemplated things he didn’t particularly care to, namely family he didn’t particularl
y want to claim. Díolain, the eldest of his father’s bastards, was powerful, the rest of them powerful and foul-tempered, but Acair…well, he was a lad of a different sort altogether. He had inherited all of his father’s charm, all of his cleverness, the bulk of both Gair and the witchwoman of Fàs’s power, all seasoned liberally with terrifying ambition.

  Rùnach had loathed him from the moment he’d been old enough to see him for who he was.

  That he should be wandering around Melksham Island—

  He shook his head. It was none of his affair. His half brothers didn’t know he was alive. More to the point, there was nothing he could do to stop them from wreaking whatever havoc they chose to even if they did know he was alive. All he could do was help Aisling to Tor Neroche if that was where she chose to go, secure her a lad to rid her village of its pestilence, then find himself an equally obscure village to call home for the rest of his long, ordinary life.

  He was tempted to leave his father’s ring on Nicholas’s side table but couldn’t bring himself to. The only thing he could say about it was that he wasn’t tempted to put it on, though he had never seen his father without it on his hand. He couldn’t imagine what use Nicholas could possibly believe it would have for him, but he supposed he would be wise not to question it. It was best to just stick it in a safe pocket and forget about it.

  Which he did as he rose and started to pace in front of Nicholas’s fire. Unfortunately, that only distracted him for a moment or two before he had to address what vexed him the most at present. Well, perhaps that wasn’t the right word for it. He wasn’t vexed by Aisling.

  She would have troubled his dreams, if he’d had any.

  He simply couldn’t fathom what was so important that a wench would travel however far she’d traveled to a place where she would be completely out of her depth in order to beg aid from a man notorious for not offering any. And now Weger had done her the very great favor of sending her off after another wild hare. In truth, there was no point in going all the way to Tor Neroche to find a mercenary, if a mercenary was what she needed. If all she needed was a lad to clear out a simple village, there was no reason he couldn’t…do…

  No reason he couldn’t do it for her.

  He felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. It was the usual feeling he had whilst contemplating the doing of good he didn’t particularly want to do.

  Damnation, but the last thing he wanted to do was rush off to some rustic locale in the middle of some endless stretch of farmland and dispatch the local bully. He could see receiving a payment of several cages of live chickens he would have to then slaughter and cook. Worse still, he would likely find himself watching Aisling be fawned over by the alderman’s most charming son who would woo and wed her whilst Rùnach turned the spit over his fire so his supper didn’t burn.

  It was almost enough to have him reaching for another glass of port.

  A pity he hadn’t yet finished the first one so he could have indulged in more.

  He dragged his hands through his hair. Despite what he’d said to Aisling the day before, he didn’t particularly want any detours from his well-laid plans. Though chivalry demanded that he at least get her off in the right direction, as well as perhaps escorting her to where she was going.

  And solve a few mysteries along the way.

  He turned the words she’d murmured over in his mind, blessing his mother—and his father, it had to be conceded—for passing on the ability to hear something once and have it memorized. He had never heard words such as those, but they weren’t mindless babbling or the result of fevered dreams, for she’d said a handful of those words more than once. He shook his head. They obviously meant something. Now all he had to do was find out what.

  He left his uncle’s solar rather more confused than when he’d entered it. His life had been so simple at Buidseachd. Selfish, he supposed, but simple. Now he was being pulled into something that smelled rather strongly of a quest, by a woman whose only fault was that she’d been sent off into the wilds of the Nine Kingdoms to find someone to do for her village what they could not do for themselves.

  He walked without haste to Aisling’s bedchamber. He knocked softly, then was slightly surprised to have her open the door herself. She looked weary but otherwise quite sound.

  And rather less plain than she should have in order to properly masquerade as a lad.

  “Will you come in?” she asked.

  He leaned against the doorframe and smiled faintly. “I only came to fetch my gear, if it pleases you. I daresay you are well enough to dispense with my nursemaiding services.”

  She only held on to the door. “I appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”

  “It was my very great pleasure.”

  She looked at him solemnly. “Aren’t we polite today.”

  “I could ask you questions that make you uncomfortable, if you’d rather.”

  She pushed the door open fully. “Fetch your gear and begone, foul blight.”

  He smiled. “How cheeky you’ve become. Feeling comfortable, are you?”

  She sobered immediately. “I shouldn’t—”

  He pushed away from the doorframe and eased past her. “Of course you should. I’ll get out from underfoot, then you’ll have a lovely night’s rest.” His pack he had left in the bedchamber next to hers, so his fetching was limited to books and his scribblings. He gathered those up, then retreated to the door. He turned and looked at her. “You should feel comfortable here. Lord Nicholas has insisted.”

  “Has he?” she asked quietly.

  He took her words, considered them very briefly, then shook his head slowly. “You and I, Mistress Aisling, should have speech together some day when nothing but frankness rules the day. I think you would feel much happier were you to unburden yourself to a trusted confidant.”

  She looked up at him. “Are you that trusted confidant?”

  He hesitated only slightly. “I could be, if you willed it.”

  She looked at the books in his arms. “Do you think Lord Nicholas might allow me to have a careful look in his library?”

  “Without a doubt,” he assured her. “Shall I escort you there in the morning?”

  “You would come with me? Willingly?”

  “Of course,” he said, surprised. “Why wouldn’t—” He paused, then sighed. “Very well, I can see why you might think differently, but aye, I will come with you willingly. Quite happily, even.”

  She looked at him seriously. “I don’t mind being alone, but company might be a pleasant change. If you’ve nothing else to do.”

  The unknowing was killing him. He could feel his mother standing behind him, leaning up to whisper in his ear, you know what curiosity killed, don’t you, my son? His courageous, beautiful, brilliant mother who had been beguiled by Gair of Ceangail, then paid the ultimate price for trying to free her children from his evil. He couldn’t begin to express how much he had loved her. She had been curious, understood what had driven him, dropped unsolvable riddles into casual conversation because she knew the solving of those riddles gave him pleasure.

  Unmanly as it might have sounded, there were times he missed her desperately.

  He pulled himself back to the conversation at hand, then smiled at Aisling. “I should likely drag whatever swordsman I can find in this bastion of scholars out to the garden in the morning and keep myself from turning to fat, but I’ll seek you out afterward and see what you’ve found—and make sure you’ve been fed.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. She looked up at him. “You needn’t be kind to me, you know. I have my quest and all, which I should be seeing to fairly soon.”

  Perhaps he had behaved more boorishly at Gobhann—and all points leading up to those miserable few days in Gobhann—than he’d feared. He would have reached out and tucked hair behind her ear or touched her elbow or taken her hand but his hands were full of tools he fully intended to use to figure out exactly who she was, something she obviously didn’t want him to know
.

  He was tempted to simply turn and bang his head against the wall until good sense returned.

  She looked at him seriously for another brief moment, then she shut the door in his face.

  He stood there for several minutes, wondering when it was he’d last had a door shut in his face. At least she had shut it quietly instead of slamming it.

  And hard on the heels of that bit of dangerous curiosity came the thought that he had no time for a woman in his life at present, particularly one who didn’t behave in ways he could understand. She wasn’t elegant, didn’t engage in delicate flirtations, and remained unimpressed by whatever rusty manners he had attempted to trot out for her inspection. She refused to divulge important details about her quest, fully believed heroic tales were naught but myths, and could set spinning wheels to flying without touching them.

  And if he didn’t get her out in the sunlight at least once and determine the exact color of her eyes, he was going to lose his wits.

  He turned and walked away whilst he still could. He set his burdens down in the bedchamber he’d been provided, considered, then turned and walked back the way he had come, continuing on until he reached the courtyard. He ran bodily into his uncle, then caught the man by the arm and steadied them both.

  “My apologies,” Rùnach said grimly.

  “And where are you off to in such a rush?”

  “I need a run.” Rùnach pursed his lips. “I don’t suppose you have anything as pedestrian as lists here, do you?”

  “I suppose we do.” Nicholas pointed across the courtyard. “Follow that passageway past my solar and continue on. You’ll find them easily enough, I imagine.”

  “Thank you.” He started to walk away, then looked at his host. “No prying questions?”

  “Rùnach, you wound me,” Nicholas said, putting his hand to his heart. “And you have obviously spent too much time with young Soilléir. He has no sense of grace or propriety. I, on the other hand, have it in abundance.”

  “Thank you. Again.”

  “That, and I don’t need to pry,” Nicholas said easily. “I can see everything written right there on your face.”

  Rùnach would have cursed him, but as he’d said before, his mother had taught him to be kind to old men. So, instead, he made his uncle a bow, then turned and strode off before he had to hear another affectionate chuckle or think too long on a woman who left him scratching his head.