Deceiving the Bandit Lord

by Elle Clouse

  Brogan looked out the kitchen window, the snow covered on the ground erasing any signs of autumn. If the wind blew chill enough, the ground would freeze and the snow wouldn’t melt until spring. They’d starve with their current stores and twice as many mouths.

  “Does the manor have a hot house?”

  “Yes, although it hasn’t worked for years,” Glenn replied. “Too many broken windows and the heater never stays lit anymore. We used to be able to grow year-round when it was working.”

  Fixing hot house would be a priority now. Maybe with some of Ardhor’s magic, they could force some seeds. They needed the produce and he needed to stay busy. Kiera would kill him for trifling with Lachlan’s cousin.

  Glenn set a stack of plates on the counter and pushed them toward him. Brogan took them to the dining hall which sat on the opposite of the great hearth. He set enough spots for the whole caravan. Like the tea set, nothing matched and most were chipped. He didn’t have a single piece of silverware; wooden spoons would have to do. Each setting had a goblet or a tankard or teacup for wine.

  “Still better than Hell’s Gate,” he muttered to himself. The long dining table remained in good condition: hand carved legs with leaves and vines. The surface could hold a shine again with some polish and hard work.

  “Hell’s Gate? Stories of that place say it’s worse than the hell it was named after.” Glenn stood in the kitchen doorway, a soup tureen in his hands.

  “Aye, it’s appropriately named. Let’s just say I wasn’t there by choice and lucky to be out of there.”

  Glenn nodded and set the tureen at the center of the table. “I shall fetch the guardsmen.”

  Brogan turned and bound up the closest stair, anxious and excited to see Aisling again. The upper floor was quiet and he guessed the boys had settled their sleeping situation. He knocked and Bowen pulled the door open.

  “Dinner is ready.”

  The twins bounced up from their beds and sped past him. Bowen sighed and moped behind them but turned with a question on his lips.

  “Turn right at the bottom of the stair and take the first hall.”

  Brogan paused before the master suite door and straightened his tunic before knocking. Aisling answered, swinging the door open only enough to show her face.

  “Miss Cotton has run out of chamomile tea,” Aisling said in a hushed tone. “And she needs it to sleep get to sleep at night. I thought I’d ask for it now before she makes demands at bedtime.”

  “I’ll have to check with Gle—” He caught himself, pulling forth his practiced lord persona. He’d been so looking forward to seeing her, he’d almost forgotten. “I’ll check with my steward and see what I can provide. We’ll do our best to accommodate.”

  Aisling smiled. “Good, sudden weather changes always fatigues her. I want to make sure she can rest and stay healthy.”

  Brogan wasn’t sure what sorts of tea Glenn kept but it was sweet of her to look at her nanny. And Ardhor would be able to brew something up, surely.

  “The kindness is appreciated,” she continued. “And thank you for sheltering us from this storm.”

  She nodded to the window down the hall where white and wind flew past the glass. They were stuck in the manor for a while, by the looks of it. Brogan couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

  “Any traveler is welcome here in the face of such a gale.”

  “And the fact I am the king’s cousin? That didn’t sway your mind in our favor?” She tilted her head to the side and watched him.

  He smiled. “Any traveler is welcome, but it didn’t go unnoticed who you were. I’m sorry I missed you at court, I would have liked to make your acquaintance. The second coronation was abrupt and my cousin was insistent I attend to my affairs here.”

  “Now’s your chance, my lord. You can ask me anything you want before Miss Cotton joins us.” Her brows rose and she waited for his response.

  There was so much he wanted to know he couldn’t settle on one question. “I’d be content to listen to anything you want to tell me.”

  Her mouth fell open as if in shock. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say? Certainly not lordly, as he was trying to be.

  “You do realize my existence has been limited to needle point, etiquette, and the occasional foray into archery?”

  He’d seen glimpses of her spirit at Cearbhall behind the guard of her chaperones. Her sass was encouraging. “Talk about whatever you wish, my lady, and I shall be a rapt audience.”

  “All I want to hear is a promise when this snow lets up, I accompany you and the men on the hunt you no doubt have planned. My brother Connor speaks often of the hunting in the North, and I think it’s high time I figure out what he goes on and on about.”

  “You have my word, my lady.” An odd request but easy to accommodate. They had no hounds for a massive hunt but trapping and snaring were simple. Brogan had learned from his father to catch game when the shillings were scarce. “Shall I escort you to dinner?”

  The door Aisling had been holding closed swung open and the stern-faced Miss Cotton stood beside her. The arm he’d offered was gripped by bony, aged fingers. Not the woman he’d wanted to escort down to dinner.

  He led Miss Cotton down the hall to the stair with Aisling striding behind. A belch echoed through the hall followed by laughter, the boys had found the dining hall just fine.

  Chapter 3

  Declan glared out his study window at the first snow of the year. Lazy waves of flakes echoed the storm that berated the northern estates. It would be a long harsh winter for Dubhan. Especially as a lone horseman approached and it could be only one man.

  Try as he might, Declan hadn’t been able to recover his stolen shipment and it tarnished his reputation as the man who could get anything. News of his folly had spread faster because his failed client had been the emperors brother. He’d avoided the consequences until now, but his doom rode up to his front door.

  Declan summoned his manservant to him with a pull of a cord. If he was going to welcome death into his home, he could at least pretend to be civilized. His aged, weathered servant entered through a small side door and waited.

  “We’ll have a guest in a few moments, prepare some refreshments. I’ll receive him here.”

  The man nodded and exited. Declan smoothed his jerkin, his mind racing for a solution. The emperor’s brother wasn’t a man to cross and expect to live. He was out of bargaining chips. The door opened, and he glanced up to see Caitlin, his half-sister, letting herself in. She always knew the best time to get in his way.

  “Father wishes to speak to you.” Caitlin approached, dressed in her favorite turquoise wrap and a chocolate brown dress. The color always accented the red in her otherwise blonde hair.

  “It can wait for a bit, I’m sure.” Declan pulled open a drawer and stared down at his last relic. He’d been saving it, perhaps to sell or bargain with, but with Fintan banging on his door, Declan thought of another use for the charm. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you. It belonged to David.”

  She halted her advance and bit her bottom lip. “Really?” Her gaze jumped to the ring he held. He knew if he mentioned her former beau she’d be interested. “I thought his family had claimed all his things.”

  “All but this.” He knew it would take little convincing for her to wear the ring, she’d been enamored with David. As if their father would allow her to marry a vintner’s son but she’d been determined. And now that he was gone, she clung to anything with a connection to the lad. “Take it.”

  Caitlin held the ring pinched between her fingers and stared at the amber stone set in the bronze band. The ring wasn’t visually attractive, but a wizard knew it’s power and someone with no magic wouldn’t know any better. “I will treasure it for all my days.”

  Declan held his breath, waiting for her to put it on. The spell wouldn’t work if she didn’t willing put on the ring. Every relic had a quirk but the more difficult to navigate the stronger the effect.

&nb
sp; Moments stretched on until she slid the trinket on to her middle finger.

  Now for the test. “Go sit in that chair, Caitlin.”

  She turned and sat at the chair he’d pointed to. Simple enough, but not a true test. He glanced at her wrap, a gift from that boy.

  “Caitlin, throw your wrap into the fire.”

  She stood, removed the entangled shawl from her shoulders and strode to the fire. He expected some sort of fight, but she dropped the garment on the blaze as one would toss a scrap of paper.

  “He is in the library,” Cailtin said.

  Declan strode past her and into the hall. Caitlin followed him out of the study but turned the opposite direction to her room. He flung open the door to the library and made the nurse jump from her chair. She huffed at Declan but returned to her needle work at his father’s side. The old man sat hunched in his wheelchair before the hearth, a book in his hands and a permanent scowl on his face.

  “Father, I have business to attend to in Cape Town.”

  The old man glanced up from his book, his gaze hard. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Several weeks.”

  “What sort of business?” He set the book down in his lap.

  “Marchant accounts to collect upon.”

  The old man grunted. “What about your affairs here? You need to hire a thatcher to fix the stable roof and a mason for the outer fence. And that sister of yours still isn’t married, even after we hosted that ball for her. And what was all that ruckus about stolen goods? You have business here, Declan.”

  “My business cannot wait while the roof and fence can. I have a lead on my stolen goods from a reliable source. And Caitlin sullied her reputation with that bandit and there’s nothing to be done for it. We’ll be lucky for an offer of marriage from a fishmonger.” Not quite the truth, Declan had marriage plans for Caitlin, but they would wait until the time was right. Her prospects had to look bleak.

  “Nonsense, she is still a nobleman’s daughter. She— “

  “Enough father, I will attend to it when I return. If you can keep her from making a fool of herself while I’m gone, it would be appreciated.”

  “Whatever was stolen better be important.”

  “If it makes you feel better hire a thatcher yourself, the coffers can handle it. Just keep Caitlin away from the workers.”

  Declan turned and marched out while his father sputtered for breath. His sister was merely a pawn in his grand scheme, but keeping her at a disadvantage was key. His father might not repeat Caitlin’s supposed indiscretions but his nurse was an information sponge. She had no problem repeating everything she heard. And Caitlin was so addled from his spell she wouldn’t deny or agree to anything.

  The snow still fell outside and more clouds rolled in. His dark stallion stood ready at the stables. He added his satchel to the saddlebags then guided the beast to the courtyard. Declan mounted and kicked up to a gallop. He had miles to travel, a storm rolling in, and a bandit to track down.

  AS BROGAN GROGGILY walked through the hall to the kitchen, he was glad they had fortified all the doors and windows. Cold seeped into his bones that his threadbare blanket couldn’t stave off. His first chore was to hunt down the drafts and repair the damage.

  He peered out the kitchen window, the storm had left several inches of snow on the ground. Overnight, the autumn was engulfed by winter and he had a house full of guests to care for. The caravan guard, five in total, occupied the cots in the repaired servant’s wing. Phelan, Glenn, and he were left with the floor. He arched his back to stretch out the muscles.

  The kitchen was empty but a kettle set over the cook fire and the steam filled the room with the rich, earthy aroma of fresh ground coffee. He poured himself a mug, took a deep breath and closed his eyes, his worries forgotten for a moment.

  The snores of his guests echoed down the hall. He’d let them sleep while he hunted down the hot house. He took his mug and walked through the dark halls of the manor. Glenn’s directions were correct and he found a solid oak door that opened to a long, cold glass room. Most of the window panes were cracked, broken or missing. Snow covered the stone pavers of the far floor.

  “Looks like you have a lot of repairs to do.”

  Brogan spun around, sloshing his coffee onto his fingers. He hissed, switched hands, and shook off the scalding liquid.

  “Ardhor!”

  High cheekbones, tall pointed ears, and a stoic face, Ardhor stood in the doorway to the manor, unconcerned for Brogan’s injury.

  “I didn’t expect you here so soon.” Brogan inspected his hand, pink and irritated skin but nothing more.

  “I am here on schedule.”

  “But the storm. We won’t be able to get the carriage out of the stable unless we get some snow melt.”

  “The mountain I grew up on has such storms. It is not a hindrance.”

  “How did you come to find me here, though?”

  “Your steward let me in.”

  “Glenn let you in?” Brogan raised his brows.

  “Yes,” Ardhor replied. “He said you were expecting me and pointed me back here. I assume he’s unpacking Kiera’s care package as we speak. Is this a hot house?”

  Brogan grunted and turned back to the broken iron and glass.

  “It was once.” Brogan took a sip of his coffee. “I plan to fix it up as soon as possible.”

  Ardhor frowned. “I suppose this as good a venue as ever to start your training as well?”

  “Really?” Brogan walked to the end of the room to where the snow collected; it crunched beneath his boot.

  “Yes,” Ardhor confirmed. “If something goes wrong, no one is about to get in the way.”

  “That’s so reassuring.” His tone was flat. Although flattering Ardhor thought he might wreak some havoc with his magic, he was going to be disappointed.

  “Did you read the book my father gave you?”

  “Mostly.” He leafed through it and skimmed a few pages. He fell asleep during the introduction and now the book was in a trunk in the servant’s quarters.

  “Then let’s start with a practical application attempt.” Ardhor approached the closest cracked pane of glass. It had a single line etched through the pane. “I want you to try to repair this piece of glass. Since all the pieces are present, it should be fairly simple to make it whole again.”

  Brogan sipped his coffee and stared at the elf.

  “Some find it helpful to touch the glass.” Ardhor pointed. “With practice, you won’t have to touch but only need to see it.”

  Brogan sighed, set his cup on the edge of a planter, and placed his fingertips on the frozen glass.

  “Clear your mind. Focus on the glass as a single piece.”

  Brogan pictured the glass as whole. From his reading, his will had to be greater than the elements that comprised the glass. He had to bend nature itself. The concept was ludicrous. Even though he’d seen magic before, he’d never done it himself.

  “You cannot have any doubt.”

  Brogan tried to remember what his aunt did while working her magic. She subtly manipulated the world around her and no one noticed.

  The glass splintered further as his mind wandered. He snapped his hand back and a new fractured spider-webbed from where his finger left a print in the frost.

  Brogan frowned.

  Ardhor signed. “Well, at least we know you have power.”

  “How do you know the heat of my hand didn’t make it crack?” He looked down at his hand, which didn’t feel the cold from glass as it should.

  “You were quite noisy,” Ardhor commented.

  “Noisy?”

  Ardhor laid his hand on the same pane of glass. “Magic has a sort of sound. You have to know what to listen for, but if you are attuned...”— the cracks in the glass shattered in reverse until all that remained was a single piece of glass— “you can know when magic is being used. As a caster, you can learn to mask the sound, but no one is ever silent while working magic.�
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  Ardhor tapped the glass with his fingernail and smiled.

  “Not everyone starts their magical training in the same place, though.” Ardhor looked around the space. “Perhaps we should try something a little more rudimentary such as...”

  Brogan stepped to the next broken pane and placed his hand on it. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He visualized a whole plate of glass and projected it upon the window at his fingertips. Clear, cool, smooth. Perfect. His sole desire.

  The glass crinkled and he opened his eyes. He’d done it!

  Ardhor nodded with a grin.

  Brogan hadn’t felt a surge of power. Not like he imagined. His projection took concentration, but he felt the same afterward. He looked to the next pane.

  “Since you are new to the practice of magic, you will fatigue quickly as you learn. I recommend a few more panes and then we focus on something else. If you use too much too fast, you can make yourself ill.”

  Brogan looked down the length of the hot house. Hundreds of panes of glass needed repair. The far end was in the worst state, with glass shards glittering amongst the new fallen snow.

  He turned to Ardhor, who repaired another pane of glass, the missing corner shard floating up from the ground to complete the pane.

  Brogan set his fingers on the next pane of glass and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, the glass was whole again. “We can get this done in a few hours, want to wager?”

  Chapter 4

  “Miss Aisling, you cannot go about the manor without a proper chaperone.” Miss Cotton sat up in the bed but wavered and laid back down.

  “I will be fine.” Aisling tucked her old nanny into bed. She served a cup of tea from their morning table service and set it on the nightstand. “You get an awful cold every winter and this year is no exception. You need rest and I am not going to sit in this room listening to you snore. I’ll find Bowen and all will be proper. I promise.”