by Elle Clouse
“Well, he’s been looking for me. Or Lord Knightly specifically.” Brogan read over the note again. “And he found Erann. Worked her over to get information about me.”
“Is Erann alright?” Phelan leaned forward in the chair, his face pale as the outdoor snow.
“Brigid found her and is caring for her. Who is Uilleam Reid?” The note was written in a skilled hand, not the scrawl either of the woman knew, and signed by the unknown name. The name sounded familiar but Brogan couldn’t place where he’d heard it before.
“Brigid’s lad, the one who comes and goes like the wind.”
Ardhor stepped forward. “What did you do to make this Blackling fellow despise you so much?”
Brogan looked up and sighed. Time to confess to someone. “Before we came to Cearbhall, we stole a shipment from Lord Blackling. The lord could only report the silks missing but it was an amulet packed in the crate that drew the highest payload.”
“What sort of amulet?” Ardhor’s features drew tight.
“The magical kind. The kind that Blackling shouldn’t have had and that was worth a fortune to the right people.”
“And you relieved him of it?”
“Yes.” Brogan sighed. “Pawned it off to a pirate and moved on. Probably ruined him both financially and socially. His black market dealings were going to get him killed sooner or later. I guess in this case it’s later.”
Ardhor frowned. “He’s probably trying to hunt down that amulet.”
“Phelan, you need get Erann and Brigid here as soon as possible. Take what supplies you need, the fastest horse, whatever it takes.”
“I will leave straight away.” Phelan stood.
“You’ll travel faster with a guide,” Ardhor said. “I can take you as far as the city limits. I don’t dare enter Talisin though, elves aren’t welcome in Northam.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Phelan smiled, clapped the elf on the shoulder and stepped out.
“While we are away, practice our drills. Does the letter say if Erann revealed your location?”
Brogan looked down. “No, it doesn’t say. I’m more concerned with Blackling coming after my friends.”
“He’ll come here too.”
Brogan’s stomach fell. “I know.”
Ardhor saw himself out. Brogan stared at the closed door for a long moment. Blackling, a mere after thought once the amulet was sold, was now going to threaten his friends and his home.
His home. Brogan pulled out his chair and sat at the desk. He tossed the letter into the small fireplace and watched the paper burn. His secret was safe from prying eyes for the moment. But Aisling had to be told. To be warned, that Brogan’s past was about to catch up with him. He couldn’t have her harmed. Not even if it cost him his barony. Or his life.
AISLING’S DAILY WALK gave her no comfort. Brogan had been scarce since the mysterious message that sent Ardhor and Phelan on an errand to the capital in the middle of winter. No response to any of her missives to her cousin who usually replied promptly.
“Oh, Miss Murphy!”
Aisling looked up from her wanderings where she’d stopped before a large window. The nanny waved a familiar letter in her hands, and a smile stretched ear to ear. Aisling’s heart sunk.
“Where did you get that?” Aisling asked. She had left the thing buried in her trunk where only the determined would find it.
“I was tidying up the room.”
“You were snooping through my things again,” Aisling corrected. She grabbed the letter and tucked it away in her gown. She should’ve thrown it into the fire before it was found out.
“Congratulations my lady!” Miss Cotton hugged her. “What an honor to marry the Count of Dubhan, I can think of no other match for you.”
“Nothing official has been announced.” Aisling twisted out of the embrace and stepped back. She fought to keep herself calm, the idea of marry the count made her skin crawl. Especially now that Brogan occupied her mind while awake and asleep. “I have yet to speak to my father and voice my opinion on the matter.”
“But what is there to consider?” Miss Cotton’s voice seemed to echo down the hall. Could they be heard down in the great hall? As far as the kitchen? “You would be a powerful woman as Lord Blackling’s wife. You’d want for nothing.”
Aisling took a breath to respond but the floor creaked behind her. She turned.
“Lord Fletcher,” she gasped, her heart falling into her stomach. How much had he been able to hear? “I didn’t see you there.”
“Are congratulations in order?” His tone was flat, his lips pressed into a hard line.
She felt the color drain from her face. If only Miss Cotton hadn’t been so nosy. She meant to tell him, but not like this. Never like this.
“Not quite,” Aisling muttered.
“Miss Murphy has an offer of marriage from the Count of Dubhan.” Miss Cotton hugged Aisling with an arm around the shoulders. “Is not that just fantastic news?”
Brogan gave a long pause, his eyes searching her face. “Yes, felicitations.” His jaw clenched. “It is a great match, to be sure. If you will excuse me. The hour grows late.”
Aisling heart dropped. “Wait!”
Brogan turned, his gaze searching her face. She glanced at Miss Cotton, she couldn’t explain. Not with her chaperone present. But he waited for her to say something. Anything.
“Thank you.” Aisling plead with her eyes, to understand she didn’t have a choice, that there was more to say on the matter, that she loved him.
His jaw relaxed. “Good evening.”
Staring at his back as he strode away, Aisling wondered why she had let propriety halt her actions. Wasn’t her whole plan to ruin her reputation so Declan wouldn’t want her? Brogan’s easy manner and affection had made her forget her plans. Time to reassess and finally make a movie.
“I’m going to go see Corinna.”
“The cook? Hardly fit company for a future Countess.”
Aisling scowled. “Corinna’s a good friend.”
She stormed away, opposite of where Brogan had left. Aisling had to get away from Miss Cotton or she’d say something cruel. The woman was only doing her job but it felt like everything was closing in on her.
Aisling approached the kitchen but no one was there. Corinna may have finished early and gone to bed. The counters were clean, dished put away, fire packed for a long night. She sighed. Corinna wasn’t really who she wanted to see but she was far more favorable than Miss Cotton.
She paced before the hearth. The one she wanted to see probably hated her now. Why hadn’t she told Brogan about the arranged marriage? She had so many chances.
A howling wolf in the distance drew her to the kitchen window. The moon kissed the field in silver and more snow fell to add to the coverage. She wondered if the howler was a wild wolf or one of her wolfkin.
Aisling gasped. An option existed which she hadn’t considered before. She didn’t have to marry the count or sully herself to be free. All she had to do was run. People disappeared in the Wylderlands all the time, why would she be any different? But she could return to her mother, live among other wolfkin without having to hide.
But Brogan... She closed her eyes, she didn’t want to leave him. Not without knowing if he felt anything for her. A marriage between them might be impossible but did marriage matter when you’re in love? She’d rather know love and lose it than never know the love at all. She may marry among her mother’s people but she’d miss Brogan for the rest of her life.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks, her mind made up.
Chapter 15
A knock at the door brought his pacing to a halt. He glanced at the clock, just past midnight. The door inched open until Aisling’s lovely face peeked through. She stepped in and closed the door behind her, her eyes were rimmed with red from tears.
Be strong, Brogan. Maybe it was better she be engaged to someone else although it only made her more alluring.
“It’s l
ate, Miss Murphy.” He struggled to keep his voice even. “And you shouldn’t be alone with a man in his bedchamber.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Please listen to what I have to say. And when I’m done, if you want me to go, I’ll go. No questions.”
He crossed his arms and waited.
“I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I was going to tell you...”
“That you’re engaged?”
She sighed. “Yes. I received notice just before we arrived. I didn’t have a say in the matter. With a stroke of a pen, my father signed away my life.”
“Surely if you don’t want to wed this man, you can plead your case.” The longer she stood in his doorway, the more his hardened heart melted. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to linger.
“I’m a commodity to my father, something to be traded. And my betrothed, well, he isn’t known to be understanding.”
“Who is it?”
“Declan Blackling, Count of Duhban.”
Brogan scowled, clenching his fist. “No, he is not.”
“You know him?”
“By reputation mostly but we have crossed paths before. He cannot be counted as an ally of mine.” In fact, he was probably on his way to Armanta to retrieve the damn amulet Brogan stole. Pity he didn’t have it.
“Aisling, you cannot marry that man.”
“I know. And I won’t. But I can’t stay here either. Come spring, I’ll have to return home and if I do that, I’ll never be free.”
Brogan’s mind raced to find a way to keep her at Armanta. Did he dare gamble with Aisling’s safety? He’d risk his life to keep her from the clutches of Blackling, but her life must be safe. “How can I help?”
“I’ve got a plan. I can only think of one way to avoid marrying that—“ she scowled. “Hateful man. I can be gone in the morning; the M’Tyr won’t turn me away.”
His heart pinched at the thought of her leaving, but he couldn’t deny she’d be safest with her mother. The M’Tyr would hide her away better in the Wylderlands than anyplace in Northam. But he may never see her again.
“If that is what you wish.” Brogan couldn’t meet he gaze or he might try to talk her into staying. He couldn’t talk her out of her one chance to escape Blackling.
“I have one more wish.” She nibbled her bottom lip. She stepped away from the door, her gaze sweeping over the bed. “I was hoping...”
Brogan waited for her to continue.
“I wish that things were different.”
“I wish many things were different,” Brogan took a step forward and tucked a curl behind her ear. He wished he could do that for the rest of his life.
“I just have one request.”
“Anything,” he breathed. She only had to ask, and it was hers.
“Let me stay the night with you.” She looked up at him, her eyes full of adoration. “I want to know a loving embrace at least once and you are the only man I love.”
“Whatever you wish, Aisling.” He thought he’d never kiss her again when he overheard of her engagement. Now she wrapped her arms around his neck, on her tip toes, her lips eagerly seeking his. He couldn’t be angry with her. Brogan knew how hard it was to keep hard secrets; the longer held, the harder to confess.
And now he had one chance to sear his memory into her mind and he wasn’t going to waste a moment.
Chapter 16
Ardhor could smell the filth and grime miles away from the city. Even outside the tall walls, homes and business towered over the streets, shambling on top of one another until the sun could barely reach the cobblestone.
“The plan was to meet at The Last Road,” Phelan commented, waiving him into a leaning building smashed between two others. A faded wood sign swung above the door, a scene of a road leading off into the sunset barely visible.
Ardhor pulled his cap down, covering his ears and making his foray into the human realm less of a hassle. Thank the gods the snow has struck for south that no one questioned it.
“Come on, it’s not so bad.” Phelan opened the door and held it for him. Inside was row upon row of table and bench filled with men and women who thought bathing was optional. A barkeep stood behind a long counter passing out tankards for coin and a stair lead up in the back.
“Your nose must be deadened to all scent.” Ardhor questioned his willingness to guide Phelan to the city but he’d have been days later and worse for wear. Ardhor had come to respect Brogan as a friend and a member of his crew was in dire need. And a pressing curiosity about the world his half-sister left behind was now sated. No wonder she agreed to marry a stranger to get out of the stench that was Talisan.
Once inside, only a few eyes turned their way. Most bar patrons were too concerned with their mead or ale. Phelan slapped him and motioned to a young man sitting in the corner. No sign of Erann or Brigid, who he’d met previously in Cearbhall.
Phelan plopped down beside the man. “What are you doing out here, Uilleam?”
Ardhor took a seat across, noting the odd uniform the man wore. It was lined in arcane runes.
The man looked between Phelan and Ardhor.
“He’s with me,” Phelan said.
Uilleam hiked a thumb toward the upper level. “Erann’s in a room, Brigid is tending to her. That Blackling, he’s relentless. And that man he’s with... Whew! Your friend is lucky to be alive.”
Ardhor frowned. “If he’s so relentless, than I suggest we don’t dawdle here and we return quickly.”
“Agreed.” Phelan stood. “Take us to her.”
Uilleam lead them up a narrow stair and hall to a tiny room with a cot. Brigid stood as they entered, her eyes wide then she waved them in. Erann, Ardhor presumed, lay on the cot, her face bruised beyond recognition. She’d been a handsome woman but with her eye swollen shut and face a sickening shade of purple, it would take months to heal.
“Phelan’s here.” Brigid sat beside her friend and squeezed her hand. “And that elven fellow.”
“Ardhor.”
Phelan stayed at the door, keeping it open only a sliver. To keep a watch, no doubt.
If Erann heard her friend, she made no sign. Ardhor sat beside her on the cot, feeling her brow. No fever yet. The steady breaths was encouraging too. The hand not in Brigid’s clutches was wrapped in bandages, fingers blackened. “I’ll need some supplies but I can help with the healing process.”
“I did the best I could.” Brigid wiped a tear from her cheek. “But I’m no healer. How could anyone...” Her words caught in her throat.
Uilleam stepped behind her a put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright.”
“We’ve got company. Uilleam, can you carry her? We’ve got to get to the backstairs.”
“Aye.” Uilleam stepped before Brigid and scooted his hands underneath Erann in one swoop.
“She shouldn’t be moved.” Ardhor protested, watching the woman’s face scrunch from the pain she must be in. “And how do you know there’s a backstairs?”
Phelan opened the door and pushed them all out in the hall, Ardhor last. “Any plan we had always had a back way out. Learned that the hard way early on.”
Brigid lead the way further down the hall and turned a corner, up another flight of stairs. The troupe followed silently. Whoever Phelan sensed on the stair behind them stepped with light feet. At the end of the second hall lay a door which opened to a balcony of sorts, with a double flight of stairs down built out of planks and poles.
“Convenient,” Ardhor commented, unsure the balcony was stable.
“Handy in a fire, and in an escape.” Phelan kept on Ardhor’s heels as they descended into a narrow alley. Dank water flowed down the center cobbles, disappearing into a storm grate.
Brigid and Uilleam stopped at the end of the alley.
Phelan pushed past them to glance down the street. “We can rent a cart once we get out of town.”
“That could take hours.” Ardhor glanced up, their follower peaking over the balcony railing. “Which
we don’t have.”
“What do we do?” Brigid cried.
Phelan returned his attention to the street. “And there’s Blackling coming this way. Shit. Let’s move, he won’t dare do something with all these people around.”
The party melded into the foot traffic headed north out of town. No one took notice of the batter unconscious woman in Uilleam’s arms or their quickened pace. Brigid tucked a finger into Uilleam’s belt as they strode down the lane. Phelan stole glances back, and with each look he quickened his pace.
The familiar prickle of power forced Ardhor to turn. The man in the lead, Blacking, held his hand out and energy formed a sphere in his palm.
“Take her!” Uilleam set Erann on her feet between Phelan and Ardhor. Her knees buckled but they caught her before she fell. Uilleam stepped before them and raised his hands, a familiar bubble of protection forming around them.
“Magic? In the middle of the city?” Phelan took Erann’s arm and wrapped it around his head so he could hold her up.
“Not magic,” Ardhor frowned, glancing over Uilleam. He hadn’t noticed the rings before but with his hands held out to invoke the spell, Ardhor saw the magic devices. “Not exactly.”
Blackling’s blast of energy struck the barrier Uilleam created and dissipated. The once crowded street cleared leaving only Blacking and his man.
“I can get us out of here but I need to know where to go,” Uilleam said whilst turning one ring then another. He had a whole arsenal at his fingertips. “Phelan, I need you to imagine a safe place. Picture it in your mind and don’t let it waver.”
Power gathered around them, pressing on Ardhor’s mind at an alarming rate. He fought to keep focused on the street and Blackling. “What are you doing?”
“Teleport.”
Ardhor could barely breathe. “Don’t—“
Chapter 17
She woke the next morning with Brogan’s arms around her, as if he feared she might disappear in the night. A fear which was justified.