But the blackness remained, thin trails where the spell had burned her.
He frowned and tried again, without any more success than his grandfather had had. He sat back on his heels and quickly rifled through his enormous store of spells, ones he had learned in his youth and others he had memorized from the books he’d found in his house, just for the sake of keeping his mind sharp. He tried half a dozen, but with the same result.
Which was no result at all.
Sarah stirred. He didn’t release her, but he took a moment and gathered up the rest of his magic, all his magic, and buried it again under thick, impenetrable spells of illusion and un-noticing. Should anyone have looked his way to see what he might have possessed, they would have found him not worth a second look. Had they been determined enough to look twice, they would have found only distraction and confusion. He took a deep breath, stepped back figuratively into his familiar and comfortable world of swords and unremarkableness, then waited for the relief he knew he should feel.
Odd that it didn’t seem to be coming.
“You have healing hands.”
He blinked and realized Sarah was looking up at him. “What?” he asked, feeling unaccountably nervous. If she had any idea who he truly was, or what he was capable of, or what his father had done...
“My arm feels better,” she said, squeezing his hand and smiling. “Perhaps it was a decent bit of sleep that did it.”
“It was,” he said without hesitation. “How does the rest of you feel?”
“Starving. Is that supper I smell?”
“Aye, and it’s still hot. Care for some?”
“Please.”
He pulled a milking stool over, put the basket on it, then sat on the other side of it from her and ignored everything that had just happened in the previous ten minutes. It was a pleasure to simply enjoy a remarkably tasty supper whilst being nothing more than a simple, unremarkable swordsman. It was made all the more enjoyable by pleasant company, to be sure.
And he didn’t miss his magic.
Not at all.
“You look better,” she said.
He smiled, putting his thoughts behind him. “Sleep and a little axe work do wonders,” he agreed. “You look better ... Rested, I mean.”
She smiled. “I’ve no vanity to wound, trust me. I’m sure I wasn’t a pleasant sight.”
“Actually, a more pleasant sight I’ve never woken to,” he said honestly.
She blinked, then turned slightly red. She looked at him, blushed a bit more, then threw a hunk of bread at him. He laughed a bit, then gave up any more attempts at compliments and simply watched her as she ate. That seemed to please her even less, but at least what she threw at him was edible, so he helped himself to it and found himself smiling more than he had in years. And whilst he smiled, he considered the lovely woman he had the pleasure of looking at in rather unlikely surroundings. He realized he had completely taken for granted the beauty he’d enjoyed in his youth. Seanagarra was, he had to admit, a spectacular place in which to pass a childhood, especially given that it had been contrasted nicely with profoundly unpleasant fortnights spent at his father’s keep in Ceangail, something he had done his damndest to forget. At the time, he hadn’t thought anything of Torr Dòrainn’s forests full of mighty pines and stately oaks. He had no doubt spent more time trampling over flowers that sang and stomping through brooks that laughed for the mere joy of their existence than he had appreciating the incredible gift of enjoying them he’d been given.
His life hadn’t been without its share of human beauty as well, of all kinds. Elves in Torr Dòrainn, noblewomen in other locales, the stark, harsh beauty of the south where stumbling on a clutch of wildflowers clinging to a sheer rock face was an unexpected reminder that not all the world was full of darkness.
But never in all his years had he looked at something that affected him the way a lovely face framed by hair the color of cognac when held to the fire had. Only it was more than just her visage, or her tenacity, or her willingness to walk into darkness when there was no light to guide her. It wasn’t her ability to pick up a weapon that wasn’t hers and fight to defend someone weaker than she, or her clear sight, or the reserves of strength and determination he suspected he hadn’t seen but a fraction of.
It was her light.
He didn’t want to think how badly he needed that light.
There was also the fact that when he complimented her, she threw food at him, but he supposed he should reserve that bit of deliciousness as something to be savored later.
“I’m running out of bread,” she said.
He blinked, then smiled at her. “Should I stop complimenting your beauty?”
“Aye,” she said shortly. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Then you can compliment me.”
“Ha,” she said with a snort. “And leave you more conceited than you are already? Rather I should point out your flaws, for your edification.”
He laughed uneasily. “There is an overabundance of cloth there, I fear. You’ll be sewing on my faults all night when you should be sleeping.”
“Hmmm,” she said, nodding. “Overprotective, overbearing, overskilled ... Aye, there are faults there enough for the examining.” She looked at him, suddenly serious. “Unfortunately, they don’t seem like anything but virtues to me, given that you’ve saved my life with them.”
He found himself shifting uncomfortably. He looked hopefully at the basket but found nothing in there to use in his own bit of throwing.
Sarah only smiled and pushed herself to her feet. “Now you know how I feel. I need to walk for a bit. I don’t do well in tight spaces.”
He rose and picked up the lantern. “Was your mother’s house too small for you?”
“I slept in the barn whenever possible,” she admitted, “or outside.”
He let her out of the stall, then hung the lamp up on a hook and assumed it wouldn’t burn the place down. “Why didn’t you leave your mother’s house sooner?”
She shrugged. “I had to wait until I had earned enough gold to start a new life.”
He said nothing, but instead reached for her hand as easily as if he’d been doing it for years. She didn’t flinch, or pull away, so he thought he might venture to hold it a bit longer.
“Ruith?”
“Aye.”
“Why did the elven princess marry Gair, do you think?”
He stumbled. He hadn’t seen that question coming. He took a deep breath. “I honestly have no idea. She must have loved him at some point, else she wouldn’t have wed him, nor had seven children with him. I don’t think he was always as he became, though I suppose the seeds were there.” He walked out of the barn with her and looked at her by moonlight. “You think about him often, I daresay.”
“I don’t understand mages,” she said simply. “Or at least the ones I’ve known. I don’t understand having the power to do good, but choosing to do evil instead.”
“Perhaps they have no choice.”
She looked up at him. “Everyone has a choice.”
“Perhaps the temptation to be less than what they could be is simply too strong to resist.”
“And if you had been Gair of Ceangail?” she asked, stopping and looking at him very seriously. “What would you have done?”
He flinched. His first instinct was to turn and walk away. He’d done it often enough in the past. In fact, he’d done it every last bloody time he’d been faced with something that forced him to come too close to looking at himself, or his memories, or his dreams. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no kind words there. All that was there was the overwhelming urge to tell her it was none of her business what he would have done.
She saw it in his eyes. He knew that because she tilted her head slightly for the briefest of moments, then took a step back, slipping her hand from his.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “That was a stupid question that deserves no answer.” She put on a bright smile. “
Are you interested in a little race across the field to that tree and back? Loser has to clean the other’s tack.”
She didn’t wait for him to answer before she turned and bolted. He was so surprised to find his favorite tactic being used by someone else that it took him longer than it should have to even begin to catch her. And then he realized he had truly never given her credit for her speed. He reached the tree after she had, then had to sprint to even reach her before she gained the barn. He bested her by only a step and that only because his legs were longer. He leaned over with his hands on his thighs and gasped for breath.
“Someday you’ll outrun me,” he managed.
“I almost did today.”
“Only because you left me behind, thinking on the glories of watching you do my work for me,” he said, straightening with a half laugh.
She scowled at him. “Very well. Go put your feet up and I’ll polish your saddle.”
He caught her hand before she could walk away. “That isn’t what I want.”
“What, your boots too?” she asked in astonishment.
He shook his head and tugged her into the barn and along after him down the aisle between rows of stalls. “Something far worse.”
“Worse than your boots?” she squeaked.
He smiled and fetched the lamp from off its hook. He led her into the stall and bid her sit on his cloak. He sat down behind her and reached for the brush he’d borrowed from the farmer. He began to unbraid her hair only to fair rip it out of her head when she turned to look at him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Claiming my winnings, which is you sitting here allowing me to run my grubby fingers through your hair until I’m satisfied. It might take hours, so I’m sure at some point you’ll consider it a poor exchange for my having a gleaming saddle.”
“You’re daft.”
“Obsessed.”
She laughed softly, then turned her face forward. “Do your worst, then. I’ll bear it manfully.”
He wasn’t sure he would be able to, but he attempted it just the same. He managed probably half an hour of sheer enjoyment before he couldn’t fight the thoughts creeping in like water into a boat full of small holes. He rebraided Sarah’s hair half a dozen times before he was content with his work, then he simply sat there with his hand on the small of her back.
His path was clear. He was going to have to continue to follow Daniel, and he was going to have to do it without magic. If he’d walked into his father’s keep with his magic running through his veins, he would have been immediately identified for who he was. He had no idea who inhabited the keep now, but he had his suspicions and those were unpleasant ones indeed. He didn’t imagine Daniel would fare very well there, nor find what he was looking for, but he was a useful idiot so Ruith felt he had no choice but to allow him to continue to freely pursue his course.
The pages of Gair’s book were another tale entirely. He had considered destroying each page as he came upon it, but now he felt differently. If his goal was to destroy his father’s legacy, it made no sense not to destroy it in its entirety.
He studiously avoided the realization that such had been Connail’s plan as well and it had turned out badly for him indeed.
But he was not Connail of Iomadh and Gair was not alive to thwart him. Putting his father’s book back together was the only idea that made any sense to him. He had had glimpses of it, of course, and memorized the spells without hesitation, but he hadn’t been paying the attention to it that he should have. Perhaps one of his elder brothers could have told him exactly how many pages the book had had, or confirmed his memory of what spells it had contained, but since he had no hope of having that information from them, he would just make do on his own.
And until he was convinced he had the entire bloody thing, he didn’t dare destroy the pieces. He wished he had a way to see the pages so Sarah didn’t have to be involved. Though he supposed that if his search took him to Ceangail’s keep itself, he was most certainly going to find a way to leave Sarah behind—
She turned suddenly and knelt in front of him, looking at him seriously. “Stop.”
He blinked in surprise. “Stop what?”
“I can see what you’re thinking.”
“You cannot,” he said, faintly horrified.
“You’re planning on running off without me again.”
He attempted a look of outrage. “I was not.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Sarah ...”
“Didn’t you see what I did with your bow? Can I not be of some service to you?”
He felt the very unwelcome sting of something in his eye. A stray piece of hay, no doubt. He blinked savagely for a moment, then looked at her. “The forest was terrible,” he said quietly. “Where I must go now will be worse.”
She put her shoulders back. “Magic doesn’t trouble me. I can see what you cannot. Is that not worth something?”
The temptation to pull her into his arms and kiss her until neither of them could breathe was almost overwhelming. He wanted to hold her close and let the events in the world march relentlessly past him without his notice.
Unfortunately, he had the feeling that doing either would only make matters an infinite number of degrees worse.
“Your skill, my lady,” he said gravely, “is not in question. Nor is your worth to me. He had to take another deep breath and blink to clear more hay out of his eyes, damn the stuff to hell. “It is your safety that I care about. And how am I to guarantee that when I can’t guarantee my own?”
She set her jaw. “I don’t need you to worry about me. I’ll worry about me.”
He took a deep breath and tried a different tack. “I don’t want you to come.”
“I don’t care what you want.”
He dragged his hand through his hair and looked at her in exasperation. “You will be safer here. I will be more efficient if I only have to worry about my own neck.”
She lifted her chin. “Can you see the pages?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it, against his better judgment. He knew at that moment that he should have told her everything. There was even a little voice inside his head that told him that he should have, that continuing on whilst continuing to hide the truth was going to leave things going very badly for him in the not-so-distant future.
But apparently he was as incapable of putting his foot down with a beautiful, stubborn woman as he was of taking his own very sensible advice. So he cursed, scowled at her, then cursed again.
“This is a very bad idea.”
“I’ll guard your back.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to, and that makes me even more unhappy than just the thought of you being anywhere near that pit of absolute hell.”
“Have you been there before?”
“Aye,” he managed, but he couldn’t say anything else without saying everything else. He rubbed his hands over his face. “This is an extraordinarily bad idea.”
“So you’ve said before. Now, when do we leave?”
He sighed. “We should sleep for a few hours.”
“I’ll sleep in front of the door, so you’ll have to step on me to get over me.”
He made no comment simply because that thought had crossed his mind. He spread out his cloak, then lay down. Sarah stretched out a safe, prim distance away, then rolled on her side to look at him. He reached out and took one of her hands in both his own.
“You would be safer here.”
“Are we going to argue about this all the way to Ceangail?”
He sighed deeply, then kissed her hand much as she’d kissed his. “Woman, you are going to be the death of me, I fear.”
“Not anytime soon,” she said, squeezing his hand.
He considered for a moment or two, then spoke again. “The farmer offered us a chamber.”
“Did he? Why?”
“He seems to think we’re wed. Or at least prom
ised. I think it must have been your tender care of me to convince him of such. Or perhaps you were merely gazing upon my visage with the admiration of a newly made bride.”
“Vanity, thy name is Ruith.”
He would have laughed at the sudden lightening of his heart, but he didn’t think he would manage it without weeping. “I’m just trying to wring a compliment from you.” To distract us both from,what lies ahead.
She smiled. “A futile exercise, for you’re well aware of your unwholesome beauty. I shudder to think of the numbers who have fallen victim to it.”
“You might be surprised,” he muttered.
She only smiled again and squeezed his hand just the slightest bit. He watched her for quite a while before he managed to say the words that burned like a live coal in his mouth.
“If I had been Gair,” he said very, very quietly, “I would have kept my family safe.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I know.”
She closed her eyes again.
That was a good thing, for then she didn’t have to watch him weep. Aye, if he’d been his father, he wouldn’t have taken his family to that bloody well, he wouldn’t have put them in danger. He would have likely walled them up in a castle and only let them out if they’d been accompanied by a full contingent of guardsmen with very sharp swords and brutal spells at their disposal.
Then what did that say about him that he was willing to allow Sarah to accompany him where no sensible soul would wish to go?
He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the answer.
Twenty-one
Sarah decided that the time would come, hopefully whilst she was still alive, when she would have to sit down and contemplate the consequences of her choices before she made them. She wished she had the time at present, but it was far too late for turning back now.