Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) (8 page)

Donal put one hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Aine is well. Just had her third bairn, and living on a pretty farm north of the Wilds. We took her and the babe north after ye left. She married a good man. Took in the first bairn as if she were his own. Loves them all the same.”

“She had a girl?”

“Aye. A lovely lass who looks just like her ma. And now she has two boys, too.”

A girl.
“I’m happy for her.”

Donal leaned to kiss his wife on the cheek. “I’ll wash up, love.”

Connor turned toward hesitant footsteps in the corridor, and Mairead stepped into the doorway. Her freshly brushed hair shimmered in the candlelight, heavy, honey-colored waves that cascaded almost to her waist. Her green eyes sparkled, and even the rough woolen breeches and linen tunic Connor had given her could not diminish her fair-skinned beauty.
This job would be a lot easier if she weren’t so damn pretty.
For a moment, he forgot he stood where he’d thought the same thing of Aine once.

Aileen bustled over to put an arm around Mairead’s shoulders and guide her into the room. “Ye look to be feeling better, lass. Come—sit.”

Mairead smiled. “I’d be happy to help with something.”

“Nonsense.” She pushed Mairead into a seat at the table.

Connor leaned down to Mairead’s ear. “You won’t win against her,” he said.

She laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “They’re lovely people,” she whispered.

“They are.” He returned to carving the roast.

By the time he’d finished, Donal had returned. He carried a small cask and put it down in the center of the table. “Oiska. Can I tempt ye, lad?”

Connor held out his cup. “I’ve never turned down oiska, especially yours.”

Donal poured for himself, Connor, and Aileen. “And lady? Care for a bit?” he asked Mairead. “Although I must say, ye don’t look like ye’ve had more than a sip or two in your life.”

She held up her cup. “I’d love some.” Donal poured, and Mairead sniffed it. “What is it?”

“Ah, ’tis the water of life, lass!” Donal lifted his cup. “A tribal toast—may the earth’s wings shield you on your journey!”

Connor hesitated.
I’d rather not have anything to do with the earth’s wings.
“What about an Eiryan sailing toast? To fair winds and calm seas.”

Donal’s eyes twinkled. “’Tis all one as long as we drink.”

Connor laughed. “Indeed.” They all lifted their cups and drank. Connor, Donal, and Aileen watched with mild amusement as Mairead coughed and sputtered through her shot.

Aileen poured Mairead some water. “Here. Drink. Don’t let these great ogres talk ye into more. ’Tis not for everyone. Oiska bites back.”

Mairead, her face red and her eyes watering, caught her breath and drank her water. “Strong. Water of life, you say?”

Connor smirked. “You’ve never tried it?”

She shook her head and drank more water. Her voice rasped when she spoke. “I was never allowed. It was a sin.” She bit her lip.

Donal chuckled. “Aye, some say ’tis a sin. But ’tis also said Alshada serves it at his own table.”

“Perhaps in the great golden city, I will be made of stouter stuff,” Mairead said.

Donal laughed and offered another round. Mairead declined with a polite shake of her head, but Connor held out his cup for more. “That’s a good batch—one of the finest I’ve ever had. You haven’t lost your knack for it.”

Donal grinned and pointed to the cask. “Been aging for more’n three years.”

As the evening passed, Aileen’s good food, Donal’s oiska, and the pleasant conversation conjured memories of evenings Connor spent with the Mac Rae family.
Has it been eight years? How did I let so much time go by? How can they still welcome me?

When he’d eaten his fill, Connor downed a final cup of oiska and stood. “Aileen, thank you for this feast, but I must go into the town and find some horses and supplies.”

Donal motioned him to his seat as he tamped down a pipe. He fished around in the pockets of his jerkin and pulled out a second pipe, offering it to Connor. “Sit, lad, sit. What’s an evening feast without a pipe to finish it off?”

“You’ll have me here all night with a pipe and oiska. I need to get supplies. We’ll leave at dawn.”

“In that case, let us provide what ye need,” Aileen said. “We have much, and we’re happy to share it.”

Connor hesitated. “I need horses. Do you have some you can sell me?”

Donal took a long draw off his pipe. He blew out the smoke. “’Tis funny—just today, not a league away, I noticed two sturdy beasts grazing in the old Kinnon pasture,” he said to Aileen.

“The one up on the north fork of the stream?”

“That’s the one. Let me walk right up to them, they did. Looked all over them for a brand, but they have nothing to say where they came from. Seems to me they may be Alshada’s gift to ye, Connor. They’re tied up outside right now, if ye care to look ’em over.”

Strange.
“How much would you want for them?”

Donal rose, pipe still in his mouth, and waved off the question. “Ach, lad, they’re found blessings. Ye can have ’em. ’Twill save me the trouble of feeding them. Come, I’ll show ye.”

Connor followed Donal out the back of the house. The moon and the light from the house illuminated Donal’s well-kept animal pens and outbuildings. Several sheep bleated in surprise. “Hush—’tis only me.” They quieted. Donal led Connor around the back of the pen and pointed to two horses eating from a small feedbox. “There. One stallion, one mare. They have the look o’ being cared for, but no markings. I’d return them to their owner, but I don’t recognize them. In perfect health, both of ’em—ye could do no better.”

Connor ran his hands over both horses’ necks. The proud sorrel stallion tossed his head and whickered, but the palomino mare nudged him for more attention. “What about tack? Do you have saddles, bits, bridles? I can buy them from you.”

“Ye’re welcome to any tack. We’ll have no need of it.”

“I’d love to take them, but I must leave you some money for them.” Connor held up a hand to Donal’s protest. “I’ll leave you a generous price. Just hold onto it. If the owner comes for them, you can give it to him.”

Donal thought it over and nodded. “’Tis fair.”

A commotion rose from the distant streets, and in the midst of the shouting, Connor heard a quickly muffled scream. He put his hand on his sword, but Donal gestured and sighed. “Nae, lad, ’twill do no good. Ye’ll only get yourself killed.”

Connor kept his hand on his sword. “This place has changed. Where did all the farmers go? The elders?”

“The families ye remember moved on. There was an attack after ye left. Slavers.” He paused. “I was glad our kin had moved on. They took the young ones, the strong ones, and left us old folk alone.” He brushed his eyes. “’Tis ugly, this slave trade. Now the town is just a stop for venom runners and slavers.”

Connor put his hand on the older man’s arm. “You need to move on, Donal.”

Donal shook off his melancholy. “Nae, lad. We can serve Alshada better here.” He pulled the spare pipe from his pocket. “Will ye enjoy a pipe with me? ’Tis been a long time since we shared a pipe.”

“I will. And a cup or two more of that fine drink?”

Donal laughed. “What would a pipe be without it?”

Donal retrieved the oiska and their cups from the house while Connor waited on the back steps. When Donal emerged from the house again, he was chuckling. “My sweet wife. She’s got your lady sitting by the fire with a cup o’ tea, chattering on about children and grandchildren and what have ye.” He handed Connor a cup and poured them each a generous shot of oiska.

They sat down on the steps, and Donal lit Connor’s pipe. “She’s not my lady,” Connor said. “I’m just taking her north.”

Donal took a long drag off his pipe and gave a slight grunt as he blew the smoke out. “Ye still canna settle down, eh?”

“I don’t think settling down is for me.” He stared into the distance, unable to look at the older man. “Donal, I regret . . . I wish things had ended better with Aine.”

Donal was quiet for a long time. “Aine loved ye, but ’twas a childish love. She is well. Settled. Happy. She holds ye no ill will, Connor.”

Connor scoffed. “She should.”

“Nae, lad. She made her own choices.” He gestured back toward the house. “’Tis none of my business, but the lass, Mairead—she has a spark. And ye could do worse. She’s a beauty.”

“It’s just a job, Donal.”

“Are they all just jobs to ye, then?”

Connor couldn’t answer.

“’Tis a lonely way, lad. Ye canna tell me ye’re happy.”

Connor stared out past the pens to the distant fields. He drew on his pipe. The sweet flavor of the tabak lingered in his mouth when he exhaled. He drank another shot of oiska and considered what to say. “I’m happy as I can expect. I’m well-paid. Beautiful women pursue me. What more could I want?”

“’Tis a lonely way. Ye’re not meant to be a farmer, that’s certain. But lad, do ye not want a woman to love ye? A home?” Donal sighed. “Course, hard for me to judge, I suppose. Aileen and me, we grew up together in this village, married, ne’er left. Raised five children. Ne’er needed to go anywhere else.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Near to forty years. It seems but a moment ago that I asked her.” He smiled at Connor and poured him another shot. “I loved her from the moment I saw her. Took me a while to figure it out, though. She was a beauty, but ’twas more than that. She had something else—a spark, a fire, life, call it what ye will. She’s kept me honest. I ne’er wanted another woman since I first saw her.”

Connor finished his pipe and stood. “I must get to bed. We need to leave at dawn. I thank you for your kindness, Donal. You’ve been a great blessing to us.”

Donal stood and clapped him on the back. “We still owe ye much, lad. If it weren’t for ye—well, we wouldn’t have our Aine, would we?”

“You give me too much credit. If it weren’t for me, Aine—”

Donal’s hand tightened on Connor’s shoulder. “Aine made her choices. She ran after ye because she loved ye, but ye dinna force her to do it. Ye saved her, lad.”

Connor couldn’t speak. He clapped Donal on the shoulder and walked away before his emotions betrayed him.

Connor lay awake for some time that night, hands behind his head, eyes toward the ceiling. He heard Aileen tidying her house as Donal spoke in his low, easy voice. The sweet odors of pear pudding and pipe hung in the air.
This place—if I believed in spirits, I would believe they were here in these walls.
He closed his eyes and remembered days of hard work and nights of ease at Aileen’s hearth with Aine and her brothers and sisters. If he concentrated, he could almost hear Aine laughing.

***

Emrys stood in the shadows of the brothel and stared at the empty field in front of him. A flash of light behind him alerted him to her presence. He didn’t turn. “Mistress.”

Her low voice tickled his ear. “Have you found the heir?”

“I’ve tracked her from Taura. I feel her presence, but I cannot reach her.” He turned.

Her dark eyes glittered like cold onyx in the moonlight. “The Syrafi protect them here. The raven has a strong connection to this village.” She stared at the field with him. “Wait until they leave the Syrafi. When they are on their own, you must separate them. Then you can capture the woman.”

“How do you suggest I separate them? He is fanatical about finishing the jobs he takes.”

She turned to him and put one hand on his cheek. “You have ever been beguiling, Emrys. You will think of something.”

He folded his arms. “What are you doing while I’m here?”

“I am repairing your mistake in Taura. The princess is still in the castle. I will see that she dies and create the chaos I need to reveal the Brae Sidh village.”

“How?”

The cold eyes narrowed. “You need only worry about the heir. I will be ready to use her when you bring her to me.” She nodded toward the brothel. “Go feed yourself. You will need your strength.”

Emrys snatched her wrist. “How do you do it? How do you stay on Taura, inside the wards?”

A twisted smile crossed the elegant, noble features of her dark face. “I do not share your qualms about using our power.” The elements around them separated to reveal dark spaces, and she slipped into one of the gaps. Another flash lit the darkness when the elements joined again.

Emrys stood alone, staring out at the field, until a woman wearing little but thin undergarments approached him. She slid one arm around his shoulders. He pushed her away. She gestured toward the field. “Nothin’ out there, love.”

He turned to her. “Has there ever been a house there?”

She shuddered when her eyes met his. “Once. Folks moved on years ago. Took a daughter and left. Rest of the family followed.”

“What happened to the house?”

“Burned. Faltian fires got outta hand a few years ago.” She tugged on his cloak. “Come, love. Ye canna be out here all night.”

His mistress was right. He needed strength. Panic flickered across the woman’s face when he grasped her wrist. He forced her to the dark corner of the alley and pushed her against the wall. One hand held her still as he pressed the other over her heart. Terror rose in her eyes. By the time he had drawn the sweetness of her soul into himself, her limp body hung in his hand. He let her go and walked away, strengthened by the darkness of her many transgressions.