Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(39)

‘Explain what?’

He slid out the glossy page that was folded inside the envelope and waved it in my direction. I’d torn it out of one of Taylor’s girlie mags; it was a particularly graphic representation of a mocked-up Sidhe man performing fellatio on a rather well-endowed female troll.

‘You know that intercepting mail is a serious offence?’ I enquired, cocking my head.

‘These immature little rebellions are pointless. They’re only going to delay matters.’

I looked at him from under my eyelashes. The loss of the Lia Saifire and the pornographic post were really getting to him - probably because he wasn’t as ‘in charge’ as he liked to be. Good.

‘How long are these matters going to take?’ I asked.

‘We’ll head out for the Foinse straight after dawn. It takes about a day to get there. We’ll arrive in the grove by midday Tuesday so if all goes to plan, you can be back home and sleeping in your own bed by Thursday night.’ Something sparked in his eyes. ‘If you wish, I can tuck you in.’

Byron was obviously irritated and was trying to intimidate me and put me in my place. I quashed down the lustful butterflies that sprang up in my stomach and licked my lips. I twirled my fingers through my hair and moved closer to him, brushing against his body. The answering tension in his muscles brought me deep satisfaction.

‘Don’t,’ he growled.

I stepped back. ‘Then stop trying to flirt with me. We both know that moment has passed.’

He looked like he was about to say something and thought better of it. ‘Fine,’ he snapped, ‘come on then.’

Without further ado, Byron pushed open the large doors, revealing a vast room. Smack bang in the centre was a table, with a lot of well-dressed Sidhe sitting around it. Every head twisted in our direction while I sucked in a breath. I’d thought Byron was attractive but these guys were something else. Not a single blemish marred their skin and not one hair was out of place. It felt like I was walking into the pages of Vanity Fair.

A man at the far end of the table got to his feet. The simple gold band encircling his head signified his role and I immediately spotted the family resemblance. So this was Byron’s father, the Sidhe Steward Aifric. He’d been the leader of the Clans for years. It had always seemed a rather pointless role – not just to me but to many Clan and Clan-less people. Each Clan head had his own agenda which almost never corresponded with anyone else’s.

The general consensus was that the Steward was ‘permitted’ to make small decisions of matters of bureaucratic import and that he acted as a conduit to keep the others in check. Apart from the destruction of the Adair Clan, Aifric had done well to avoid outright war between any of the Sidhe groups. It didn’t mean there wasn’t still murder; it just meant there was less murder than if someone else had been in charge. Well, whatever he did, he wasn’t my damned leader.

No doubt in deference to Aifric rather than me, the others also stood, gliding to their feet in smooth, practised movements.

Byron addressed them all. ‘Good day to you all.’ He paused for effect. ‘I would like to present Integrity…’ He paused again and shot me a quick look, ‘Taylor.’

I felt an unexpected flash of gratitude that he’d used my chosen surname instead of Adair. The Sidhe Clan heads and royalty were taken aback and several threw startled glances in Aifric’s direction. To the Steward’s credit, he didn’t blink.

‘Well done, Byron,’ he murmured.

There was a chorus of assent from around the table.

‘You did well to bring her in,’ someone commented.

I balled up my fists. Yeah, go, Golden Boy. You brought the stupid Clan-less orphan in out of the cold. Let’s not acknowledge her personally though. I pinned my mouth firmly closed. The tension of being around all these Sidhe wankers was getting to me. The last thing I needed was to snark out some comment that would put them on edge and make them hate me even more than they already did.

Aifric, dressed in a similar manner to Byron, approached me. Watch it, I projected silently. Get too close and I might bite.

He put his hands out, reaching for mine as if to clasp them. I stepped backwards and crossed my arms. I might be trying not to antagonise anyone but I wasn’t the prodigal daughter returning home. I wanted it made clear that I was there under sufferance.

Despite the intake of breath from several of the other Sidhe, Aifric barely reacted. He gave me a flicker of a smile and a nod of acknowledgment, and returned his hands to his sides.

‘It was good of you come. May I call you Integrity?’

‘You may,’ I replied formally. ‘I didn’t have much choice. I had to come.’

Aifric’s facial features might be a match for Byron but his eyes were a brilliant blue rather than an emerald green. They fixed on me with surprising kindness. ‘There is always a choice. We are glad that you are here.’

I wondered whether that was the royal ‘we’. Judging by the dark expressions on some of the other courtiers’ faces, they didn’t share the sentiment. One gaze in particular caught my attention. When I recognised it as belonging to the Bull, I almost staggered backwards. I hadn’t realised he’d risen to the position of Chieftain for the Scrymgeour Clan.

I felt the familiar feelings of inadequacy but I wasn’t eleven years old any more, I reminded myself. I could do this.