The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(23)

Well, whoever collected what, she thought she might have to make a visit to one group or another, her grandfather in tow, and offer to trade her services as stable master in return for a safe haven. Barring that, she would have to stifle her doubts, take a barge to Beinn òrain, and indulge in the always reliable activity of stealing a wizard’s purse. And if she couldn’t manage that, she would simply help herself to the loose coins of the next rich man who walked into her barn.

She ignored the fact that she’d never stolen anything in her life and wasn’t sure she could begin at the ripe old age of almost a score and ten, but dire circumstances called for desperate measures. She would do what she had to in order to keep her grandfather safe. She was beginning to wonder if she might have to be about that sooner rather than later and with fewer coins than she might need.

Why had her uncle been watching her from his window?

She shivered in spite of herself. There was something afoot inside the manor, something not right. She continued on, walking briskly. Even if she couldn’t find the answers to her problems in some mythical forest, she could ask Mistress Cailleach for her thoughts on an inexpensive haven within running distance and where she could possibly find someone willing to transport her grandfather there for only a handful of poor coins.

Perhaps she might even be able to get away from those spots of shadow she had encountered not once but three times in the previous se’nnight. It was enough to make her wonder if she might be losing her mind.

She didn’t entertain that thought very often, if ever. Her life was made up of very sensible things: horses, leather, and sweet-smelling hay. Those were things that made perfect sense, never changed, never did what was unexpected or untoward. Those shadows, though, were things she didn’t understand at all—

Nor did she understand how she had walked for so long without realizing she was being followed.

Unfortunately she was on the outskirts of town, so there was no shop window to aid her in determining who was on her heels. She supposed the only thing to be done was stop at a pub and hope her potential attacker would find himself distracted by the thought of food.

She bypassed the first place she came to because it was disgusting even by Sàraichte’s very low standards. She continued on her way, realizing she had acquired not just one but a handful of shadows. Fortunately, she was no more than a quarter mile from The Preening Pelican. Indeed, she thought she might gain the doors if she bolted, but before she could make up her mind exactly what she should do, she felt a hand on her arm.

“Blimey, mates, look at what we ’ave ’ere.”

Léirsinn peeled his fingers from her arm and turned to face him. “What? My boot in your arse, mate?”

The trio of lads there seemed to find that amusing enough, though the fourth, obviously their leader, did not. His smile left his face as if it had been struck from it and he stepped closer.

“You stupid—”

That was the last thing he said unless she was to count curses that were quickly reduced to a single groan that accompanied his journey into senselessness. A cloak was thrown in her face, which was more alarming than a hand on her arm. She pulled it off from half over her head, fully prepared to throw it back, only to realize it was Acair’s and he was busy doing what could have been considered defending her honor. He might not have known how to use a pitchfork, but he apparently knew how to use his fists.

He was outnumbered, but that didn’t seem to bother him. In fact, he paused at one point to ask one of the three remaining lads if he had any companions who might want to come join the fray to make things more interesting. Léirsinn would have smiled at that, but she was too busy being surprised that anyone would make the effort to rescue her.

It took but a few minutes before only the burliest lad was left standing. Acair pulled him close and said something she didn’t quite catch. The lad looked at Acair as if he had just peered into the pit of Hell and seen himself at the bottom of it, then turned tail and fled. Acair smoothed his hair back from his face, then turned to face her.

She thought she might understand what had frightened that last bloke.

There was something in Acair’s eye, something that wasn’t at all pleasant. She didn’t know how to name it, but she thought she wouldn’t care for having that look turned on her. It wasn’t the same look he had given Falaire. That look had been a warning. His current look was something else entirely.

She held out his cloak. “Thank you,” she said simply. “And don’t say to me what you said to that last lad.”

He took his cloak back and snorted. “I simply suggested that he find his sport elsewhere. He was a coward.”

She didn’t doubt that. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping you would buy me a drink.”

“There’s a horse trough over there,” she said because she was suddenly quite chilled, “and I wasn’t talking about that. Why are you following me? And what of your stalls?”

“Already done.”

“Did you do them well?”

“I didn’t hear any horses complaining.” He paused. “If you must know the truth, Doghail promised to finish my stalls for me so I could follow you.” He looked at her seriously. “As for the reason why, you might call it chivalry if you like.”

“I usually don’t attract much attention.”