The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(42)

He had no comfort to offer her on that score so he sighed lightly and attempted a shrug. “Apparently not.”

“I thought magic was limited to charms and love potions and silly things that old women invented to keep food in their pantries,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. She looked absolutely shattered. “You know. Lies told to give people comfort.”

He met her eyes. “I’m afraid not.”

She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “They said you had magic.”

“Lads say many things,” he said dismissively, “most they don’t mean.”

She pulled away from him and scrambled to her feet. She looked at him in alarm. “Who are you?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why would those—” She pointed at the spot where the pile of mage had most recently resided. “Why would those things want you?”

He heaved himself to his feet, not entirely happy with how drained he still felt. “I can’t say that either.”

The lump of cloaks shifted suddenly—one last farewell, he supposed—and he found himself with his arms full of horse girl. He wasn’t sure he had ever over the course of his very long, very selfish life ever offered another soul comfort unless it was to wish them a good journey as he sent them off to hell with a well-crafted piece of magic. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with the woman in his arms, partly because he wasn’t at all good at that sort of thing and partly because he was mightily distracted by a piece of stool that was still poking him in the arse.

He reached around and removed the splinter. He was half tempted to save it so he could use it to drive home a fitting piece of retribution somehow, but he wasn’t sure it was worth holding on to for as long as he feared he would need to.

So, lacking anything else better to do, he put his arms around Léirsinn and rocked her just a bit. He wasn’t sure how to do it properly—and suspected he was doing it poorly—but what else could he do? His mother rocked herself, but she did that whilst muttering incantations over a bubbling pot, so perhaps she wasn’t one to emulate.

He soon felt very silly indeed, so he patted Léirsinn again and set her away from him.

“Time to go.”

She blinked. “Go? What in the hell are you talking about?”

“We must leave and the sooner, the better.”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I suggest you rethink that,” he said seriously. “I am guessing—and only guessing, mind you—that those two were sent after me because I disturbed those spots you don’t want to talk about. And I’m not the one who saw them first, if you see what I’m getting at.”

“But I’m no one,” she protested. “Just a stable hand.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t want to remain here to see if I might be mistaken about that.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said desperately. “I have responsibilities.”

He studied her for a moment or two in silence, glanced at the pile of cloaks still lying near where he’d almost died, and wondered just how he was going to talk sense into the woman standing in front of him.

“If you stay, things could go very badly for you,” he said finally.

“I’ll take that chance. You go ahead and scamper away, though, if you like.”

Her words stung, mostly because he was fairly sure she’d muttered coward under her breath. He reached down, picked up her crossbow, and handed it to her. “Interesting weapon, that. Best fetch the bolts before someone else does.”

She clutched the bow to her. “I will, thank you. Enjoy your life.”

“I’ll think of you fondly whenever I breathe.”

“You do that.” She moved past him to collect the crossbow bolts, then paused before she touched them. She took a deep breath, gathered them up, then turned to look at him. “Why are you still here?”

He refrained from comment, partly because his offended feelings—and there weren’t many of those, truthfully—never stayed pricked for more than a moment or two and partly because he knew she was speaking from a place of fear. He couldn’t blame her for that, but the truth was, he had to leave—and quickly. It was one thing to hide in a barn and try to be a regular sort of bloke. It was another thing entirely to have a pair of mages know who he was and want to kill him.

He was starting to have a bit of sympathy for those he had stalked over the course of his long and illustrious career of making hay. That feeling unsettled him almost more than knowing how close he had come to dying a handful of moments ago. Things had to change. The next thing he knew, he was going to be offering to hoist a sword in the defense of a horse miss.

“Don’t let me keep you.”

He shot her a look. “You go first.”

“Nay, you. I’ll follow right behind.”

He blew his hair out of his eyes, then turned and left what had served as a bedchamber of sorts for far too long. He realized after a handful of steps that he’d forgotten his cloak, which he supposed, in hindsight, was what kept him from walking them both into something that might have gone badly for them.

Three men were entering the far end of the passageway, obviously coming inside to see to something. Acair backed up a pace or two into deeper shadows. He felt Léirsinn’s crossbow in his back and hoped she would have a moment of altruism and refrain from using it on him. He held his breath as the men came their way. Fortunately the trio of whoresons continued on past them as if they’d noted nothing amiss, which Acair supposed had been the case.