The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(46)
“Believe that as long as you can.” He looked to his right, swore, then pulled her back behind the fencing. “At least one of our friends is off into the night. Your uncle, by the looks of him.”
“That’s Falaire he’s taking,” she began.
“Get back down,” he whispered fiercely. He peered over the top of the planks of wood, then ducked back down himself. “Damnation, this is a new wrinkle I didn’t see coming.”
“What new wrinkle—and believe me, I don’t want to be interested in your answer.”
“That man with Fuadain? He’s the servant of one of the masters at the schools of wizardry.”
She had to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle her noise of disbelief. She settled for a silent rolling of her eyes. “Again, men in pointy hats with delusions of grandeur. I’m sure they think they have magic as well—wait.” She looked at him in surprise. “Someone from Beinn òrain is taking my horse?”
“I believe has taken is closer to the mark.”
She cursed quietly. “What will I do now? I know I don’t own him, but I’ve known him since he was a foal. Any bad manners he has, I taught to him!”
“I knew it,” Acair said, smiling at her briefly. “As far as horses go, I think he’s a good one.”
“He’s peerless,” she said. She stood up. “We must stop that man from taking him.”
Acair caught her by the arm. “What if we could escape Sàraichte and fetch your horse with one perilous, dangerous journey?”
She glanced at him. “Perilous and dangerous?”
“Two different things, but equally thrilling when viewed in the right sort of light.”
“I think you’re daft.” She watched Falaire until she could see him no longer. “Even if I could follow him,” she managed, “how would I rescue him?”
“Why don’t we worry about that when we get to Beinn òrain?”
“Get to Beinn òrain? I can’t even get myself to a decent pub!”
“I’ll see to it.”
She turned away from a horse she loved like her own soul and looked at Acair. “I don’t have the money to repay you and I don’t like not making my own way.”
“I understand that,” he said, “for I live by the same code. When I’m free, I’ll stock a fine stable with a score of peerless horses and you can train them all. That will be repayment enough. Until then, we have more dire things to worry about.”
She hesitated. “But the rest of the horses—”
“Someone will continue to feed and water them.” He looked at her seriously. “Trust me, Léirsinn.”
She felt Acair take her hand and found no small measure of comfort in the fact that his hand was warm. If he were unnerved, he certainly didn’t show it.
Trust.
She supposed she had no choice. If she left, she would have to leave her grandfather behind. If she stayed, she would lose her horse and no doubt her life. There seemed to be only one clear path, as draped in shadow as it was.
She nodded, then followed Acair into the darkness.
? ? ?
The port itself was not a pleasant place. It was farther east than the market itself and definitely in a nastier part of town than even she was accustomed to. It looked less dangerous when she found herself accompanied by someone who didn’t mind throwing the occasional fist to keep drunkards and fools at bay, but not by much.
She paused in the shadows with Acair and watched as Falaire was led toward a relatively large boat. Her uncle was nowhere to be seen.
“That boat there looks as if it intends to go out to sea, not up the way to Beinn òrain,” she ventured.
“I would agree with you, but I know who bought your horse. It’s heading upstream.” He nodded up the quay. “We’ll take that boat there that looks to be casting off soon.”
“I have no coin.”
“Not to worry,” he said. “We’ll have gold soon enough.”
She wasn’t sure how he intended to see to that given that she doubted anyone would be interested in playing cards that early in the morning—or late at night, depending upon one’s point of view—but Mistress Cailleach’s suggestion continued to sound in her head like an annoyingly loud supper gong.
Trust.
It looked like she wasn’t going to have much choice.
She walked with Acair through a press that consisted mostly of sailor types, though she supposed there were passengers enough among the lot. Passengers and loudmouthed rich men, as it happened, which she discovered were not necessarily the same thing. She watched a portly, angry man shouting at his serving lad and wondered what the poor boy had done to displease his lord so thoroughly. Acair seemed to be so distracted by the shouting that he lost his footing and tripped into the man.
“Oh, desperately sorry,” he said, straightening the man’s clothes and smiling. “Obviously the riff-raff haven’t been at their work of sweeping the streets, have they? Bloody lazy whelps.”
Léirsinn tried not to gape. Acair sounded as if he’d just exited some king’s audience chamber. Where he’d learned that posh accent, she couldn’t have said, but he was definitely using it to its full capacity.