The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(81)
He hadn’t anticipated it would come outside the front gates of a horse lord’s rather rustic and utilitarian keep whilst he very bravely hid behind a red-headed stable lass.
The hiding wasn’t going as well as he might have liked. Léirsinn was tall, but not nearly as tall as he himself was, and she certainly wasn’t broad enough to do anything but block the smallest amount of wind that accompanied the curses being spewed their way by the lord of the keep.
Or at least there had been curses at first. Now, there was only a lord surrounded by a dozen burly guardsmen boasting either nocked arrows or well-loved swords.
Acair was beginning to wonder if they’d made a very serious mistake.
Hearn of Angesand was not a small man. Acair wasn’t either, though he supposed that whilst he and Hearn shared the same respectably intimidating height, the lord of Aherin had a good two stone advantage. If it came down to a wrestle, Acair felt confident he would lose. Badly.
Hearn was currently having a long look at Léirsinn. “So,” he said slowly, stroking his chin, “you’re from Sàraichte.”
“Aye, my lord,” Léirsinn said breathlessly. “And it is an honor to even stand at your gates and imagine what finds home inside.”
Hearn grunted. Acair suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Good heavens, if she complimented the man any more, he would likely roll over and beg her to scratch his belly. If purring ensued, Acair vowed . . . well, he didn’t dare vow anything. He was still wondering what in the hell he’d been thinking to come anywhere near his current locale.
Again, a perfect example of what altruism got a man. Bring a horse gel to a horse lord’s stronghold? Pay the price in peace of mind and quite possibly the ability to breathe.
“Who is that you have attempting to cower behind you?”
Acair did roll his eyes then. Hearn knew damned well who he was. If the fact that he hadn’t looked so much like his sire—admittedly an extremely handsome man, particularly when in his prime—hadn’t given him away, the fact that Acair had once slipped over the walls and poked around Hearn’s solar on the off chance he might find something useful surely would have.
“This is my escort,” Léirsinn said, stepping aside. “You may know him already.”
Acair shot her a dark look, then dredged up his most pleasant smile. He knew what it looked like because he had practiced it in a large square of polished glass in his youth. He used it when he wanted to put others at ease. He decided that thinking that he generally put others at ease before he robbed them, terrified them, or generally made a terrible nuisance of himself was likely not useful at the moment.
“You,” Hearn said without any inflection in his voice.
“Me,” Acair agreed.
“I don’t care for your kind,” Hearn said.
“My lord Hearn—”
A low rumble started. “I almost lost a horse to a monster Lothar of Wychweald created.”
“In my defense, I’ve never fashioned any marginally sentient beings sent specifically to hunt down certain types of people and slay them as did that particularly vile mage of whom you speak.”
The rumble increased to a modest roar. “Nay, you went around to the most powerful people in the world and tried to steal their magic!”
“Well, one does what one must to keep busy,” Acair managed.
Hearn didn’t smile. “How do you have the cheek to show your face in polite society?” he thundered.
“I’m a brazen bastard,” Acair admitted, hoping a little honesty would keep him from whatever painful death Hearn reserved for rustlers of horses and poachers of, well, nothing out of solars.
“You are a bastard in every sense of the word.” Hearn scowled fiercely and folded his arms over his chest. “I hear you’ve recently been trotting off to various locales to apologize for your past misdeeds.”
“’Tis true.”
“Avoiding places where dwarvish kings might be found, or so I understand.”
“I could add cowardly to brazen, if you like.”
Hearn looked at him narrowly. “Why have you come here? And you had best be speaking the truth.”
Acair took a deep breath. “We are on our way north and I thought Léirsinn might want to see your stables since she’s so fond of horses and you have so many horses to be fond of.” He supposed he could save questions about horses Léirsinn might be in possession of and shadows that seemed to be following her wherever she went for when they actually were inside the gates.
Hearn frowned again, but it seemed to be a frown that reflected less a contemplation of all the ways a black mage without his magic could be put to death and more a consideration of the usefulness of that compliment. He looked at Léirsinn.
“Is that true?”
“This is,” she said breathlessly, “an honor I never would have dared dream of. The truth is there was a part of me that thought you were naught but legend. Your horses? Merely beasts, nay, the images of beasts someone had pulled from a dream.”
Acair struggled to mask his surprise. When had that one turned into such a flatterer? And damn the woman if she didn’t look as if someone had just told her she could try on each of the crowns of those on the Council of Kings and decide which one she liked best before she took it home with her.