The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(82)

Well, that was something that would have had him perking his ears up as well, even though he’d spent a pair of years slipping into throne rooms country by country and doing just that.

Hearn chortled a bit in pleasure. Acair suppressed the urge to throw up his hands. The two of them deserved each other, truly. He caught the dark look Hearn cast at him and sobered immediately. He attempted a look of contrition, but he wasn’t sure he’d succeeded very well.

Hearn offered Léirsinn his arm and escorted her inside the gates. Acair darted in behind them the very moment before the gates banged closed, almost crushing him between themselves, no doubt on purpose. He bit his tongue, though, because he and Léirsinn were inside gates guarded by powerful spells and he was nothing if not practical. That he had to be grateful for someone else’s spells to keep him from dying left him grinding his teeth, but what else could be done? That damned Soilléir—nay, Rùnach had no doubt had the idea first. He wasn’t sure which of the two to blame for his current straits, but he thought it might be perhaps more equitable to simply blame them both. The only trouble he could see that causing him would be the necessity of trying to decide whose neck to wring first when he next saw them.

He attempted a pleasant, benign expression as he followed the lord of the hall and his guest about the keep. He made certain to nod and make the appropriate noises of appreciation until at a certain point he realized there was no need to feign admiration. There was a reason Angesand steeds were so coveted and it had everything to do with the tall man striding about his domain, his eyes missing nothing, his sharp tongue keeping his lads in line. Fuadain of Sàraichte couldn’t possibly have dreamed of anything like it.

Acair was torn between watching Hearn watch Léirsinn and watching Léirsinn stare, openmouthed, at the horses that seemed to be everywhere. He could have sworn he saw her fingers twitch a time or two as if she were almost unable to suppress the urge to take reins, swing up onto the back of something, and ride off into a glorious sunset.

“Don’t suppose you ride,” Hearn said casually to her at one point.

Acair supposed that was a reasonable question to ask given that Falaire had deserted them half a mile from the front gates, flitting off in some shape Acair hadn’t cared to pay much heed to.

“I do,” Léirsinn said faintly. “As it happens.”

Acair looked at the outdoor arena to his left and suppressed the urge to cover his backside with whatever he might find. There was a stallion out there in the middle of that arena who was giving his handler a towering amount of trouble. The man was obviously well skilled in his equine sort of business, but that horse out there . . . Acair wouldn’t have come within a hundred paces of the thing. He looked quickly at Léirsinn to find her assessing the horse with her usual unforgiving brutality. She considered, then looked at Hearn.

“I can ride that one there, I daresay.”

Hearn nodded to one of his lads who ran off, then returned very quickly with a pair of leather gloves. Hearn took them, then held them out to Léirsinn.

“Wouldn’t want you to lose your grip.”

She took the gloves, looked at them for a moment or two, then looked up at Hearn.

“What’s his name?”

“We call him Garg.”

“What a horrible name,” Acair said before he thought better of it.

“He’s a horrible horse,” Hearn said, grinning. “He has another name of course, you fool. That’s just what we call him. Maybe our little miss here will find out from him what he prefers. Off you go, lass.”

Acair leaned against the railing, next to the lord of Aherin, and suppressed the urge to fret. The gate was unlatched and Léirsinn was invited inside. She was fairly tall, true, but so willowy and lovely and . . .

Mad. The woman was absolutely mad.

“He’ll kill her,” Acair protested.

“Have a little faith, you coward.”

“This isn’t a matter of faith, my lord,” Acair managed, “’tis a matter of maths. He outweighs her and—”

“Shut up, Acair, and let me see what she can do.”

Acair would have huffed out an insult in return, but he lost track of that thought for a pair of reasons. One, that damned Falaire had landed on his shoulder and had bitten his ear with a beak that was entirely too sharp for the innocent-looking bird he was carrying on as. Second, Léirsinn had taken that monster’s lunge line in one hand, a whip in the other, and was engaging in a battle of wills that Acair wasn’t at all sure she would win.

There was rearing and snorting and quite a bit of whinnying coming from that thing that should have been contained in some sort of stall with several locks on the door. Léirsinn ignored it all. Acair had watched her do that sort of thing before, of course, but that horse out there was something else entirely.

“He’s a beast,” Acair said when he could bear it no more.

“And he’s not even the worst I have,” Hearn said cheerfully. “She’s good.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll nod briskly as she leaves the arena. That’ll be enough for her.” He shot Acair a look. “Don’t you know anything about horses and their keepers?”

“I don’t like horses.”