Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(2)
‘She’s a filthy thing,’ Tipsania dismissed. ‘I don’t know why you’d want to bother with her. Look at what she did to my dress! She’s going to pay for that.’
Byron’s expression turned stony, flecks of frozen ice reflected in his brilliant irises. He flicked a glance at the older girl then back again. ‘You’re right,’ he said finally, ‘she is pathetic. If I were you I wouldn’t even speak to her.’ Without another word, he withdrew his hand and bowed in Tipsania’s direction. ‘My lady,’ he murmured. Then he strode off.
Both girls watched him go. When he was out of earshot, Tipsania turned to the girl again. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t want more from you,’ she hissed.
The girl with no name dropped her head again. Her stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. She clenched her fists and dropped her shoulders. Please, she thought, just leave me alone. I’m nobody.
Her submissive posture seemed to do the trick; Tipsania sniffed loudly and stomped off, no doubt to find another example of gold-edged finery with which to impress the Sidhe princeling.
The girl with no name waited, counting to twenty in her head to ensure Tipsania was not about to return and cause more grief. It would make her eventual appearance in the grand hall even more delayed and she risked the Bull’s anger increasing. She was already late by now, however. One minute or ten – either way she’d get her ears boxed for her troubles. Not from the Bull, of course. He never touched her himself.
Trembling from her encounter, she took several short, rapid breaths. Byron Moncrieffe’s supercilious attitude, combined with Tipsania’s venom, swirled around her head. When she was older, she decided furiously, she’d make both of them pay. She sniffed to herself.
She dusted down her apron and set off once more, her mind working feverishly as to why she’d been summoned and just what the Bull could possibly want with her. A door at the far end opened and bright sunlight spilled in. There was a shout and the guard, who’d been standing there silhouetted against the sun, turned to answer the call, leaving the gateway open.
The girl gazed out at the bright light, then back at the dark corridor behind her. She gnawed her bottom lip and looked again. After a brief moment of indecision, she began to run.
She wasn’t a prisoner. She’d never been told she couldn’t leave. But until that moment, with the glow of the outside world and its golden uncertainty contrasting with the darkness that no doubt awaited her in the grand hall, she’d never considered leaving. There was nowhere else for her to go.
In years to come, she’d describe her action as foolhardy and reckless. The right move, without a doubt, but one in which the possibility of success was hampered by lack of planning and foresight. Still, sometimes the stars simply align and the time is right.
She skidded down the corridor, emerged outside and blinked at the light. Without pausing, she veered left –towards freedom.
The guard, startled by the sudden movement, turned to watch her. His companion arrived, shading his face from the sun and squinting in her direction. Even without her long white hair whipping behind her and the determined set to her chin, her intent was obvious.
‘Isn’t that…?’
‘Yes.’
‘Should we stop her?’
One side of the guard’s mouth crooked upwards. ‘Leave her be. I’m only surprised she’s not done it sooner.’
‘What about the prophecy?’
He shrugged. ‘What about it? It’s mumbo-jumbo. Even the Sidhe don’t believe it.’
‘She’s still alive though, isn’t she? After what they say her father did…’
The guard tutted. ‘Who’s going to kill a kid?’
The girl was oblivious to their attention. She zipped ahead, down the well-worn path and away. No-one stopped her speedy descent down the drive and out past the ornate gates that were standing open to admit the Moncrieffe heir and his entourage. The Sidhe were far more concerned with keeping people out than forcing them to stay in. It was a hangover from the days of the Fissure and probably pointless now.
She ran out, pushing past the magical barrier that separated the Sidhe world and all its Clan members from the Clan-less, with little more than a shiver. Then she emerged onto a narrow country road and simply kept running until she reached the dual carriageway leading to Dundee in one direction and Aberdeen in the other. Confronted by the speeding cars and the lack of pedestrian walkways, she came to a stumbling halt in a layby. Less than a minute after she collapsed, breathless and shaking, a car pulled in.
Like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights, she froze. The vehicle was far removed from the gleaming sports cars and limousines that she was used to. This one was battered and rusty and gave every appearance of being unroadworthy. Indeed, after it came to a juddering halt, the exhaust coughed up a belch of black smoke.
The door swung open and a man peered out. Human – not Sidhe. Thank heaven for small mercies.
‘Need a lift?’ he asked, his voice rasping in the cold air.
The girl blinked. This was far from what she’d been expecting. She looked him over. He had carroty orange hair, a quick smile and a friendly light in his eyes. He didn’t look particularly strong and he was definitely human. It didn’t mean he was good, though.
As if sensing her indecision, he held up his palms, indicating that he was weaponless. ‘I’m not very trustworthy,’ he said. ‘But I’m not going to hurt you.’