Had she not listened to what he’d said? “I have no gift for magic, and you already know that I cannot remain at the abbey once I find what I am looking for.”
He ignored the small stab of pain in his chest, forcing himself to continue. “For the time I am here, if there is a way I can support your wards by creating my own, I will do so.”
Rather than accept his vow with solemnity, she giggled.
“You find this amusing?”
She stopped laughing, but the grin remained. “I’m sorry, but from the expression on your face, those words tasted as if they were lemon sour.”
He reluctantly gave in and smiled in return. “You know how I feel about magic.”
“Yes, I do. For now, though, why don’t I allow you through the wards so you can begin your search. If I can be of assistance in translating anything written in the dead languages, let me know.”
This time his grin was more genuine. “Those languages were alive and well when I was born, but I appreciate the offer.”
She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “Truly? I still have trouble believing you are old enough to be one of the legendary Damned.”
He winced a bit at her description. But to prove his point, he picked up the book she’d set aside and read it aloud, first in the old tongue and then in translation.
Lavinia leaned closer to study the text. “So that’s how you pronounce those last two words. I had them wrong. Perhaps if we have time, you can help me master the language as it should be spoken.”
Time was the one thing he couldn’t promise her. “I would love to.”
Which was nothing less than the truth.
Chapter 14
Alina stepped out on her balcony to watch the men at weapons practice in the bailey below. Since her niece had brought the captain and his men into their lives, it seemed as if all she ever heard outside her window was the clang of sword against sword.
Most of the time she ignored the noise, but not when Murdoch was among those out there training. She winced as he barely avoided a hard blow. At the same time, she admired his skill. For such a big man, he moved with uncanny grace and speed.
Especially when he was trying to avoid her, which he’d been doing since that morning she’d walked into his room unannounced when he had his bed shirt rucked up to his chest. Did he think she hadn’t already seen all of his manly attributes? It wasn’t as if she had treated his wounds and seen to his bodily needs with her eyes closed during those first perilous hours after he’d almost been killed.
Of course, at the time she’d been too worried about him to notice much more than how his wound was healing and when his fever had broken. Standing there in his room in the early-morning light, he’d looked strong, powerful, virile. Even now, after three days, the image remained burned in her mind in stark detail.
If only she’d had the courage to stand her ground rather than retreating. From the way he’d mumbled an apology from outside her door a short time later, Murdoch had assumed she’d been offended. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. All that muscle and masculine strength had left her feeling unsettled, overheated, and hungry.
Even if she could find the courage to explain that to him, it would do her no good. If she walked into a room, he walked out. If she strolled in the garden, he kept to the ramparts above. If she had dinner in the hall, he snatched some meat and cheese and bolted for the door.
It would be funny if it weren’t so frustrating. Even if he had no interest in her as a woman, she thought they had at least been friends. She thought back to the day he’d introduced her to Shadow, the huge mountain cat who served as his avatar and companion, and then walked with her in the garden. It had been one of the best moments of her life.
The sound of Murdoch yowling with pain snapped her attention back down to the scene below. He was rubbing his ribs and glaring at his opponent. She wanted to charge down there and tear into whoever had just landed such a painful hit, but Murdoch would not thank her for interfering.
Did the man have no sense? It had been only a few days since he’d been too weak to sit up on his own. Now he was out there facing off against the man they called Sigil. She wanted to rail at the pair of them, but she wasn’t in the habit of pursuing lost causes.
Perhaps they had the right of it. They all knew it was but a matter of time before Duke Keirthan attacked again. He was not the sort of man to accept defeat with grace. They had already survived two assaults on the keep, the first being when Murdoch and his friends had wrested control from her late husband’s men; the second when Fagan had tried to reclaim his hold on the family lands—and her.
She shivered in the bright sun. By custom, she should have been wearing dark gray, the appropriate color for a recent widow. To do so would imply that she grieved over Fagan’s death, but that would be a lie. At best, what she felt was regret Fagan hadn’t been the man he could’ve been.
Murdoch and Sigil had resumed their practice. They were certainly a contrast in styles and movement. Sigil’s build was lean, while Murdoch was easily the largest man in the keep. The fiendish grins on their faces as first one and then the other gained the upper hand in their match were the only real similarity between them.
Once again, Sigil landed a telling blow that had Murdoch cursing as he jumped back out of range.
Clearly frustrated, he glared at his opponent. “That’s the third time you’ve managed that trick. Show me how it’s done.”
This time they lined up side by side as Sigil went through the motion slowly, repeating it again and again, faster each time. Soon Murdoch had the maneuver mastered, and they faced off again.
As she watched the two of them in a dazzling display of skill, she realized she was no longer alone on the balcony. Shadow bumped into her, demanding to be petted. Alina leaned down to give the big cat a thorough scratching.
“Your master shouldn’t be out there this long, but we both know he wouldn’t appreciate my fussing over him.”
She wished the cat could advise her on how best to approach the animal’s skittish master. Shadow simply yawned and proceeded to go to sleep. So much for getting any help from that corner.
Alina was about to return to her embroidery, when a shouting match broke out down below. Several of the men-at-arms stood facing Murdoch and Sigil with their weapons drawn. There was no mistaking the anger in their expressions.
She strained to hear what was going on as Murdoch planted himself directly between the armed men and Sigil. He brandished his own sword, forcing them to retreat a few steps.
His deep voice vibrated with fury as he shouted at them. “Stand down, the lot of you.”
She held her breath and prayed they’d listen. Right now Murdoch and Sigil were badly outnumbered, and it was getting worse.
Standing there and doing nothing wasn’t an option. Alina bolted back inside to search for Captain Gideon, hoping she would find him in time.
* * *
Damn, Murdoch had been afraid of this. The last thing he wanted was to hurt one of Merewen’s men while protecting Sigil.
“I said to stand down. Put away your weapons, and we’ll talk.”
“We don’t want to talk. We want him dead,” the bravest of his opponents shouted back.
“What’s your name?”
The man didn’t bother to glance in Murdoch’s direction. “Don’t know what my name has to do with anything, but it’s Ewan.”
“Ewan, lower your blade so we can discuss this calmly.”
“There’s no need for talking other than to find out why he has a sword.”
Murdoch took a step forward, forcing the man to retreat yet again, hoping to divert Ewan’s attention from Sigil to him. “Because I gave it to him.”
Several more men arranged themselves beside their outspoken friend, a clear indication of whose side they were on.
Ewan continued shouting. “My brother died fighting against that bastard Fagan and his men. Why are we letting this murder
er live?”
Sigil moved up next to Murdoch. The maneuver didn’t do a thing to calm the situation, but at least he had his sword tip down in the dirt.
“Get back.”
The stubborn fool shook his head and stayed right where he was. “I’m the one they want. I won’t hide.”
Murdoch wanted to kick Sigil’s backside for him, but then he would’ve done the same if their positions were reversed. He liked that about him, even if it only served to escalate the situation.
Murdoch moved to put more distance between them. They’d need ample room to maneuver if things went out of control. “This man is my prisoner. I will not allow him to be harmed.”
“He doesn’t look like a prisoner with a weapon in his hand.” Ewan brought up his own sword. “He should’ve been executed immediately. If you don’t have the courage, then stand back and let us take care of it.”
That did it. No one got by with calling Murdoch a coward. No one. If words didn’t get his point across, his sword would.
Using the strength and speed granted to him by the goddess herself, he charged forward and knocked Ewan’s sword out of his hand before the man could muster any kind of defense.
Then Murdoch grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground, choking off the guard’s ability to breathe. “Do you really want to question my honor, Ewan? Because I’m telling you right now that men have died for far less.”
Ewan managed to sputter, “N-no.”
Murdoch looked around at the remaining guards, meeting each one’s gaze head-on. “Now, stand down and put away your weapons.”
As he waited, he sensed more men approaching, but these were friends. Averel’s dogs arrived just ahead of their master, with the captain and Kane right behind them. They aligned themselves on either side of Murdoch and Sigil.
The last one to show up was Shadow. She planted herself in front of several of Ewan’s companions and yawned, showing off her fangs. From the way several backed away, her point was made.
Gideon’s voice was remarkably calm. “Murdoch, I’m sorry I’m late. I was looking forward to facing off against Sigil here myself.”
Murdoch slowly lowered Ewan back to his feet and loosened his hold enough to let the man draw a full breath. “You’re not too late. Ewan and his friends here were just asking why we would give Sigil a sword.”
“Did you tell them that I thought your suggestion that we might learn more from him about how the duke’s men fight had merit?”
Murdoch had said no such thing, but he wasn’t about to mention that at the moment. “Sigil already taught me how to counter a move that he used to slip past my guard three times. I would be glad to teach my friend Ewan here how to do it myself.”
Gideon stared at the guard for several seconds. “What do you think, Ewan? Not many can best my friend Murdoch with a sword, so you’d learn a lot from him. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Clearly the man wanted to refuse. But as he looked from Gideon to Murdoch and back, he knew he was trapped. Finally, his head bobbed up and down in agreement.
Gideon clapped his hands and then rubbed them together as if the bout were something he’d looked forward to all day. “The rest of you partner up. Kane and I will work with each of you one-on-one in turn while Sigil assists Murdoch in teaching Ewan his lesson. Averel, get them started, and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
The rest of the men drifted away to do as Gideon had ordered. Ewan stood back and waited, his anger still evident in his posture. He clearly hadn’t appreciated Murdoch’s rough treatment, but he was smart enough to realize that he was lucky to be alive.
Murdoch motioned for Ewan to join him. “I’m sorry about your brother, Ewan. Now let me show you how Sigil here would’ve killed me three times over. Then I’ll let him show you how to counter the move. Your mother’s already lost one son.”
He then leaned in close, letting Ewan see the vestiges of anger in his eyes. “It would be a shame for her to lose another one because he insulted the wrong man or was too stupid to learn the skills it takes to stay alive.”
Ewan swallowed hard, but he gamely faced off against Murdoch with Sigil calling out suggestions to them both. As tempting as it was to beat the guard bloody, Murdoch’s vow to protect Merewen and her people took precedence.
With that in mind, he set about making the man a better swordsman, but the bastard was going to pay for the lesson with a lot of sweat and pain.
* * *
“But, Sire, I would be remiss if I didn’t advise against taking two doses of this potion so close together.”
Did the healer think Ifre was a total fool? The man might be the best healer in the city of Agathia, but Keirthan knew a fair amount about herbal concoctions himself.
The problem wasn’t the body’s intolerance of multiple doses, but the likelihood the patient would learn to crave the potion. Ifre’s will was stronger than that. Even if it wasn’t, right now he needed the drug more than he needed a lecture. Twice in one day he’d been struck with the backlash from magic spells. The pain was beyond bearing.
“Give me the potion now and leave more in case I need it later. Then you may go.”
He injected enough authority in the order to have the healer scrambling to prepare the dosages. Ifre braced himself against the noise the man made as he measured and stirred, the glassware clinking and clanking loud enough to raise the dead.
“Here you are, Sire. Do you need my assistance in drinking it?”
Ifre pried his eyes open to glare at the obsequious fool. As if he’d show any more weakness than he already had. “No, thank you. I will be fine.”
He forced himself to flatter the healer, knowing he might require the man’s services again sometime.
“I do appreciate your coming on such short notice. Theda will see you out now.” Ifre glared at his sister-in-law. “Pay the man, and tell everyone that I’m not to be disturbed.”
The healer accepted the small purseful of coins from her, his smile becoming more genuine when he felt the weight of the silver. “Please don’t hesitate to send for me if the headaches don’t improve soon. I am at your service.”
After he bowed and followed Theda out of the room, Ifre picked up the flagon of medicine and gulped it down, grateful for the honey and cloves that masked the herb’s bitter flavor. Now it was only a matter of time before the pain faded. He could only hope by tomorrow morning he would be back at full strength.
If he wanted to track down Lavinia’s location, he’d need to be at his best. It shouldn’t be hard, especially if the destruction of his blood magic coins had come from the same area as her feeble attempt to spy on him. But the longer he delayed, the worse his chances were of following the trail back to her.
He staggered across the room to lie down on his bed. Even with his eyes closed, the room continued to pitch and roll. He tangled his fingers in the blankets and held on as he waited for the medicine to take effect.
Finally, a pleasant fog nibbled at the jagged edges of his pain, diminishing its strength enough so that sleep could overtake him. As he eased into a deep slumber, he hoped he would dream of dragging his traitorous half sibling back to the capital city in chains.
Picturing Lavinia broken and bloody left him smiling. As he continued to float betwixt sleep and wakefulness, he thought about her image. Any details he could recall might help track her down. He’d only caught the briefest glimpse of her before he’d been slammed back against the wall by the power she’d unleashed.
Her hair was the same. That sharp gaze of hers still reflected her powerful intelligence. He’d sensed there was someone else with her. He hadn’t seen enough to know if her companion had been male or female, so that bit of information was no help.
There’d been something about Lavinia’s clothing. Something different. Thanks to the powerful potion and the lingering pain, he couldn’t bring the image into focus. Tomorrow, though, he’d figure it out. Once he did, he’d set about making his dreams about Lavinia
in chains come true. She would pay for defying his command.
Chapter 15
“No, the ‘g’ makes a softer sound.”
Lavinia tried again, most of her attempts to copy Duncan’s pronunciation meeting with only limited success. At least he was patient with her, praising her successes without laughing at her failures.
“Nageth.”
When he nodded, she repeated the word twice more to lock it in her memory.
Duncan pointed toward the next page. “Now read the next passage all the way through, and then translate it for me.”
She faltered over fewer words this time. When she reached the end, she picked up her pen and began the laborious process of changing the old tongue into the modern one. She envied the ease with which Duncan read the ancient languages. So far she’d listened to him read from texts written in four different languages, and suspected he was fluent in several others.
Had she been a jealous person, she might have hated him for it. Instead, she found the combination of his scholarly and warrior natures compelling. Her elder brother had also had a scholarly bent, but Armel had never been the kind to pick up a sword and lead his men into battle himself. Ifre was a coward who killed from a distance.
She suspected Duncan would’ve been content to spend his life lost in his studies, but his duty came first. His inborn sense of honor demanded that he stand strong for those who could not defend themselves.
He glanced up and caught her staring. “Did you need help with a word?”
Her cheeks flushed hot as she pushed the parchment toward him. “No, I’m finished.”
He held the paper up to the light, his pale eyes skimming the page in quick order. She walked over to the closest shelves and studied the titles while she waited.
The scrape of his chair warned her that Duncan had finished reading. He joined her at the bookshelf, his expression still somber as he handed the paper back to her. She braced herself to receive his verdict.
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