by Anne Bishop
A few years ago, the man before him would have been a boy — certainly too young for courier work. Which meant he was lying about having been to the Old Place before, and that made Liam uneasy. “What business do you have there?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s none of yours.”
“I’m the Baron of Willowsbrook,” Liam said, his former courtesy turned cold. “So it is my business.”
The young man paled a little. “I’ve a letter for one of the ladies there.”
“Which one?” Why was he pushing? It truly wasn’t any of his business. If the man hadn’t lied in the first place, he might simply have given him directions and let him go.
“Mistress Nuala.”
Liam extended one hand. “I’m going that way. I’ll see it gets delivered.”
The young man paled a little more. “My instructions were to place it in Mistress Nuala’s hand personally. ‘Tisn’t important or anything,” he added hurriedly. “You understand how ladies can be at times about making sure letters reach the right person, although why they make such a fuss is beyond me. My sister is a right fusser about things like that. I happened on a letter a friend of hers had written to her. Hand delivered it was, too, so I thought — Well, I was younger then. But there it was, four pages, sir, filled with discussion about ribbons and the length of sleeves and the different shades of green needed to do some embroidery. Four pages! And they, my sister and her friend, always got right stiff about having their letters delivered properly.”
“Probably because your sister’s friend also had a younger brother,” Liam said coolly. The man was lying with every breath. Oh, he was telling the truth about having a sister, Liam was certain of that, which only made the lie about the letter’s unimportance more damning. Whatever he was delivering to Nuala was something he didn’t want anyone else to know about — or connect him to — and it occurred to Liam that Elinore’s concern about the witches needing his protection might have weight.
“Very well,” Liam said. “I’ll ride with you, since I’m going that way. Follow me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Not happy, but trying not to show it, the young man waited while Arthur saddled Oakdancer. Once Liam was mounted, they rode to the Old Place in silence.
“Breanna!”
Shading her eyes, Breanna looked up at the housekeeper, who was leaning out an upstairs window. “Glynis?”
“You’ve got company coming. Best look sharp.”
Wondering if that was a suggestion that she should change out of the tunic and trousers she’d been working in or simply a warning, Breanna shrugged, then walked to the arch. Liam and Oakdancer were easy enough to recognize, but it took her a moment to place the other man.
When they were a few feet away, the men reined in.
“Good day to you, Mistress,” Liam said.
Had he forgotten her name? Breanna wondered.
It was his quick glance at the other man and the stiff way he held himself, as if ready for a fight — and the question in his eyes, directed straight at her — that told her he wouldn’t give her name to a stranger, and he’d make that stranger’s life a misery if she even hinted there was cause.
In a flash of insight, she realized Liam would react the same way if a stranger approached his little sister, Brooke. This wasn’t about being a baron — although she was sure he’d make use of the power the title gave him. This was about being an older brother.
Not sure how she felt about that — pleasure and confusion danced inside her in equal measures — she turned to the other man, and said, “Cousin Rory?”
The young man sagged in relief. “It’s glad I am to see you, cousin Breanna.”
Breanna narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Why?”
“Well, there is that,” Rory muttered. “Father sent a letter and things to Nuala, asked me to deliver them personally.”
“Then you can use the kitchen door same as the rest of the family,” Breanna said tartly.
Rory flashed a grin at her, brushed his fingers against the brim of his hat as a salute to Liam, then urged his horse through the arch.
“There’s no point having him go through the front door,” Breanna said, walking toward Liam while he dismounted. “He’d just head straight for the kitchen anyway, wouldn’t remember to stop and wipe his feet, and then he’d have Glynis chasing him with a broom for mucking up her clean floors.”
Liam just stared at her.
“You’ve never been chased by an annoyed woman with a broom,” Breanna decided.
“No,” Liam said faintly, “I’ve never had the pleasure.”
She studied his boots. “Well, if you’re wanting the experience, just walk through the front door and don’t wipe your feet.”
“I’m the Baron of Willowsbrook.”
“From the ankles on up, you’re the Baron of Willowsbrook. From the ankles on down, you’re dirty boots on a clean floor. I’ll give you odds which part of you Glynis will notice.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll stay where I am,” Liam muttered. He was appalled to realize that a tiny part of him wanted to find out if a woman would really whack a baron with a broom because he tracked dirt on her floor.
“So,” Breanna said, wondering where his mind had wandered off to. “Besides giving Rory an unwanted escort, what brings you here?”
“Does he really have a sister who writes long letters about ribbons and the length of sleeves?”
She studied him more carefully. He didn’t look like the stallion had tossed him, but she wasn’t sure something hadn’t addled his brain. “He does have a sister, a year younger than me. I’ve never known her to write a letter about ribbons and sleeves, but if you make the mistake of asking, she can write you a page or two about which kinds of quills can be sharpened to the best point and hold that point the longest to produce the clearest hand when toting up numbers in a ledger.” She shrugged.
“Mother’s mercy,” he said. He started petting Oakdancer’s neck.
“Liam?” Breanna said gently. He really was starting to worry her.
“Yes?”
“You’re here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” That came out a little sharper than she’d intended, but at least it got his attention focused again.
“Oh. I’m going to Durham tomorrow for a few days, and I . uh . I wondered if there was anything you’d like me to bring back for you.”
She gave him her best wide-eyed sweet look — which probably didn’t look anything like what she’d intended, since all the color slowly drained out of his face. “You mean you’d shop for ribbons and lace if I asked you to?”
That’s mean, Breanna, she scolded herself. If he faints at your feet, you’ve only yourself to blame.
Liam cleared his throat. “I — If that’s what you might be needing.”
He’d do it. He looked miserable right now, and probably wished he’d never offered, but he’d do it.
“Why would you do that?”
“You’re my sister, and —”
Breanna stiffened. “I thought we’d settled that the other day.”
“We settled that you wouldn’t acknowledge my father as your own. We didn’t settle if you would or wouldn’t acknowledge me.”
As what? A brother? There were plenty of the old baron’s bastards who would be happy to acknowledge Liam as a brother. Why did he want that from her and not them?
“I need to think on it, Liam,” she said quietly. “I’ve thought of you for a lot of years as simply the baron’s son, and that never made me feel like we were kin. I need to think on it.”
Liam nodded.
“I thank you for the offer, but there’s nothing we need from Durham. We have kin who are merchants, so it’s easy enough to get something if we can’t find it in the village.” He looked so discouraged, she added hesitantly, “Perhaps a book?”
His smile was slow in coming, but it eased a strange tightness in her chest.
“Blessings of the day to you, Liam.”
She stayed where she was, watching him until he’d ridden out of sight.
I’ll think on it, Liam. I don’t know that I’ll give you the answer you seem to want, and I don’t understand why you want it, but I’ll think on it.
When she went back inside the house, Rory looked up from the soup and bread he was busy shoveling into his mouth. “Nuala wants to see you. In the morning room.”
“Don’t talk and eat at the same time,” Breanna said as she walked through the kitchen. “You’ll choke.”
Nuala was standing by a window, just staring out at the land. On the table near her sat the letter and two large bags that must have come from Rory’s saddlebags.
“Some of our kin will be visiting us this summer,” Nuala said quietly.
Breanna glanced at the letter. “We’d had word of that before. They’re coming for the Solstice.”
“Sooner than that, I think. Trevor was as careful about what he said as he was about what he didn’t say. But reading between the lines, I’d say he’s worried about what may be decided at the next barons’ council, and he wants the girls to be someplace else when the new decrees are announced. He also sent enough gold and silver coins to keep us all for a couple of years if it comes to that.”
“If the barons make a new decree, it will apply to all of Sylvalan, not just the eastern part.”
“We’re still farther away from the troubles that have been touching the east.” Nuala turned away from the window and looked at Breanna. “And we live at the foot of the Mother’s Hills. You know as well as I do that nothing the barons decree will make any difference in the Mother’s Hills.”
“I know.” Breanna took a deep breath, let it out in a huff. “I’d better give Glynis a hand in polishing up as many guest rooms as we can.”
Nuala just nodded and turned back to the window to look at the land.
All through that day, as Breanna helped Glynis prepare the rooms, her mind circled around one thought: Liam would be at the barons’ council, and if there was trouble heading toward her family, he would tell her soon enough.
Chapter Seven
Lady Morag, have you seen Ashk?” Morag studied the young man rapidly approaching her. She couldn’t remember his name, but she’d seen him with the group of adolescents Ashk affectionately called “the pack.”
“She’s at the Clan house,” Morag said. The young man grinned. “I wanted to give her fair warning. She’s about to have visitors.” He touched two fingers to his temple, giving Morag a jaunty salute before jogging down the forest trail that led to the Clan house.
Morag continued along the trail away from the Clan house for another minute. Paused. Looked back.
Turning in a slow circle, she opened herself to her power as the Gatherer and listened.
Death always murmured in the woods, just as life murmured there. But she heard no whisper from Death that indicated she was needed. Besides, there was the youth’s grin to consider — and the fact that Ashk had been oddly distracted while she’d been showing Morag some of the trails in the woods. Added to that was Ashk leaving her abruptly about an hour ago “to take a bath.”
Whose arrival could be important enough that this Clan’s Lady of the Woods would feel compelled to look her best in order to receive them?
A chill went through Morag. She could think of two Fae whose arrival might cause some excitement among the Clan here — the Huntress and the Lightbringer. The Lady of the Moon and the Lord of the Sun, the Lord of Fire.
Would Dianna or Lucian visit a western Clan? The rest of the Fae in Sylvalan tended to avoid the Fae in the west whenever possible. There was no reason those two would visit here. Unless, somehow, they’d heard that Ari was still alive and now lived in this Old Place.
But there was that youth’s grin and Ashk’s desire to look her best. Considering Ashk’s opinion of Lucian and Dianna, Morag didn’t think Ashk would make any special efforts for either of them.
Morag shifted to her other form, spread her black raven’s wings, and flew along the forest trail back to the Clan house.
Just to be safe. Just to be sure. As soon as she’d satisfied herself that these visitors were no threat to Ari and Neall, she’d return to the cottage.
As soon as you’ve satisfied your own curiosity, she admitted frankly. You want to see who could fluster Ashk.
Morag landed just out of sight of the Clan house, changed back to her human form, then walked the rest of the way. She reached the Clan house at the same time Ashk walked out one of the doors.
“How do I look?” Ashk asked, turning in a circle to show off the summer-green gown and the brown, richly embroidered overvest.
Like a gentry lady — except you have the pointed ears and feral looks of the Fae, Morag thought. “You look lovely.”
Ashk’s woodland eyes had a sparkle Morag hadn’t seen in them before.
Ahorn sounded through the woods. Ashk’s nostrils flared slightly, as if she were trying to catch a scent on the wind.
“They’re here,” Ashk said. She smiled at Morag. “Come and meet them.” Not waiting for Morag’s response, she walked toward a dark-haired man on a gray gelding and a young girl on a black pony as they slowly rode into view of the Clan house.
Gentry, Morag decided as she moved to a position where she could watch Ashk as well as the strangers. That’s why she saw the boy riding behind the man. Seen straight on, the boy had been hidden.
“Lady Ashk,” the man said with formal politeness.
“Baron Padrick,” Ashk replied just as formally. “Come and be welcome.”
Morag scanned the faces of the other Fae who were watching this meeting. They didn’t seem concerned or wary that the local baron had come to the Clan house. No, they seemed amused by the formality of the greeting. Just like the young girl on the black pony, who was rolling her eyes — which, in turn, made the boy scowl at her.
“I brought someone to see you,” Padrick said. Reaching an arm back, he helped the boy down before dismounting.
The girl, grinning now as she watched Ashk, dismounted and led her pony closer to Morag.
Ashk studied the boy before giving Padrick a quizzical look. “You’ve brought a visiting baron to see me?”
Morag wanted to join the young girl in rolling her eyes. What was wrong with Ashk? It was obvious the boy was the man’s son. Anyone could see that by looking at them.
The boy, both pleased and embarrassed, said, “Mother.”
Ashk stared at him coolly. “Mother? You’re mistaken, sir. My son is a boy of eleven years, while you are a tall, handsome young man.”
“Mother! It’s me, Evan. Truly, it is.” He looked up at the man beside him. “Father, tell her.”
Morag stared at the man, then at Ashk. Father? Mother? Ashk had mated with the local baron?
Ashk tipped her head to one side, considering. “I’d know who you are for certain if I got a hug.” She opened her arms.
When the boy glanced at the people around him and hesitated, Padrick said, “Lad, if you haven’t learned yet to recognize a good offer when you hear one, then I’ll be glad to take your hug as well as my own.”
“You’re getting a hug?” Ashk asked.
“Indeed I am,” Padrick replied.
The boy took a self-conscious step toward Ashk. Then another. When Ashk smiled at him, he closed the distance between them in a rush.
Padrick looked over at the girl and winked. She gave him a sassy smile in reply.
After a few moments, Padrick said, “Step aside now, lad. It’s my turn.”
Evan squirmed out of his mother’s embrace and stepped aside, grinning.
Padrick stepped forward — and received a bit more than a hug as a welcome.
“I’m Caitlin. Who are you?�
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Morag turned her attention away from Ashk and the baron to the girl now standing beside her. She had blue eyes like the baron, but her hair was ash brown, like Ashk’s. And it was Ashk’s face looking up at her, younger and human, but the connection was still obvious.
“Are you visiting from another Clan?” Caitlin asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“She’s Neall and Ari’s friend,” Evan said, joining them. “She’s staying with them. Father told me.”
“He told me, too,” Caitlin said, sounding a little fierce. “I was just being polite.”
Both children looked over at their parents, who were still embracing.
“When I was little, I thought it was awful that men had to kiss ladies that way,” Evan said thoughtfully. “But now that I’m older, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. I may even try it some time. When I’m a bit older.”
“Only husbands are allowed to kiss that way,” Caitlin said. “And they’re only allowed to kiss their wives.”
“Husbands are allowed to kiss other ladies.”
“Are not.”
“Are, too. Father kisses ladies who are friends. Like Ari.”
“But not that way.”
“Of course not that way.”
“Cause if he did, Mother would tear Father’s throat out.”
“And if Mother kissed another man that way, Father would throw her in the dungeon and not let her out until she promised never to do it again.”
Caitlin scowled. “We don’t have a dungeon. And even if we did, Father would never do that to Mother.”
Evan frowned at his younger sister. “Guess not. But he would be very angry.”
“Yes, he would,” Caitlin agreed.
Bloodthirsty little beasts, Morag thought.
Then they both looked at her, a bit too thoughtfully for her comfort.
“What’s your gift?” Caitlin asked.
Morag hesitated. “I’m the Gatherer.”
She expected them to move away from her. The children in other Clans, once they learned who she was, had tended to keep their distance. Instead, Evan’s and Caitlin’s eyes brightened.
“You’re the only one of Death’s Servants who can gather a spirit before the body dies,” Evan said excitedly. “Have you ever done it?”
