Haunting Warrior (22 page)

Cathán couldn’t keep the shock from his face and neither could Rory. Rory had made the jump—the wild guess—that somehow Saraid had been communicating with Tiarnan, sending thoughts or images or however it worked between the two of them. But now he wasn’t sure. If Tiarnan planned to escape, he wouldn’t be asking for an escort—which Rory would lay money translated to armed guard—to go with him.

Rory shifted his gaze to his father’s face, watching him make the same assumptions. For Tiarnan to ask for men to accompany them, he must be sincere in his intentions to go and return. He meant to bring the others back with him. Then Cathán glanced at him and quickly away, but that look was all it took to give Rory another flash of comprehension.

Cathán thought Stephen had yet to make his move.

The Ruairi they knew here was a hothead, a violent man who would’ve come out swinging if he’d survived the attack. No way could he have kept his cool and sauntered out with his new bride. At least that’s what Cathán was banking on.

Rory rocked on the heels of his stiff sandals and considered that—tried to get into Cathán’s head and put the pieces together in the same way his father would. To have all of Saraid’s people here when Stephen did make his move . . . that would be a crowning moment, wouldn’t it? Rory’s murder, made to look like it was done by Saraid would prove that she and her people deserved to be wiped from the face of the earth. And here they would all be, just as he’d hoped. Sitting ducks waiting for the hunt.

Cathán signaled to one of the men standing behind him, stiff and ready to do his bidding. “Have twenty of your best escort our honored guests to their destination and back.”

“Twenty?” Tiarnan said. “To escort me and two boys?”

The two “boys” stiffened in resentment but neither said a word.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen along the way,” Cathán said with an innocent smile.

“And I appreciate yer concern, Half-Beard,” Tiarnan said smoothly. “But that would seem more a guard than a courtesy, wouldn’t it, then?”

And Rory finally saw the light. In that moment, he realized he hadn’t given Tiarnan near enough credit.

Saraid’s brother had known that Cathán wouldn’t let them leave with a kiss and wave. By asking for the escort, he’d diffused Cathán’s objections and undermined any attempts to send the whole fucking army out with him.

Cathán couldn’t argue it, not in front of the people who watched with avid interest, not without showing his hand. But he considered Tiarnan, his piercing eyes searching for lies and deceit. Slowly he moved his gaze to the younger brothers, who stared back with open mouths. They obviously didn’t have a clue. At last Cathán’s gaze lit on Rory and watched him for long, drawn moments. He could feel his nerves stretching tight beneath that steady scrutiny. Feel the rising apprehension of the spectators as he stared calmly back. What chance did he stand if he was attacked now? And what would happen to Saraid after they brought Rory down?

At last Cathán looked away. “A dozen men, then,” he said and snapped his fingers at his captain.

A dozen put the odds four to one against Saraid’s brothers, but it was still better than twenty, and they might just stand a chance if the three were as capable as they looked. Rory let out a held breath, but then Cathán played one last card—one no one could have guessed.

“Mauri,” he said, turning to his daughter. “Would you care to accompany Tiarnan and his brothers?”

Cathán’s wife gasped, and the two guards behind Cathán stiffened with shock. Saraid’s brothers did the same.

Mauri looked anxiously from her father to her mother to Tiarnan as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. It was obvious that she wanted nothing more than to go with Tiarnan.

“No, I won’t have it,” Cathán’s wife exclaimed hotly.

“Be quiet,” Cathán snapped. To Mauri he said, “Well, what’s it to be? Would you like to go?”

“That would be wonderful, Father,” she said with a tremulous smile. “I would like to very much.”

Cathán ignored his wife’s sputtered arguments, but Rory figured she’d give him hell later if her red face and clenched fists were anything to go by. Mauri flung her arms around her father’s neck and hugged him. Cathán’s flat eyes never changed as he patted her back and pushed her away.

Without being told which twelve, the party gathered by the door. They were big men, all armed to the teeth, and the panic in Tiarnan’s eyes glimmered for a hot second before he managed to hide it. They might have had a fighting chance standing united as three brothers against Cathán’s men—some of whom looked a little worse for the drink. But throw Mauri into the mix—Tiarnan would be divided between his need to fight and protect.

Odds were, they’d be cut down before they could get their swords drawn if they tried anything. Saraid’s grip on Rory’s arm tightened, and her expression told him she’d come to the same conclusion.

“See that no harm comes to them or their people,” Cathán told his men. “And have a care that my daughter enjoys herself. We are all family now.”

In a matter of moments, Tiarnan, Eamonn, Michael, and Mauri were flanked by Cathán’s meat-suits and escorted out of the hall. Tiarnan gave a last, troubled look back at his sister as he went. Saraid tried to keep her expression blank, but there was no disguising the fear in her eyes. She thought this was the last time she’d see them. She was probably right.

Not my problem
, Rory reminded himself, but he couldn’t meet her eyes, not when he knew the pain that would darken their velvet depths.

He’d told Saraid he would see her brothers out of the great hall and he had—not how he’d hoped, but they were out. Now he just needed to get the two of them back to the curtained room and through the hidden door. Then he could wipe his hands of the whole mess.

Really
? a voice in his head jeered.
Really?

“Christ,” he muttered beneath his breath, giving Saraid’s hand a pat that did nothing to reassure her.

“They’ll be slaughtered,” she breathed, turning her face to him so that no one else could hear.

“You don’t know that,” he said softly. “Tiarnan seems like a resourceful guy. He’ll figure something out.”

“Does that make it easier for y’ to accept?” she demanded, keeping her voice down, but the anger in it cut sharp all the same. She acted like this was all his fault. It wasn’t his idea to send Tiarnan out with Cathán’s henchmen. That was all on Tiarnan.

He said, “Well, hanging around here isn’t exactly the key to eternal life either, is it?”

“I do not care for this new man ye’ve become,” she hissed. “At least the old Bloodletter looked his victims in the eye when he killed them.”

Her words brought an instant visual of his hands around Stephen’s throat, crushing. Stephen hadn’t had eyes to look into. And now, apparently, he’d have the blood of her three brothers on his hands as well. He shook his head, searching for options. Finding none.

Without a word, he turned, pulling Saraid along with him, avoiding the sparking temper in her gaze. Beneath his tunic he felt the pendant hanging from the leather cord around his neck, hot to the touch, burning his skin.

Life is about to get complicated
, Nana said in his head. Jesus H. Christ.

He wanted to bolt, right then. Get the hell out of Dodge and figure out how to get back to his own world, but Saraid’s hand on his arm anchored him in more ways than one. He might have failed her brothers but he’d be damned if he’d fail her, too.

He took a deep breath, and, as if they had all the time in the world, Rory guided Saraid to the head table and took seats beside the woman he guessed to be his stepmother. Her cold glare let him know he wouldn’t have to worry about small talk.

A servant brought out strange, rectangular dishes that Rory surmised were the time’s version of a plate. To him they looked like miniature troughs. A greasy slop was ladled into it and warm bread placed beside it. One trough was set between Rory and Saraid, apparently to share. He watched as platters were passed their way, laden with cheeses and fruits, meats and fowl, breads and sweets. Saraid took some of the cheese and set it at the edge of the trough. He did the same.

Mimicking the manners of those around him, Rory dipped his bread into the mess and ate it. It was salty and thick, but not as bad as it looked. After the first few bites, he realized he was starving, and he reached for some of the bird and the rib of something that might have been pork. He paced himself though, not wanting to have a lead stomach if he needed to move fast. It seemed Saraid was of the same mind. She nibbled at the roasted goose or duck or whatever in the hell it was.

As they ate it became clear to the crowd that the new bride and groom weren’t going to do anything more exciting than feed their faces, and their attention finally moved on to the music and dancing. Cathán slumped in his chair and scowled at the party. Rory suspected he knew that in some way he’d been duped by Tiarnan, but he just wasn’t clear on the how of it or what he’d missed.

Did he realize he’d sent his innocent daughter into a potential bloodbath? Did he care? Or was his daughter only a pawn to be used like Stephen? Like Ruairi?

With a deep breath, Rory leaned into Saraid, breathing in her scent of lavender and something else that was all her own. His hand at her back brushed the thick rope of her hair and he remembered what it had felt like in his hands, heavy and silky. He wanted to feel it brushing his chest as she leaned down to kiss him.

She’d been seducing him in his dreams for weeks. It should come as no surprise to him that she had the ability to do it in the flesh. The sooner he got away from her alluring presence, the better.

With his mouth close to her ear, he spoke softly. “It’s time, princess.”

R
ORY felt like a two-bit actor performing in a really bad dinner theater. The lights were dim, the walls close, and the audience was near enough that he could smell their foul breath from his and Saraid’s place at the head table. When he stood and pulled his bride to her feet, all eyes turned toward them. “We’ll say good night now,” he said woodenly.

“Good night? And where is it you think you’re going?” Cathán demanded.

“No so far,” Rory answered, forcing a smile. “I want to be alone with my new wife.”

The words were forced and yet they started a flood of heat in his body. He did want to be alone with her in spite of everything going on. That had not changed a bit.

Though they’d spoken in low voices, they had the attention of those close enough to hear, and a knowing rumble spread through the room as those who watched put their own lewd meaning to Rory’s desire for alone time with his bride.

“No. You will stay,” Cathán said. “After Tiarnan has returned I will consider allowing you to go, but not until then.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission,” Rory said.

Cathán’s mouth tightened, though Rory could hear caution enter Cathán’s tone when he spoke. He tried to exude congeniality and goodwill for the avid spectators. “But how can you think of depriving us of your lovely wife’s company, especially when her people have not yet arrived?”

“Let them go,” someone called in a jesting tone. “They are young. T’will not take so very long.”

Laughter followed this, and Cathán forced a smile that gleamed hard from his eyes.

All the rage that Rory had managed to control since Stephen bounded from behind the tapestry and tried to murder him on behalf of his
father
surged within him now. But like his father, he treaded cautiously. Too many people were watching.

“We’ll be back by the time her brothers get here,” Rory said, stiff and formal. Unable to look full on at his father. Unable to reconcile this man to the memory he’d held for so many years. He had a good idea about the real reason Cathán wanted Rory to wait until Saraid’s brothers returned. Cathán thought Stephen still lurked in the tunnel or somewhere in the curtained room and he had no way to tell Stephen to wait before he attacked. Wait until everyone was in place to witness Saraid emerging covered in Rory’s blood.

Another voice jeered from the gathered people and others chimed in, shouting bawdy comments about Rory’s speed and a woman’s needs—and just how each should be handled. Saraid turned a deep shade of red, and Rory was pretty sure his face matched hers in color. Well they certainly looked the part of blushing bride and groom. Surprise, suspicion, and calculation darted through Cathán’s eyes as he watched, and Rory cursed the reaction he couldn’t control.

“You seem changed, boy,” Cathán said softly.

Slowly, Rory looked into his father’s face, wishing that Cathán would really see him. See who it was beneath the skin.

“What man isn’t changed by marriage?” Rory asked, amazed at the words that came readily to his lips. Once again, it was the right thing to say and it left his father with no response. Cathán’s wife didn’t buy it, though. She made a soft sound of disbelief, drawing her husband’s disapproving glare. Rory gave his father a quick bow that probably looked as stupid as it felt and then ushered Saraid behind the curtain.

Once on the other side, he and Saraid stood frozen for interminable minutes, waiting for his father to burst in, waiting for another of his minions to appear from nowhere and finish the job Stephen had started. The sound of heckles and laughter told Rory that though Cathán may have tried to come after them, the guests had thwarted his attempts. Cathán walked a fine line—he didn’t want to misstep and act out of the ordinary, not when there were so many people here who might point it out later.

Thinking they were as safe as they were going to be—at least for the moment—Rory took Stephen’s scabbard and blade from beneath the red blanket where it was hidden and belted it at his waist. He felt both comforted and awkward with it on. If he was attacked, could he pull it out and use it with any skill? Or would he only end up lopping off his own balls in the process? He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.