The Stag Lord (16 page)

Always remember
, said the voice of her old mentor and master Healer in her head,
family members do not need to see their loved ones' blood on yer hands or clothing. Nor do they need to see ye looking disheveled and anxious. Tidy yerself if ye can and be composed
. After splashing cold water on her face, she patted it dry, then brushed and retied her hair into a ponytail. After practicing a reassuring expression in the mirror, she headed to the living room.

Cor was sitting on the hearth with Max's head on his lap, gaze fixed on the hallway. Flecks of dried blood freckled his right eye and cheek. He scrambled to his feet when Shay appeared. “Is he okay? Can I see him?” She noticed he kept one grimy hand on Max's neck, fingers buried in the dog's thick ruff.

“You bet. He's asleep right now, which is good.” She put out a hand when he started around her. “Whoa. Let me take a look at that eye before you—”

“No. I wanna see Dad first.”

The stubborn jut of his jaw was so Bann that Shay almost smiled. Almost. Deciding not to perish on that particular mountain, she stepped to one side. “Okay. For just a moment, then it's your turn. Deal?”

“Deal.” Cor darted around her and disappeared. Shay started to follow when the clink and clatter from the kitchen pulled her head around.

Rory was busy at the counter, making sandwiches. Or rather, making towering stacks of random foods, using what appeared to be the entire contents of Shay's refrigerator. Pausing from slapping horseradish sauce on a slab of ham, he looked over. “Thought everyone might be hungry.”

“Meaning you?”

Rory shrugged. “I could eat a bite, now that you mention it.” He waggled the knife at her. “And Hugh said to make sure you eat, too. We all know how you neglect yourself when you've got a patient under your care.
Two
patients, now,” he amended. He shooed her away. “Go do your Healer stuff, little cousin. And tell Hugh and Cor I'll have supper ready in a few more minutes.”

Damn, but I love my family
. Shay strolled back to the guest room. The affection intensified when she spotted Hugh sitting next to the bed, speaking softly to Cor perched on the edge of the mattress. Max sat at guard, his muzzle resting on the boy's thigh.

“Now, cease fretting, lad. Your da's going to be right as rain. Why, Shay Doyle is one of the finest Healers I've known. And I've known quite a few in my time.”

Cor nodded, eyes locked on the motionless figure. He sniffed, then swiped at his face, wincing when he broke open the gash again. A smear of blood decorated his cheek like war paint.

“Come on, Cor.” Shay held out her hand. “Let's let your dad sleep. Plus, I want to see to that cut. Then we'll eat. But I have to warn you—Rory's made sandwiches with some scary choices in condiments.” Ignoring her hand, Cor slid off the bed, careful not to jostle his father, and disappeared into the bathroom. Max trotted after him.

Hugh rose. “I'll go check on your cousin. His culinary skills are dubious at best.” He grinned, giving her ponytail a tug as he used to when she was a child, and left.

Smiling from the familiar—and familial—gesture, she snagged the jar of
sláinte
nettle and followed Cor. “Out,” she ordered Max. “Not enough room in this bathroom for you.” She shook her head when the dog sank down on his haunches in the middle of the hallway and chuffed out a breath. “Oh, deal with it.”

Cor waited for her by the sink, staring into space, glassy-eyed from fear and exhaustion.
I need to get him doctored, fed, and in bed before he collapses
. “Take a seat.” She gestured toward the edge of the tub, then opened the brew and soaked a corner of a washcloth. Holding Cor's chin in one hand, she dabbed at the cut.
More of a nick, really
. “So. You hungry?”

Cor gave a one-shoulder shrug. He kept his gaze fixed on her left earlobe.

She tried to think of something to lighten his melancholy. The storm outside moaned, followed by a rat-ta-tat as the wind rattled the bathroom's exhaust vent.
This would be a good night for a fire
. An idea popped in her head. “Well, how about after supper, we make s'mores in the fireplace?” She dipped a clean corner of the cloth into the solution, then placed it against the cut. “Here. Hold this on until it stops tingling.”

“‘Kay.” Half-hidden by the cloth, Cor's face brightened. “Can we really?”

“Sure. You can help me. I always torch mine.” Shay screwed the lid back on the jar and put away the supplies. “Okay, that should be enough for now. Let me see.” She peered at the wound.
Thank the Goddess for young skin and supernatural brews
. “I don't think you'll even have much of a blemish once we get it healed. Although it would've been a pretty cool battle scar. All the other Knights would think you're this total badass.” She winced. “Oops. My bad.”

“That's okay.” Cor glanced up at her, a weak smile tugging at his lips. It faded after a moment. “Um…Shay?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure. Anything.” She leaned a hip against the counter.

He looked down. “It was my fault,” he whispered to the tiles.

Oh, Cor
. “No, it wasn't. Those Fir Bolgs…” Shay paused when Cor tensed, shrinking in on himself with shoulders hunched and fists clenched in his lap. As if speaking the very
name
of those creatures might make them burst into the room.

A violent protectiveness swept through Shay like a wildfire.
The gods help anyone or anything that ever lays a hand on this kid again
, she thought.
Gutting with a dull knife would only be the
first
thing I would do to them
. She swallowed, waiting until she was sure her voice was steady. “Trust me, Cormac Boru. It was not your fault. Not. One. Bit.” For a moment, she thought he was going to argue, but he simply nodded.

“Wish Dad would wake up.” He gazed across the hallway where his whole world lay unconscious.

“Me, too.”
Because I'm so not good at this stuff. How do parents do this? How does
Bann
do this
? “But sleep is a healer. And he'll recover a lot faster with a good night's rest.” She straightened. “C'mon. Let's go see what Rory managed to make using salami and peanut butter.”

After a meal that was creative, to say the least, Shay shooed everyone out of the kitchen and started searching in the cupboard for marshmallows and bars of chocolate.
Because every Healer worth his or her weight in leprechaun gold always keeps s'mores supplies around
.

“Thanks, but hell no,” she told Rory when he offered to clean up. “I'll never find anything. Plus, you and Hugh have done enough. You want to help—get a fire going before you guys head out. Woodpile's just out back.” She placed the marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a pair of long, sturdy skewers on a tray and handed it to Cor. “Put this on the coffee table.”

He studied the tray. “What about the chocolate?”

“I'll bring it out later. I don't want it lying around where Max can get into it, the pig.”

As Cor, with Max's help, carried the tray into the living room, Rory stepped out the patio door, leaving it open. Lingering at the table, Hugh leaned back in his chair and yelled. “You guard your arse out there, Rory Collin Doyle. Don't let the night ogres get ahold of you!” He grinned at the muffled response of
bite me
. “Now, are you sure you do not need for us to stay?”

“No, the wards will keep out those pieces of…” Shay paused and glanced across the great room at Cor teasing Max with the unopened bag of marshmallows, then lowered her voice. “…pieces of shit. No, really. It's all good.”

Twenty minutes later, flames snapped and popped in the fireplace in defiance of the storm outside. After saying good night to her uncle and cousin, Shay closed the door, making sure to lock it. “Okay, before we start, let's check on your—”

Almost tripping over Max, Cor raced toward the hallway. The dog bounded after him, apparently unable to exist more than three yards away from the boy. Now,
his
boy.

“—on your dad,” Shay said to an empty living room before following. At the sound of low voices talking, she slowed and hesitated in the doorway.

Cor was kneeling next to the bed, his face almost touching Bann's, whispering things that only a well-loved son would say—
could say
—to a father. To Shay's surprise, Bann's lips parted in a weak smile. Eyes closed, he murmured something.

“‘Kay. I will.” Cor stretched over and pressed his forehead against Bann's. “
Codladh sumh
, Dad.” Sitting back on his heels, he paused for a moment, then spoke over a shoulder. “It means
sleep well
in Gaelic.”

“I know,” Shay said softly. “My dad used to say it to me, too.” Refraining from asking Cor what else Bann had said, she stepped closer and laid her palm on the Knight's forehead. “Better. We'll give him another dose in an hour or so.” She glanced down at the figure huddled on the floor. “Want to go melt some marshmallows now?” The thought of all that gooey sugar made her want to gag.

Chin resting on a raised knee, Cor messed with his shoelaces, tying and retying them. “Can I just stay here for a while?”

“As long as you want. Max, come.” She snapped her fingers.

“Shay?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Can Max stay with me?”

“Of course.”

She moved aside as Max walked over and flopped down between the beds, resting his head on Cor's feet and making sure to take up as much room as possible. Cor toyed with the dog's ears. She blinked in surprise at the next request.

“You, too?”

Forever and a day
. “All right.”

She wedged herself between the empty bed and the hound on the floor, stretching her legs across the furry body. Her heart melted when Cor scooted closer to her in the dogpile. The light from the lamp formed a cap of amber on his head but threw his face into shadow.

The storm's dirge filled the room. Snow hissed on the panes, frustrated it wasn't invited to join the vigil.

14

I
T WAS THE LESSENING
of the pain, the ability to take a breath without passing out from agony, that woke Bann. Which was immediately followed by panic.

He couldn't move his legs. A weight pinned them down at the ankles, forcing one foot to bend at an awkward angle like a gymnast pointing her toes for the judges. His eyes flew open.

A familiar ceiling greeted him. He blinked and looked around. Morning sunlight gilded the edges of the closed curtains of Shay's guest room. Wondering at the weight, he looked down. Cor lay curled in a ball, fast asleep and his head resting on his father's blanketed feet. The boy's fists were tucked under his chin in a fashion Bann hadn't seen since Cor was a toddler. The cut under the boy's eye was a small, accusatory scar.

Blame flogged him raw. Then Shay's voice whispered in his head.
“Guilt's a crappy, useless emotion. Not when there's a better one.”

“Which is?”

“Revenge. Cold, calculating, Celtic revenge.”

Holding on to that lifeline, Bann cleared his throat. “Cor,” he rasped.

The boy blinked awake. For a moment, he stared bleary-eyed.

Pushing the cover aside, Bann lifted his arm on his uninjured side in invitation. Cor crawled along the mattress and burrowed next to him. Tucking the boy further under his arm, Bann kissed the top of his head, then rested his cheek on the hair rumpled from sleep. The smell of shampoo and clean cotton greeted his nostrils.

“Dad?”

“Son.”

“I'm sorry,” Cor whispered.

Retribution, not remorse
. He ignored the guilt filleting him, slicing at his innards with razor teeth before feasting. Straightening, he pulled Cor closer, nestling him against his bare chest. “Now, what kind of talk is that? You did grand. Clever of you to call Shay.” He paused. “Those Fir Bolgs—”

Cor tensed. “Don't.”

Not wanting to push the boy to talk about it, at least not yet, Bann nodded. The click-click-click of nails on wood filled him with relief. Max appeared a moment later, nudging the door further ajar as he joined them. Trotting around to Cor's side, he shoved his nose under the boy's hand, demanding his due.

“Max found us, you know.” Cor traced a finger along the dog's snout and up between his eyes.

“Aye, he did. So, we've
two
heroes to honor, eh?”

“Really?” Cor looked up at Bann, eyes still filled with the horror of yesterday but desperate for absolution.

“Truly. A warrior, ye are, Cormac Boru.” He nailed his son with his eyes, willing Cor to understand what he was about to say. “For it is how a warrior overcomes the enemy, not what the enemy does to him, that makes him a true hero. Ye ken?”

Cor stared back. For a moment, Bann spied, in the planes and lines of the boyish face, the man his son would become. Then a faint smile.

“Aye, I ken.”

“You know, from anyone else, that would've sounded like lines from a bad movie.” Shay appeared in the doorway, a steaming mug in one hand. Bann wondered why the room seemed brighter.

Her smile dimmed. She glanced briefly at Cor, one eyebrow raised in question, as if to ask:
Is he going to be okay
?

Bann nodded slightly.
I believe so
.

Their gazes locked over the top of the child's head. For a split second, the power of
three
, a number full of might and vigor, pulsed around the room. Then it was gone. Bann blinked. He noticed Shay shaking her own head as if to clear it.

“Okay, that was weird.” Bemused, Shay set the mug on the bedside table, then pulled the chair closer and sat down. She studied his face. “You're still a mess, but not as bad as yesterday. I've been practically drowning you in the nettle brew all night.” She pressed her palm to Bann's forehead, then laid the back of her fingers against his cheek.