The Stag Lord (29 page)

He closed his eye. “Well, what are you waiting for? Take him out.”

“I don't want to go by myself.”

“Why?”

“There's tracks in the snow. All over the yard.”

Every atom in Bann's body roared to life even as his mind denied the possibility that anything could have gotten past the wards. He flung back the covers and rushed to the window.

Boot prints dotted the snow. They circled the yard, taking a loop directly below Cor's window out from the house and vanishing into the trees at the far edge of the expansive yard. Bann's eyes followed the prints as they reemerged, skirted the brick wall, then disappeared around the side of the house.

“Stay here.”

Yanking on jeans and briefs in one move, Bann ignored his shirt. Instead, he snatched his knife from the floor and slapped the sheath against his leg, freeing the knife. He wrenched the door open and raced along the hall, bare feet silent in the plush carpet.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, he cocked his head at the sound of muted voices, then hurried down to the main level, the wooden treads cold beneath his feet. A faint thumping sound echoed through the sleeping house. He crept across the dining room toward the yellow glow spilling from the kitchen. Voices murmured once again. Frowning, he stepped through the doorway.

Hugh stood by the back door, already dressed for the day and balancing on one leg as he removed a boot caked with snow. Ann, in a set of flannel pajamas baggy enough for her husband to wear, was measuring grounds into a coffee machine. They both paused and looked at Bann.

“A fine morning to you.” Hugh nodded at the weapon in Bann's hand. “Bit early for knife practice, wouldn't you say?”

“And you probably should dress more warmly.” Ann looked him over. “Although I must say, I don't mind what you're wearing now.”

“He's wearing naught but a pair of trousers,” Hugh pointed out.

As Ann finished prepping the brewer, her gaze flickered across Bann's abdomen where bare skin met low-slung denim. “And wearing them quite nicely.”

Both flattered and self-conscious, Bann tugged at his waistband. “I saw the tracks and I wasn't sure.”

“I was checking on the wards.” Hugh slipped off his other boot and placed them on a rubber boot tray next to the door to dry. “Since you're up and stirring about, what would you say to taking a drive over to Shay's later this morning to board up her windows? James and Rory will meet us there for protection and to help. Ann and I talked last night—you three are staying here with us until all this is resolved.”

“Dad?” Cor appeared with a frantic Max by his side. “It is safe?”

“Why, to be sure, young Boru.” Hugh beamed in assurance as he opened the door. “Out you go, fellow.” He waited until Max shot past him, then took off his jacket and held it for Cor to slip on. “This will keep you warm for now.” Cor hurried after the dog, more jacket than boy. “We'll keep an eye on these two, Bann. You go along and finish dressing.”

“If you must,” Ann muttered, setting out mugs.

After a breakfast of Denver omelets and link sausages that kept vanishing under the table from Cor's plate to Max's mouth, Hugh, Shay, and Bann piled into Shay's SUV and headed back to her house. Cor, with the dog to keep him company, decided to stay behind and try his hand at building a snow fort under Ann's watchful eye. “And I might just join them,” she had declared.

Hugh had laughed, bending to whisper in her ear loud enough for everyone to hear, “If you get chilled, I'll be home in time to warm you up.”

“I'll hold you to your word, Hugh Doyle.”

“Oh, I'm hoping you'll be holding more than that, darlin'.” He kissed her farewell with a sound
smack
.

The streets were Saturday-morning calm under iron clouds that promised more snow. They passed a lone snowplow already working the main roads. Turning onto the Healer's street, they noticed a set of tire tracks ahead of them. Nearing her house, they spotted another vehicle, an older truck with snow chains and sheets of plywood sticking out the back of its gateless bed. As they pulled up, James climbed out of the driver's side.

“Glad to see you guys in one piece. Looks like a war zone in there.” James led the way to the front entrance, which stood open. “We came in through the kitchen—Rory is still inside.”

They stepped inside. The Fir Bolg bodies were gone. Bann pointed out drag marks exiting the smashed back door and traveling across the patio toward the boulder field. “They returned for their fallen.”

“Or a free meal.” Rory's grin widened at their expressions. “What? Everyone knows Fir Bolgs are cannibals.”

“Thanks a lot, Rory.” Shay made a face “I just ate, you know.”

“Apparently, so did they.”

Shay stepped around a dark stain on the living room floor. “But I
am
glad they got rid of those dead ones—I wasn't sure what I was going to do with them.”

“We'd have helped you,” James said. “Like the old saying goes: ‘A friend helps you move. A good friend helps you move the bodies.'”

Bann shook his head at the collective groan, envious of the close-knit family.
I wish this for Cor
.

“Listen, while you guys start on the windows, I'll grab some clothes,” Shay said. “Bann, you might as well get more for you and Cor.”

“I thought I'd drive my truck and camper over to Hugh's.”

“In this snow? On those tires?” Rory looked doubtful. “Dude, I drove it back from the mountains and it barely made it here, and that was with just a little dusting.”

Bann rubbed his knuckles along the stubble on his jaw. “Right. Well, I'll gather up my things, then come help.”

As the other Knights began hauling the sheets of plywood inside, Bann made his way through the snow to the camper, Colorado's champagne powder swirling around his ankles. Feet clanging on the metal steps, he ducked inside and eyed the interior, wondering how he and Cor had lived for a year in such cramped and depressing conditions.
I don't know how, but I
will
make a better life for him. Here. In this place. With our people
. After filling two duffle bags with clothes, he paused for one last item.

Crouching by Cor's bunk, Bann pulled out the built-in drawer under the bed. He flipped it over. Taped to the underside was a torc.
His
torc. He had hidden it there after their camper had been ransacked their first week on the road. Peeling it free from the masking tape, he held it in his hands.

The crescent-shaped neckpiece, made from wires twisted together into a rope of pure gold and about as thick as his thumb, was finished with twin caps crafted to resemble horse heads. He spread it wide enough to slip it around his neck, then squeezed the ends together, close but not touching. Smiling faintly from the familiar weight on his collarbone, he slung both bags over his shoulders, grabbed his toolbox, and locked up his rig. The sound of hammering greeted him from the kitchen as he stepped back inside the house.

Leaving his bags by the front door, he joined the others in the kitchen, setting his toolbox on the island. He studied the cousins struggling to position the board across the kitchen window, then cleared his throat. “Gentlemen.” The young Knights paused and looked at him. “You might want to attach the board on the
outside
of the house. ‘Twould be more weatherproof that way, since the plank would shed any snow or rain,
and
you can nail it to the frame more securely.”

“Good idea.” James lowered the plywood to the floor and leaned it against the counter. “We weren't sure how to—Hey!” He nodded at Bann's neck. “I was wondering if you still had it.”

“Had what?” Shay joined them from the hallway. A large daypack dangled from one arm.

“My torc.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. She dropped the bag at her feet. “Let me see.”

Raising his chin slightly, Bann stood still as Shay leaned closer to examine the neckpiece. His pulse skipped a beat when her breath warmed the skin on his throat.

“Horse, eh?” She tapped on one of the heads. “Or should I say
stallion
. Good choice for you.” Their eyes met, both enjoying the joke.

Rory guffawed. “Oh, Bann,” he said in a falsetto voice. “You're so manly. What with your stud torc and your big weapon. Your really big weapon. Your big, powerful—”

Shay marched over and smacked the back of his skull before he could duck. Hard.

“Hey!” He rubbed his head. “Harsh thing for a Healer to go around whacking people.”

“You're lucky I didn't use a hammer.”

“Ha! You don't have one.”

“No, but Bann does. I'm sure he'll let me borrow it.”

“Aye, I would.”
And anything else you would desire of me
, he thought.

By early afternoon, Bann, with James's help, had finished securing the busted windows and door. Meanwhile, Shay and Rory had cleaned out the snow and muck from the attack. After storing their tools away, Rory announced he and James were staying with their aunt and uncle as well.

“It's not every day we get to go toe-to-toe with an old-school god,” he explained. “Wouldn't want to miss all the fun.”

Shay wrinkled her brow. “You have a weird sense of what constitutes
fun
, Rory Doyle.”

Rory grinned widely. “I know, right?”

Once back at the mansion, Bann rounded up Cor, who jabbered away about the fort he and Ann had built while he scampered upstairs to unpack. After ordering the boy to change both socks and underwear before putting on clean clothes, Bann emptied his duffle on the bed and pawed through the meager pile until he located his least-dirty shirt. Exchanging Hugh's T-shirt for a long-sleeved Henley, he made a mental note to ask Ann if he might use their washing machine.

“Okay. All done.” Cor appeared through the adjoining bathroom. He threw himself backward onto the bed. Spreading his arms and legs wide, he ruffled the material, making a comforter angel. “I like it here.”

“As do I.” Bann paused from placing clothes in a drawer to point a finger at his son. “But remember, we are guests. Be polite. Be helpful.” He raised his eyebrows in warning. “
Be tidy
. And do not become too comfortable—we're not staying.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because this isn't our home.”

“It could be,” Cor said in a quiet voice. Before he could ask, the boy continued. “Maybe you could, um, marry Shay or something. And we could live here. Or at Shay's house. After we fix it up.”

Bann froze. Pushing the rest of his clothes aside, he took a seat next to Cor. “What about your mother?” he asked after a long minute.

Cor wiggled his foot. “I-I don't know.”

Bann flopped back. Side by side, they lay staring up at the ceiling. “Nor do

I. But I do know she would want you to be happy and safe and busy with growing up.”
Not running for your life
. He cleared his throat, finding it peculiar to ask permission from an eight-year-old, but knowing he should at least tackle the subject. “Speaking of Shay, would it be all right if I…”
Gods, this is awkward
.

“If you what?”

“Oh, say, held her hand. Or kissed her.”

“I guess that'd be all right,” Cor said slowly, doubt in his voice. “Do you
have
to? Like, is it a rule or something? Like a boyfriend-girlfriend rule?”

“No, not a rule. Just pleasant to do.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like holding her hand and kissing her?”

Bann almost fell at Ann's feet in worship when she tapped on the open door and stuck her head inside, asking if they had any clothes they would want to add to the laundry. After thanking her profusely—for more reasons than one—he sent Cor to find what he could. They gathered a load and headed downstairs, placing it in the laundry room off the kitchen.

Seated at an antique farmhouse table big enough to accommodate a fourth of the Doyle clan at one time, James had books and old journals spread out in front of him. Hugh sat with him, both of them deep in research, James taking notes. In the corner, Max waited at attention, wondering when someone was going to notice he'd been a good dog for over thirty minutes now, thank you very much.

Rory and Shay were helping Ann with a late lunch. The sizzle and aroma of grilled cheese sandwiches filled the room. Darting around his father, Cor made a beeline for the dog and flung himself on the large, furry body. Max shrugged him off, then bowed in front of him with a yip in the classic
play with me
posture.

“Hey, Cor?” Shay looked up from the tomato soup she was stirring. “Why don't you take Max out and run some of that energy out of him—” Before she could finish, Cor bolted from the room. His feet thundered on the stairs. He appeared a few minutes later, pulling on jacket and gloves.

“—before lunch.” Shay finished as boy and dog ran outside with a whoop and a woof, their exuberance in sharp contrast to the gray day.

Bann watched for a moment as Cor and Max threw themselves on the snow fort in gleeful destruction. After closing the door, he wandered over to the table. “What is this all about?”

“We're still trying to figure out
why
Cernunnos wants Cor.” James scribbled something on a sticky note and attached it to a page in an old journal already bristling with yellow slips. “There's got to be something we're missing.” He peered up at Bann. “Is there anything about Cor that's unusual?”

“Such as?”

“You know,” Rory said. “Special powers. An odd birthmark. The ability to summon dragons. A weird scar on his forehead.”

“A magic ring?” James threw in.

“The ring!” Rory smacked his forehead. “I always forget the ring.”