Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels) (34 page)

Jed looked from Branndair back to Seth. ‘I’ll take care of her too. I promise.’

‘I know you will. Jed? Take care of Sionnach as well.’ He couldn’t look at his lieutenant for more than a moment. There was no sound from him. The sword had been wrenched out
of Eili and thrown aside. Sionnach knelt over her, hacking so hard and wildly at his hair that his dirk was leaving deep gashes on his scalp. Blood trickled in thin streams down his face and neck
but there was no expression on his face. Seth winced.

‘Go on, Jed,’ he said. ‘You haven’t long. Kate’ll be coming. Do your best till I get back.’

‘Seth.’ Iolaire touched his arm. ‘Kilrevin’s a tracker, he was famous for it. He
will
get to Rory, and he can force him to take him through the Veil. He
won’t need a watergate. You
have
to get to Rory first.’

‘I know.’ The desolation could have unmanned him right there. ‘I know.’

‘Please find him.’ There were tears in Jed’s voice. ‘And please live. This time
live
, MacGregor.’

‘Same to you, you jumped-up whelp.’ They glowered at one another for a moment, then looked away simultaneously. Seth mounted the blue roan. ‘Listen, Cuilean, Rory’s in
good company. The closest he’ll ever get to Conal.’

‘I don’t… oh.’ Jed blinked. ‘Hannah? Oh!’

‘Hannah.’ Seth tried to smile.

Clutching Finn tighter, Jed stared at him as he rode past the dead kelpie, stopping a few yards beyond it. The roan snorted as he rode it back and forth over a five-metre stretch, fingertips
brushing the air.
Come on. Come on.

The horse stopped, a tremor running in its flank, and Seth leaned a little forward and out of the saddle, his hand seeking something.

‘Hah,’ he said softly. ‘
Sgath
. There you are again.’

The roan sidestepped elegantly, and they crossed to the otherworld together.

He was a patient man. You didn’t live to be Alasdair’s age without a bit of patience. But he resented being ordered around by Kate NicNiven, especially when she had
got it so clearly and colossally
wrong
.

There was no sign of Murlainn’s boy or the redheaded girl. A deer fence stretched from one side of the moor, curved round a small forestry plantation and disappeared, but there was no-one
hiding among the young trees. The low hills rose towards the west and the land fell away to the south and east. You could see a long way, but the boy was not here. Not anywhere.

Alasdair didn’t get to be this age without stopping to think.

The time balance was screwed up, Kate had known that before she made her risky move, and Alasdair didn’t fancy ducking straight back through the tear in the Veil and coming face to face
with Murlainn, a sword in his hand and his dead lover at his feet. That would not be a good scenario, not for him, though it might give a little brief satisfaction to Murlainn.

Alasdair, after all, was running quite an account with that boy, and payment had been overdue even before this latest development. It was more than four hundred years since he’d pulled his
sword from Griogair Dubh’s gurgling throat, but he would never forget his glimpse of the black-haired boy’s reflection in the oily, bloody black water of the well. He would never forget
the look on the child’s white face. And it was a fair bet that Murlainn hadn’t forgotten that day either.

He should have slaughtered the boy then and there, put an end to any vengeful notions in that young romantic head. But there had been a hell of a mess to clear up after the battle, and men to
control in victory.

He had to be honest with himself about his motives. One did not grow old by feeling pity or showing mercy. But somewhere in his soul he’d liked leaving the child alive: a witness, a teller
of the tale, a terrified survivor. He hadn’t wanted to snuff out that delicious terror; not yet. And he’d made that most elementary mistake: not underestimating a twelve-year-old,
exactly, but forgetting for a vital moment that twelve-year-olds grew up, if you let them.

After all, look what had happened to Nils Laszlo. Alasdair grinned. Laszlo’s mistake had been even worse than his. It was a sixteen-year-old he’d let off the hook, and what had
happened? The sixteen-year-old had grown into a thirty-year-old who hunted him down and gralloched him just as he’d gutted Cù Chaorach. Kate had giggled helplessly about that. The
young full-mortal had been kinder than Laszlo deserved, putting the blade through his heart instead of leaving him for the birds the way Laszlo had left Cù Chaorach; but he hadn’t
shown Laszlo any mercy that mattered.

There was a lesson for everyone. Alasdair hoped Kate would bear it in mind, given that she wanted Murlainn’s brat alive. When she had what she wanted from the boy, he really must remind
her that you didn’t leave little cauldrons of revenge simmering away over the years. They always boiled over eventually and burned your house down.

Which brought him back to his present dilemma.

There were two ramblers on the other side of the deer fence, hastening away from him, trying not to look panicky. Clearly his sudden appearance wasn’t all that had spooked them. From a
standing start he took a run at the deer fence and leaped, scrambling over and dropping lightly down. He overtook the ramblers easily, bringing them to a wary halt as he stood in their path and
smiled.

‘A boy and a girl,’ he said without preamble. ‘On a horse.’

‘What?’ Puzzlement, as if they could barely remember what they were hurrying away from.

‘Focus,’ he said brusquely. ‘Focus and you’ll remember. A. Boy. And. A. Girl.’

A light of memory dawned in the woman’s eyes, and with it suspicion. ‘Now, wait just a minute.’

Middle-aged, handsome, grey hair tinted to pale and unconvincing blonde. She was probably a mother and a grandmother, probably felt an instinctive protectiveness even towards two children she
didn’t know, and a moment ago had barely remembered. Alasdair knew he did not look reassuringly normal. Full-mortals judged so much by surface detail. She wasn’t likely to believe he
had the little dears’ best interests at heart, not with his shabby leather coat (not that she’d recognise bloodstains) and his tangled black beard, and the two braids of unwashed hair
at his temples. Not to mention the sword on his back, the bloody-hilted sword that even these two might notice.

He’d been over-occupied lately. There was vanity in him, but he was a busy man.

The woman wore tough walking boots and a backpack, well-used and expensive like her windproof jacket. An experienced walker, then. She’d be fit. Not fit enough, but fit. She’d give
him sport if she felt she had to run. Alasdair beamed at her, toying with the idea, and saw a tremor run through her.

‘Now look here.’ The man was probably her husband. Examining him, Alasdair sighed. He didn’t look much of a challenge, and after all he’d already made one widower
today.

‘We’re on a role-playing holiday,’ Alasdair said softly. ‘The activity centre down the glen.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The man looked relieved, though the woman still looked uncertain.

‘That nephew of mine. Any chance to run off with the girls!’ Nephew, he decided, had more of a ring of truth than
son
. He couldn’t have kept a straight face for
that.

‘Well, they rode off that way. Along the deer fence. I expect they went into the wood. We didn’t see them go, they just disappeared.’

J
us
t disappeared.
He didn’t realise what he was saying, thought Alasdair dryly. Still, the man was convinced of his innocent intentions. He
wanted
to be
convinced. His wife still looked unsure, but the husband would talk her round, and the brats would slip out of her memory. If they featured on some reconstruction her memory might be jogged, she
might turn to her husband, mouth open, and say
We saw them on the moor and we saw that man…

But there wasn’t going to be a reconstruction. There wouldn’t even be bodies, not on this side of the Veil. There wouldn’t be so much as a paragraph in the local paper, so
they’d have nothing to feel guilty about.

‘I see. Thank you!’ Alasdair gave them a broad smile. The woman shuddered as they turned away, gave him a nervous glance. He felt a pang of regret. A hunt would have been
fun…

But he was a busy man with a job to do.

He glanced at the deer fence. So they’d gone back through, had they? The boy was as cunning as his father. No way would Alasdair find the second tear in the Veil before nightfall. Even if
he went after the ramblers, asked them in his own direct efficient way exactly where the brats had vanished, they wouldn’t remember. They’d panic under pressure, if they’d even
taken enough notice to begin with. Full-mortals saw only the surface. They were unobservant, and so forgetful.

Chewing his thumb, he stared thoughtfully at the moorland. Kate had planned well. Murlainn’s lover and his best soldier were dead; his lieutenant Sionnach was incapacitated by grief, if he
knew anything about those twins. The boy would know that his chances of reaching the dun were minuscule, and that anyway Kate was bent on the dun’s destruction. He’d bank on his father
coming after him. The tricksy little bastard might have hidden temporarily back on his own side, but he’d come back sooner rather than later to the full-mortal world, to what he naïvely
thought was safety. All Alasdair had to do was wait for him.

The boy would head for a familiar place, preferably with crowds. Some playground of old where he’d feel safe, where he wouldn’t know he’d ever been watched.

Well, Alasdair had playgrounds too. He’d always had his favourites. He turned to the east and began to run, in a steady economical lope like a wolf.

The black horse’s hooves sounded horribly loud on the cobbles as Rory led it into the darkness. The old stables were closed, roped off for yet more renovations, but there
was still a good chance we’d be seen. We’d be a lot less conspicuous without the kelpie, but Rory was reluctant to take off its bridle. Finn’s horse was the only escape we’d
have in a crisis.

‘With luck we’ll have screwed up Kate’s plan.’ Leading the black into the furthest stall, he crouched against the wall, and I slumped down beside him, eyeing the
beast’s legs with trepidation. ‘She’ll have waited for a time warp before she risked acting. She knew how the time was balanced when we came through, but then we went back, and
came through a second time. So that’s maybe ruined it for her. I hope, anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘Cause they should have caught up with us ages ago.’

I shivered, and hugged myself. ‘Won’t she have thought of us doing that?’

‘You didn’t see her face when we disappeared. She chose her spot and she’d no idea I could break the Veil there. She underestimated me.’ Rory sounded a little too pleased
with himself.

I gave him a thoughtful look. ‘She won’t do that again.’

‘No.’ He chewed the knuckle of his thumb. ‘Listen, Hannah, you should go home. They’re not after you. With me you’re in danger. On your own you won’t interest
them.’ He looked at me kindly. ‘Just leave me. I won’t mind, honest.’

‘Of course I won’t leave you! This is my fault.’

He didn’t instantly contradict me to make me feel better or anything. I waited a few seconds, then blew out a breath. Inside I was wincing.

‘Why did you tell me, Hannah? Why’d you tell me about Eili and my father, if you were in league with Eili?’

‘I didn’t trust her,’ I muttered. ‘I didn’t trust her or Taghan any more than I trusted Finn. I was hedging my bets. I wanted you to know. I thought you
should
know. Just in case.’

He licked his lips, flicked his gaze away. ‘Did she really want Kate to get hold of me?’

‘No. No! God knows how those men knew we’d be there, but they did. Eili was as shocked as we were. And Taghan – Taghan was–’

‘Dead. Like Finn. I guess they’re quits.’

‘I didn’t want Finn to die.’ I shut my eyes. ‘I thought I maybe did but I didn’t. Shit.’

‘Well.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s the way we live. You weren’t to know. Besides, this would have happened somehow, somewhen. Kate’s clever.’

I twisted my fingers tightly together. ‘Listen, about Eili? There’s a reason I – there’s something else. I’m…’

‘Uncle Conal’s daughter, yeah.’

Stupefied, I stared. ‘How’d you know?’ I narrowed my eyes. ‘Did you look?’

‘Didn’t have to; I worked it out. Besides, your blocking is
fantastic
now
.
You learn fast.’

I ignored the compliment. Eili had taught me for a reason, after all. ‘How’d you work it out?’

‘Dad was upset about something, wasn’t he? And it explains Eili. In a lot of ways.’ Rory’s face grew sour. ‘I’m sorry Finn’s dead, but I’m not
sorry about Eili.’

I decided I’d better say nothing to that. ‘We’re cousins, you know.’

‘Uh-huh. Funny, isn’t it?’

‘Bloody hilarious,’ I said dismally. ‘I think that counts as consanguinity.’

‘Consang
what?’

‘Never mind. Though I do. Hang on, sh!’ I froze, then crawled forward on my hands and knees to the door of the stall and peered round. ‘Uh-oh.’

I reversed quickly into the stall, baring warning teeth at Rory. Shrinking against the partition we both looked up at the massive horse. There really was no hiding that thing. The black stilled,
tail flicking, ears pricked forward. I did not like the look in its eye.

The footfalls drew closer, hesitant, and fast shallow breathing echoed in the stable. We didn’t have to read the intruder’s fear: we could hear it.

Rory dropped his block; I heard him, fiercely insistent. ~
You don’t want to be here. We don’t want you here. So go away. Turn round.

The steps halted. Rory shut his eyes tight, cajoling the man, who obediently glanced back towards the square of bright sunlight at the door.

~
You don’t want to be in the dark. Go to the daylight, go on. It’s dark in here.

It was working. I blew out a silent breath. The intruder was hesitating, turning on his heel.

~
Go back to the light.