Dreamspinner (26 page)

“Should I find a woman willing to wed me.”

“Charm, Rùnach. Rediscover your charm.”

Rùnach sighed. “I believe I left it somewhere in Seanagarra along with all my notes.”

“I thought you left those on the plains of Ailean.”

Rùnach pursed his lips. “Been having tea with the notoriously loose-lipped king of Neroche?”

“We chat from time to time,” Nicholas conceded, “though you can thank Soilléir for that last tidbit.”

Rùnach dragged his hand through his hair and started to speak, then watched Aisling disappear down a passageway. “Where is she going?”

“Why don’t you go ask her?”

“I’d rather have a very strong drink in your solar.”

“I didn’t think you partook of anything very strong.”

“I thought I would try, to see if it improved my sour self any.”

“I imagine she’s gone back to bed, so perhaps you would enjoy a brief glass of port in my solar before you go check on her. I’m sure we’ll find something to discuss.”

Rùnach imagined they would. He also supposed Aisling wouldn’t be unhappy for a bit of privacy, so he followed Nicholas to a very luxurious solar and happily accepted the proffered spot on a sofa. The port was indeed fine, the fire very lovely, and the feeling of safety palpable.

He was happy he’d enjoyed all three for the quarter hour he managed before Nicholas handed him a particular ring and ruined them all.

Rùnach looked at his father’s ring, that flat onyx stone set in a silver that never tarnished, then looked at his uncle.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“Ruith gave it to me, of course.”

“Dare I ask why?” Rùnach said grimly.

Nicholas seemed to be considering his words rather more carefully than Rùnach was comfortable with. “I believe he thought I might find another keeper for it when the time was right.”

“Me?” Rùnach asked with a weary sigh.

“It would seem so. And how fortunate that you’ve arrived just in time to take it with you.”

“Foresight, my lord uncle?”

“A hunch.”

“Which for you is the same thing,” Rùnach said sourly. He shot Nicholas a look. “Why is it I suspect nothing ever happened within the borders of Diarmailt that you didn’t see beforehand and plan for?”

Nicholas smiled. “What leads you to believe my sight was limited to my own borders?”

Rùnach laughed in spite of himself “You and Miach. You no doubt leave the Council of Kings all aflutter.”

“I certainly don’t,” Nicholas said, “not any longer. No one knows I’m alive, which is as it should be. It saves Simeon the trouble of wondering what I think of how he managed to lose the crown to that damned Stefan of Wychweald. Greedy little wretch.”

“Who?” Rùnach asked with a smile. “Your nephew Simeon or Miach’s cousin?”

“Both, which is why Diarmailt is nothing more than a very wealthy duchy absorbed into a larger realm, to my eternal disgust.” Nicholas sighed. “I imagine none of them cares any longer.”

“Don’t they?” Rùnach asked.

Nicholas shook his head. “Simeon has magic of his own, of course, and a great amount of it, but he’s less worried about it than he is with the keeping up of the library. It leaves all the practical working of spells to the lads at Buidseachd, but I suppose there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Things change,” Rùnach offered.

“They do, don’t they?”

Rùnach shot his uncle a warning look. “The only thing that’s
going to change with me is my plan to use Weger’s mark to secure a position with some obscure lord who won’t have a clue who I am. I’ve no interest in the inner workings of the Nine Kingdoms.” He looked at the ring, then at his uncle. “And as such, this might be better given to someone else.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Nicholas said. “You’ll find a use for it eventually, I imagine. I wouldn’t lose it, though, like you did your notes.”

Rùnach blew the hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t
intend
to lose my notes.”

“You might want to find them sooner rather than later, you know.”

Rùnach shook his head. “They were just scribblings. Nothing anyone would find to be useful. Nothing will come of it.”

“So say all who regret things later,” Nicholas said with a smile, “though in this case you may be right.” He started to speak, then shook his head. “I don’t know, Rùnach. My dreams are troubled of late.”

Rùnach suppressed the urge to groan. First the ship’s captain, then Weger, and now Nicholas. He held up his hand to ward his uncle off.

“Things are as they should be,” he said firmly. “Ruith sealed my father into that pitiful little garden, Lothar’s safely tucked into Gobhann, and all is right with the world.”

“And your bastard brothers?”

“The keep at Ceangail—”

“Aingidheachd,” Nicholas interjected mildly.

Rùnach looked at him evenly. “We never refer to it as such. Ever. We called it Doibhail.”

“That was not the original name, which your father well knew,” Nicholas said quietly. “There was evil there at that keep before he ever took the place for his own. You might as well call it by its true name.” He looked at Rùnach seriously. “I believe, my lad, that you might do well to make calling things by their proper names a habit.”

Rùnach suppressed the urge to get up and pace. Just hearing
the name, he had to admit, was enough to send chills down his spine. “Very well,” he said, trying to match Nicholas’s tone, “
Aingidheachd
is destroyed, which leaves my bastard brothers seeking shelter in the witchwoman of Fàs’s potting shed, a place I understand Franciscus of Cothromaiche found to his liking recently.”

Nicholas only smiled. “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, though I understand she was passing fond of you.”

“As unlikely as that is,” Rùnach admitted, “there is truth to it. Then again, I believe I endeared myself to her warty-nosed self by building her an extension to her greenhouse with my own two hands and crafting a spell that endlessly watered her more delicate plants without her having to do anything.”

Nicholas laughed a little. “And what possessed you to do either?”

“It annoyed my father,” Rùnach muttered. “That, and she is, as you know, a meticulous journalist of the obscure and difficult to ferret out. I wanted a look in her library.”

“Did she offer it?”

“Repeatedly.” Rùnach couldn’t help but smile a little at memories he hadn’t brought to mind in years. “She is not as unpleasant a woman as she’s rumored to be, her personal habits aside. Her sons give her a bad reputation.” He shook his head slowly, then looked down at what he was holding in his hand. He considered, then looked at Nicholas. “I can’t imagine this will come in handy as I will never, ever come close enough to
Aingidheachd
for it to be of any use.”

“Ah,
never
,” Nicholas said, rubbing his hands together, “what an interesting word.”

“You know, Your Majesty, the only reason I’m not swearing at you right now is because I was taught to be kind to old men.”

Nicholas laughed merrily. “Cheeky whelp.”

“Does that mean you won’t slay me for telling you you’re a thoroughly obnoxious, interfering, exasperating…” Rùnach took a deep breath. “Good breeding prevents me from saying more.”

Nicholas smiled. “Rùnach, my dearest boy, you are truly your
mother’s son.” His smile faded. “The only thing that comforts me is that she saw you as a man. I know she was pleased.”

“I daresay she wouldn’t have been pleased with my having hidden in Buidseachd for so long,” Rùnach said with a sigh.

“You did what you thought appropriate,” Nicholas said. “And even I will admit that no time spent in the company of that young rogue from Cothromaiche is ever wasted.”

“Young?” Rùnach said with a snort. “He’s at least a pair of millennia older than you are.”

“Ah, but I’m so much more mature and seasoned,” Nicholas said with absolutely no concession to irony. “The burden of kingship, don’t you know.”

“Nay, Your Grace, I wouldn’t know,” Rùnach said, “thankfully.”

Nicholas put his hands on his knees. “We can discuss that later, perhaps. I understand we have a very talented puss in the kitchen, decimating the mouse population. I think I should like to have a look at him.”

“It’s my horse. He was a gift from Sgath.”

Nicholas winked at him. “So he said as he was lying on my hearth rug late last night, filling me in on all your activities. He is angling for a mighty adventure, in case you were curious.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Bragging rights, I daresay, should he ever encounter his Angesand cousins.” Nicholas nodded wisely. “That pony has plans.”

“He’s a menace.”

Nicholas laughed and rose. “Take your ease here, nephew, until you grow weary enough to be abed. I wouldn’t worry about anything untoward. There is protection enough laid over the university.”

Rùnach looked at him sharply. “I wasn’t worried.”

Nicholas only shrugged. “Just making conversation.” He walked over to the door, then paused with his hand on the latch. “I saw someone interesting walking along the road from Gobhann to Bere the other day.”

“Dare I ask who it was?” Rùnach said, shifting on the sofa to look at his uncle.

“Acair of Ceangail.”

Rùnach shrugged, ignoring how the solar had become suddenly so completely still. He didn’t like the way even the fire had paused, as if it held its breath. It occurred to him that he might have seen Acair as well, though he couldn’t bring himself to even begin to think about why his father’s youngest bastard would have been walking toward Gobhann.

“Interesting,” Rùnach managed. “Perhaps he was simply out for a stroll.”

Nicholas lifted his eyebrows briefly. “He’s a bit far from home, wouldn’t you say?”

“I have nothing to say about the activities of my father’s natural sons,” Rùnach said evenly. “They’re free to carry on as they please, without my interference.”

Nicholas smiled briefly. “And so they are. If you think about it, though, you might want to mention it to Miach.”

Rùnach looked at him sharply. “Why would I want to do that? And why would I see Miach?”

“Aren’t you taking Aisling to Tor Neroche? I understand she’s looking for a lad to do a bit of dirty work.”

“Eavesdropping, Your Grace?”

“She talks in her sleep.”

“I didn’t hear her.”

“You were too busy snoring in front of the fire,” Nicholas said cheerfully, then opened the door and left the solar.

Rùnach scowled. He suspected that just making conversation was one thing the former wizard king of Diarmailt never did. If something was said, it meant more than was apparent at first blush.

Rùnach stared down at the ring in his hand and contemplated things he didn’t particularly care to, namely family he didn’t particularly want to claim. Díolain, the eldest of his father’s bastards, was powerful, the rest of them powerful and foul-tempered, but Acair…well, he was a lad of a different sort altogether. He had
inherited all of his father’s charm, all of his cleverness, the bulk of both Gair and the witchwoman of Fàs’s power, all seasoned liberally with terrifying ambition.

Rùnach had loathed him from the moment he’d been old enough to see him for who he was.

That he should be wandering around Melksham Island—

He shook his head. It was none of his affair. His half brothers didn’t know he was alive. More to the point, there was nothing he could do to stop them from wreaking whatever havoc they chose to even if they did know he was alive. All he could do was help Aisling to Tor Neroche if that was where she chose to go, secure her a lad to rid her village of its pestilence, then find himself an equally obscure village to call home for the rest of his long, ordinary life.

He was tempted to leave his father’s ring on Nicholas’s side table but couldn’t bring himself to. The only thing he could say about it was that he wasn’t tempted to put it on, though he had never seen his father without it on his hand. He couldn’t imagine what use Nicholas could possibly believe it would have for him, but he supposed he would be wise not to question it. It was best to just stick it in a safe pocket and forget about it.

Which he did as he rose and started to pace in front of Nicholas’s fire. Unfortunately, that only distracted him for a moment or two before he had to address what vexed him the most at present. Well, perhaps that wasn’t the right word for it. He wasn’t vexed by Aisling.

She would have troubled his dreams, if he’d had any.

He simply couldn’t fathom what was so important that a wench would travel however far she’d traveled to a place where she would be completely out of her depth in order to beg aid from a man notorious for not offering any. And now Weger had done her the very great favor of sending her off after another wild hare. In truth, there was no point in going all the way to Tor Neroche to find a mercenary, if a mercenary was what she needed. If all she needed was a lad to clear out a simple village, there was no reason he couldn’t…do…

No reason he couldn’t do it for her.

He felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. It was the usual feeling he had whilst contemplating the doing of good he didn’t particularly want to do.

Damnation, but the last thing he wanted to do was rush off to some rustic locale in the middle of some endless stretch of farmland and dispatch the local bully. He could see receiving a payment of several cages of live chickens he would have to then slaughter and cook. Worse still, he would likely find himself watching Aisling be fawned over by the alderman’s most charming son who would woo and wed her whilst Rùnach turned the spit over his fire so his supper didn’t burn.

It was almost enough to have him reaching for another glass of port.

A pity he hadn’t yet finished the first one so he could have indulged in more.

He dragged his hands through his hair. Despite what he’d said to Aisling the day before, he didn’t particularly want any detours from his well-laid plans. Though chivalry demanded that he at least get her off in the right direction, as well as perhaps escorting her to where she was going.

And solve a few mysteries along the way.

He turned the words she’d murmured over in his mind, blessing his mother—and his father, it had to be conceded—for passing on the ability to hear something once and have it memorized. He had never heard words such as those, but they weren’t mindless babbling or the result of fevered dreams, for she’d said a handful of those words more than once. He shook his head. They obviously meant something. Now all he had to do was find out what.