Finn Finnegan (2 page)

“…Finnegan MacCullen,” Gideon finished for him. “Me new apprentice. Who, for some unknown reason, has unexpectedly arrived on me doorstep a day early.”

“I go by Finn, not Finnegan.” He inched closer to the edge of the porch.

“
Céad mile fáilte
” Gideon said with a nod. He raked strong fingers through his black hair, then pointed toward the gate. “Well, ‘Finn not Finnegan'. Don't just stand there—fetch yer kit.”

“Oh, yeah.” Finn trotted down the steps and across the yard, aware of Gideon's gaze on him. He hurried to his pack. Taking advantage of having his back to the Knight, Finn pulled up his shirt and gave his face a swipe. Reaching with one hand for the pack, he tried to smooth his hair with the other hand.

“Close the gate behind ye,” Gideon ordered and headed toward the house.

Finn jogged back, his pack swinging from one shoulder. He followed the Knight inside, swallowing.
So far, so good. At least he didn't tell me to come back tomorrow
.

“Leave yer bag for now.” Gideon gestured toward a wooden crate next to the door. The box contained a pair of mud-caked work boots, several dirty rags, and a tin pail. A row of coat hooks above it held a canvas hunting jacket. As Finn dropped his pack, Gideon closed the door behind him. “Join me in the kitchen. We'll speak over an early lunch.”

Finn looked around as he trailed the Knight across the main room, the last touch of the late morning sun skimming through a wide pair of windows. He eyed the shabby furniture cluttering the small room. A stone fireplace took up most of one wall. His face lit up at the assortment of knives, daggers, and a few hatchets, all of bronze, resting horizontally on pegs above the mantel. Books filled the shelves on the opposite side of the room, next to a battered but tidy desk tucked under the stairs leading up to the second floor.

Stepping into the kitchen in the rear of the house, Finn's stomach growled at the rich aroma of lamb and herbs and potatoes rising from the steaming pot on the stove. “That smells good.” He sniffed. “What is it?”

“Why, Irish stew, of course.” Gideon walked over to the stove, giving the pan a stir. “Hand me a couple of bowls. They're in the cupboard next to the sink.”

Gideon ladled a generous portion in each one, passed them to Finn, then followed him over to the table in the corner of the room, carrying a still-warm loaf of brown bread wrapped in a clean cloth. Pulling out his chair, he motioned for Finn to take a seat across from him. Uncovering the loaf, he cut several thick slabs and handed one to Finn.

“Did you bake this?” Finn asked.

“I did.”

“But-but you're a Knight.”

“Aye, ‘tis true. I am also a Knight who likes to eat.” He raised his eyebrows in surprise when Finn began wolfing down stew between bites of bread. “And apparently, so do ye.” He tasted a spoonful. “And how are yer aunt and uncle?”

“They're fine,” Finn mumbled around a mouthful of food, both elbows propped on the table. He spat a chunk of turnip back into his bowl with a
plunk
.

Gideon grimaced, but said nothing. He gazed at the boy, his eyes the same uncanny shade of sky blue as Finn's. ‘“Tis odd that they would deliver ye a day early, without any warning or a by-yer-leave to me.”

Finn shifted in his chair. “Um … I … Well, Uncle was driving down from Denver today, so I figured I'd save him an extra trip tomorrow.” He hunched over the bowl and shoveled another spoonful into his mouth, eyes fixed on the table as he ate.

“Curious. I was reading in the front room with the windows open for the last hour and never heard a car pull up.”

“He dropped me off at the corner. He was kind of in a hurry.” Finn took another bite and swallowed it down half-chewed.

“In a hurry.”

“Yeah.”

Finn peeked up through his bangs as the Knight pushed his bowl aside and rested his elbows on the table, fingers steepled together. The
tick-ticking
of the cooling stove filled the kitchen as he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finn broke.

“Okay, he didn't actually bring me.” He wiped his mouth on his arm. “I walked.”

“Sorry?”

“I walked.”

“From Denver? To High Springs?” Gideon dropped his hands, his mouth sagging open. “That's over sixty miles!”

“I got a ride most of the way. With some college students going home for the summer.”

“Ye hitchhiked?”

“Yeah, I do it all the time. It's no big deal. They dropped me off downtown and I walked from there.” He looked down and poked at the stew. “I didn't want to bother anyone, so—”

“Stop.” Gideon held up a hand. “Ye gods,” he muttered under his breath, then shoved his chair back with a screech and headed to the counter. “Their number?” he asked, snatching the phone from its cradle.

“They're not home.”

“I dinna ask ye where they were. I asked ye for their bleedin' phone number.” He punched it in as Finn grudgingly recited it.

“Hullo, Owen. This is Gideon Lir. Fine, thank ye. Listen, the reason I'm calling is that Finnegan is here. In High Springs.” He frowned. “Finnegan MacCullen.” His frown deepened. “Yer nephew Red hair, blue eyes, atrocious table manners.” His eyes flicked once toward the boy scraping his bowl clean. “Aye, I'm still taking him. But ye might wish to know the stunt he pulled. I thought ye'd be worried about him, so I …” He paused and listened for several long minutes, his black brows pinching together. “And ye dinna think to inform me about his mother until
now?
” He turned his back and lowered his voice. “‘Tis a bit under the table.” Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose as he continued to listen. “Aye, well, it appears we're
both
ankle-deep in the situation,” he said, clipping the words. “Right. I'll tell him.” He hung up the phone.

Silence filled the kitchen. After a moment, Gideon spoke over his shoulder. “They weren't even aware ye had left this morning.”

Finn shrugged. “Figures. I'm not exactly the favorite in the family.”

“Because of yer mother's people?”

“I guess.”

“They wished ye luck, if that helps.”

“They try to be nice to me, but they're really busy. They've got nine kids. And my cousin, Liam, is starting
his
apprenticeship next month, so they're doing a bunch of stuff for his ceremony. That's why I decided to just get out of their way.” He paused for a moment. “So-so I guess they told you about me.”

“Aye, they did.” Gideon turned around and leaned against the counter.

Raising his chin, Finn steeled himself. “Are you going to send me back?”

Gideon ran his knuckles along his jaw. He hesitated before speaking. “I'll give ye the truth of it. I wasn't expecting …” His voice trailed off.

Finn glanced away. “Someone like me.” The stew congealed in his stomach as his fists clenched under the table. He looked up when Gideon cleared his throat.

“So, tell me, Finnegan MacCullen. Yer mother—was she half or whole?”

“Half. My mom was half human.”

Gideon sighed, then shook his head, his face unreadable. “Although I do not hold yer bloodline against ye, I should show ye the door this minute. The agreement with yer family to train ye was made under a false pretense.”

Finn's heart twisted. He nodded numbly, trying to ignore the lump in his throat.
He's going to kick me out without even giving me a chance
, he thought.
Now what do I do?
He kept his eyes fixed in front of him as the Knight continued.

“And just why should I take ye on as my apprentice, eh?” He held up a hand and began ticking off on his fingers. “Ye're cheeky. Ye're woefully lacking in manners, except bad ones. And ye're part mortal. Ye've not much in yer favor, boyo. Can ye give me one good reason I should let ye stay?”

“No,” Finn whispered.

“No? Well, I can.” Gideon fingered the tore around his throat. “And so, ye shall stay.”

Finn snapped his head around. Astonished, he opened and closed his mouth several times before he could speak. “W-why?”

“Because, me lad, ye were willing to go into battle by me side today. Armed with only a broom.” The corner of the Knight's mouth quirked into a half smile. “Ye are, Finnegan MacCullen, no coward.”

For a long minute, they gazed at one another. Outside the open kitchen window, a chickadee whistled its three-note song, calling its mate home.

Then, Gideon straightened. “Now, go fetch yer things. Then, I'll show ye yer room.” He waited until the boy left the room before shaking his head.
Ye gods
, he thought.
I did not see
thiy
coming
. Staring blankly at Finn's place at the table, he ran a hand down his
face. And just how am I to train an apprentice who's part: mortal?
Deep in thought, he began carrying the empty bowls to the sink. Halfway across the kitchen, a wicked smile spread across his face.
Of course, I'm forgetting one of the advantages of having an apprentice
. He dropped the dishes into the sink with a clatter, cast a contemptuous eye on the rest of the mess, and wiped his hands on his shirt.

The free labor
.

“Oh, wow, my own room,” Finn breathed as he paused in the doorway. Stepping farther in, he tossed his pack on the narrow bed and walked around to the window. The wooden shutters screeched when he pushed them apart. He gazed out from his second-floor window at a spacious backyard bordered on three sides with the same stone wall as the front. In the middle of the yard stood two tall posts with a cable stretched tight between them. A lumpy burlap bag dangled from a rope attached to the cable; it hung over a patch of bare ground. Beyond the back wall, wooded acres stretched westward toward the foothills. Finn noticed a trail leading from the other side of wall into the woods.

“Yer own bath, too,” Gideon said. He pointed with his chin toward the adjoining room. “And yer to keep both of them tidy.”

“No problem.” Finn reached over and started to unzip his backpack when Gideon cleared his throat. He looked up.

“As it appears yer apprenticeship has begun, albeit a day early, ye best start learning some rules.”

“Like what?”

“Like the use of ‘yes, sir' and ‘no, sir' when ye address me. Ye may also call me Gideon.” He paused, then added, “Or Knight Gideon if ye're trying to—what's the modern phrase—suck up to me?”

Finn's face warmed. Catching himself before he said something that would most likely be labeled as
cheeky
, he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Right.” Gideon nodded toward the pack. “Work away.”

Fighting the temptation to snap off a salute, Finn grabbed the bag and shook it upside-down. Several balled-up tee shirts, a gray hoodie, and a pair of jeans tumbled out, followed by socks, underwear, a toothbrush, and one smooth stone.

“Yer father's, I take it?” Gideon stepped closer and picked up the pale rock, running a thumb over its creamy surface. He laid it in the palm of his hand to examine it. His skin showed dimly through its translucent edges.

“Yup.” Finn stuffed the shirts and jeans into one of the drawers of the dresser standing in the corner. “I mean, yes, sir,” he said over a shoulder.
Yes, sir. No, sir. How high, sir?
“Did you know my dad and mom?”

“I dinna. Although I heard Fergus MacCullen was one of the finest hunters of his time.” Gideon placed the stone on the nightstand and sat down on the foot of the bed. He gestured toward the remaining objects scattered across the faded, but clean, comforter. ‘“Twas all ye brought?”

“It's all I got.”

“Nine children, eh? Ye're fortunate to have yer own toothbrush.”

Finn made a face. “Eww Gross!” He scooped his up and headed to the bathroom.

Gideon called after him. “After ye're done here, we'll make plans about tomorrow morning. I'm assuming yer aunt and uncle won't be attending yer ceremony?”