“It is very pretty here.”
“The lake is beautiful. As long as I don’t look all the way across to where Ruith is no doubt plotting my demise, that is.”
“Perhaps Hearn will tell him of your recent escapades.”
“That won’t matter,” Acair said cheerfully. “I can’t charm everyone, so I’ll just soldier on as best I can.”
She walked with him back through the twilight and realized she was looking over her shoulder for something untoward. She looked at him and he shook his head with a smile.
“Safe enough, I daresay.”
“Did you use magic to make sure of it?”
“The odd spell of ward comes in handy,” he said. “But nay, I actually stirred myself to walk outside and have a look whilst you were fawning over that four-legged beastie. That and Sgath—”
“Your grandfather,” she corrected.
He took a deep breath. “My grandfather Sgath has his own spells set, of course. And speaking of grandfathers, I had a wee chat with yours.”
She looked at him. “Did you? About anything in particular?”
“Permissions,” he said succinctly.
“And were they given?”
He nodded slowly. “With the appropriate warnings about seeing properly to the feeding of and caring for your own sweet self. I gave him my word I would do for you what you would allow.”
“Interesting.”
“I have one more thing to tell you, though.”
She looked at him in surprise. If the odd note in his voice hadn’t caught her attention, the rather unsure look on his face certainly would have.
“Changed your mind, did you?”
“I haven’t,” he said grimly, “but you might.”
“Should I be sitting down?”
He looked, actually, as if he might be the one who needed to find somewhere to do just that. “I’m just going to blurt it out.”
“I wish you would.”
He took a deep breath. “Soilléir meddled.”
“With my sister?” she asked in astonishment.
“With us,” he said.
“How?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “It seems that he tossed our souls into the proverbial essence-changing pot, gave them a bit of a stir, then pulled them back out so they were of an equal measure. Or something very like that.”
She patted the air around her, looking for somewhere to sit and found only the man in front of her looking solid enough for any sort of support. She took his hands that he held out and suspected that if she’d had any tears left, she would have used them all on him at that very moment.
“You gave me part of your soul,” she managed.
He only nodded slightly.
“How long have you known?”
“A day or two.”
She sighed deeply and walked into his embrace. She closed her eyes and decided that perhaps comfort and safety were things that might not be so terrible after all.
She supposed those things might be lasting a bit longer than she’d expected.
“Wed me?” he murmured.
“I might.”
“I deserve that,” he said with a bit of a laugh.
She smiled and turned to look out over the lake, realizing that she had stood in almost the same place several weeks earlier when she’d been trying to come to terms with what Falaire had been able to do. So much had changed, yet so much hadn’t. Her life was full of horses and magic, Acair’s life was full of magic and horses, and somehow, she imagined they might manage to meet somewhere in the middle and live out their lives together in bliss.
Very long lives, apparently.
“My grandparents offered us the use of their garden for a wedding, if you’re interested.”
She pulled back and looked at him. “I’m interested.”
“Then let’s go make a guest list. I promise to keep my hands in my own pockets.”
“For the wedding.”
“I think I might manage it that long.”
She walked with him back toward his grandparents’ house, supposing he just might.
Epilogue
Life was very strange when one was a black mage extraordinaire on extended holiday from evil-doing.
Acair had come to that conclusion over a handful of months spent walking along the shore with his shoes off. More often than not, he’d been joined by his wife—something he had honestly never thought to have, though she was the first to remind him that he was, as they saying went, robbing the proverbial cradle. His response was usually to remind her that she owned a decent bit of his soul which perhaps canceled any cradle-robbing on his part. If that was a discussion they would likely be having for centuries to come, he wasn’t going to argue.
That such a thing would be possible was almost enough, he supposed, to allow Soilléir of Cothromaiche to sleep easily at night.
As far as others sleeping peacefully beneath his own roof went, he had been surprised to find himself entertaining the occasional guest. The first had been his grandmother who had arrived bearing her yearly Beltane letter. He had figured prominently in the space reserved for Relatives of Note, which he’d supposed was a far better location than where he usually found himself appearing. He had delivered the doily he’d secured, managed to keep her out of his private stash of port, and extracted a promise that she wouldn’t slay him if he and Léirsinn made a visit later in the year to discuss spells and such. He couldn’t have asked for more.
He and Léirsinn were fairly permanent residents, of course, as was her grandfather. Doghail refused a spot in the ‘fancy hall,’ as he termed it, but his quarters in the stables were almost as fine as what housed Sianach and that beautiful gray horse of Léirsinn’s.
Léirsinn’s sister had her own bedchamber, which she used more often than not. Her brother had come to visit exactly once thus far, but perhaps they could expect no more.
In the end, his life was full of things he had never expected and do-gooding had taken root in his soul. It was a sickness he would likely suffer from for the rest of his very long life.
He ignored the runes on the back of his hand given to him by an elven king which, he was damned certain, had mischief on their minds. That was likely the only mischief he would find himself enjoying any time soon, but a gentleman didn’t complain overmuch.