“I’m certain he would enjoy that,” Léirsinn offered.
“Are you suggesting I wouldn’t?”
She would have warned him that such might very well be the case, but the door opened before she could. Acair came out brushing his hands off. He shut the door quietly behind him and smiled.
“Let’s go see to your grandsire next, shall we?”
“To rescue him,” Iseabail said slowly.
Acair blinked. “Well, of course. What else?”
Iseabail looked at him seriously. “You made Fuadain scream.”
“Only once or twice.”
Léirsinn found herself the recipient of a pointed look from that mage who loved her, so she took his arm and pulled him down the passageway with her.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“My pleasure,” he said. “I have so little occasion to trot out things from my own nightmares these days.” He put his hand over hers on his arm. “I would have done far worse, but I am, as I said before, trying to make a good impression on the relatives.”
“How do you feel?”
He looked at her quickly. “Vindicated and in sore need of a holiday. But first things first. Let’s see to your grandfather, then we’ll decide how to fill the rest of our morning.”
She put her hand in the pocket of his coat to make certain she had that piece of his soul, then walked beside him to her grandfather’s chamber.
Nothing had changed except that Tosdach of Sàraichte was no longer her blood relative, though she supposed that was something Acair’s mother and Soilléir’s father could relegate to their histories of the Nine Kingdoms. She had spent so many years claiming him, she thought she might continue on. Besides, her siblings had no idea what the truth was as far as she knew. She would tell them eventually, but not at the moment.
They gathered to discuss Tosdach’s condition, those souls with magic in their blood. Acair paused, then looked for her. He frowned, then crossed the room to take her hand and pull her into the circle.
She thought she just might have loved him for it.
“’Tis a very good spell,” Iseabail said thoughtfully, “though not complicated.”
“Agreed,” Acair said. “I didn’t look at it closely the first time I saw him. The magic the spell is made from—”
“Olc?” Tais asked grimly.
“A permutation of it,” Iseabail said. She looked at Acair. “You’re better suited to unraveling it than I am, no offense intended.”
“I don’t offend easily,” Acair said with a shrug.
Soilléir snorted, which earned him a glare. He stepped back. “I’ll leave this to you four and go put my feet up for a moment or two.”
Léirsinn realized that whatever had been done to her by that enspelled bolt hadn’t been enough to take away her sight. She watched her brother and the man she loved unravel the spell laid over her grandfather whilst her sister continually pulled threads from it until she simply snapped the last one in two.
Her grandfather blinked, then pushed himself up so he was sitting on the edge of his chair. He looked at them.
“Iseabail,” he said in wonder. “Léirsinn. Taisdealach. Oh, my dears, you’re all grown up!”
Léirsinn supposed the man might need to breathe eventually, but he didn’t seem to mind having her and her sister choke him with fond embraces. He only laughed and reached out a hand to grasp Tais’.
She remained happily involved in a very sweet reunion until the moment came when she knew she needed air. She eased away from her siblings and grandfather and found Acair leaning with his shoulder against the wall by the doorway. He very casually opened the door and lifted his eyebrows briefly. She eased over, trying not to draw attention to herself.
“I love you,” she murmured as she slipped out the door.
“How could you not?”
She waited, then realized he wasn’t coming with her. She pushed the door open, took his hand, and pulled him out into the passageway.
“I thought you might want privacy,” he said carefully.
“What I want is to run.”
“We could shapechange.”
“Or I could steal a horse.”
He took her hand and walked quickly with her down the passageway. “This is what consorting with ne’er-do-wells gets a stable lass, I’m finding. Horse thievery? What next?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“To find Doghail.” She shot him a look. “Be prepared for an insufferably smug look.”
“Did he predict our love match?” he asked politely.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Smart man, that Doghail.”
She supposed he might have been.
She walked with Acair through the house, back down the stairs, and out through the kitchen. She nodded to Fuadain’s butler, thanked a chambermaid she recognized for her kindness, then walked out into the morning air and took the first decent breath she’d had in weeks.
She looked at Acair. “Thank you,” she said simply.
He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed it quickly, then smiled. “Let’s go see a man about a horse.”
She smiled and walked with him to the barn.
Twenty-three
Acair walked along the dusty road that led from the manor house at Briàghde toward the port town of Sàraichte. He supposed he might eventually see his great-aunt, which would give him the chance to tell her that she was right about numerous things.
That he was trailing after Léirsinn of Sàraichte like a love-sick pup would assuredly be first on that list.
He watched his lady with her siblings walk in front of her grandfather who was sitting rather comfortably on a marginally well-behaved Sianach. Doghail had the pony well in hand, though Acair supposed that shouldn’t have been surprising. He himself was bringing up the rear with an unusually taciturn Soilléir of Cothromaiche, but perhaps the man was simply enjoying his last few breaths of easily obtained fresh air. That wouldn’t last for long after he himself had recovered from the rather taxing amounts of spell-casting he’d done over the previous pair of days.
“You’ll never manage it, you realize.”
Acair would have slid the man a warning look, but he thought that might indicate that he had made even the slightest note of that protest, which he hadn’t. He might not manage it, but that certainly wouldn’t be for a lack of trying.