Aine awoke with a pounding heart. The dream had possessed the same clarity as her other visions, but she couldn’t make sense of it until she felt the burn of the wheel charm against her skin.
“Conor,” she whispered.
Ruarc’s eyes snapped open. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I think Conor’s in trouble. I had the strangest dream.”
You could be in danger, he had said. He had worked something out Aine still didn’t understand.
Alarm flashed over Ruarc’s face. He drew his sword and leapt to his feet as dozens of men flooded into the camp. The other warriors grasped the danger just a moment later, springing awake to engage the attackers.
Aine scrambled back on the turf, her heart thudding too hard to loose a scream. So many. Her party was fighting valiantly, but they were outnumbered three to one. Two of her guardsmen fell in front of her, one after another.
In the moonlit darkness, she could barely make out individual figures, but the sounds told her all she needed to know: the clash of steel on steel, the whinnies of terrified horses, the cries of dying men.
They were losing.
And she would be taken. Or worse.
Ahead of her, Ruarc was still fighting, still standing. He felled an opponent with a single slash and spun, seeking her.
Their eyes met. “Aine, behind you!” he yelled. He took a step toward her, then jerked to a halt. She followed his gaze down to his chest. The tip of a sword protruded from between the plates in his armor. He found Aine’s face one last time, more startled than pained, then crumpled to the ground.
“Ruarc!” Aine screamed, struggling to her feet. Before she could run to him, a strong arm wrapped around her, pinning her in place.
“Don’t call out, or I’ll kill you.”
The cold bite of a blade against her throat stilled her struggle, as did the steel in her attacker’s voice. She fought to think through the wave of grief, her eyes still fixed on Ruarc’s lifeless body. Then she realized she knew the man’s voice.
Comdiu, help me.
Instantly, a steady presence calmed her nerves. She forced her muscles to relax.
“It’s not too late, Keondric,” she said beneath the sounds of fighting. “You can still turn from this path.”
“You knew me.” Keondric’s voice held surprising warmth. He swiveled her to face him. “I’m impressed. It’s a shame I couldn’t steal you away from the Mac Nir boy without having to actually steal you.”
Aine dared a glance back toward the skirmish, hoping someone would notice the exchange.
Keondric smiled. “They won’t see us. Your intended is not the only one with gifts, you know. I should have gone to Ard Dhaimhin myself, but my father wouldn’t hear of it.” He held up a length of rope. “Do I need to tie your hands, or will you come peaceably?”
Her mind clicked through the possibilities, even as fear surged through her veins. Keondric seemed to have some real affection for her, however twisted. She could work with that. It was their only chance of survival. She barely stifled her sob. “I’ll go with you. Please, just call them off. If it’s me you want, my men don’t need to die.”
Keondric glanced back at the turmoil, then shrugged. “Casualties of war, my dear. You of all people should understand that.”
You monster! The words rose in a silent scream in her mind, tears again pricking her eyes, but she forced herself to nod. She followed him meekly to a waiting horse. He lifted her atop it and mounted behind her, clamping one arm around her waist. She resisted the urge to squirm away. Behind them, the fighting still raged, proof that what had seemed like forever had really been only a few seconds. He kicked the horse into a gallop, and Aine squeezed her eyes shut against tears.
She needed time. Time to figure out the pieces of this puzzle, time to discover a way out. Which meant she had to keep him from killing her, no matter what that required.
The sun had already crested the horizon when Keondric reined in the horse beside a small stream. He slid off first and helped her down, his manner solicitous, as if he were courting her and not kidnapping her. He walked the horse to the water’s edge to drink and filled his skin before handing it to her.
Aine cast a sideways glance at the proffered water bag. “You first, my lord.” When he hesitated, she tried to smile, as if her concern were for his welfare. “I insist.”
“It’s perfectly safe, I assure you.” Keondric took a long drink as proof. “It’ll be a faster and more pleasant trip if you’re conscious.”
Aine cautiously sipped from the water skin and handed it back to him. His manner puzzled her. Sometimes, her spirit recoiled from him, as if recognizing something dangerous lurking inside. Other times, like now, he seemed normal. Was he being controlled by the druid or the sidhe? Or was he just mad?
“Why are you doing this?”
Keondric lowered himself to the ground and gestured for Aine to join him. “I thought you would have guessed.” He gave her a long look, and for a moment his gaze grew heavy with meaning. She suppressed a shiver, and he looked away, his tone businesslike. “You’re bait.”
“For Conor? I don’t understand—”
“Call it a contingency plan. I can’t be sure his escort will kill him. From what I’ve seen, I’d say it’s unlikely. When he realizes I have you, he’ll have to choose between you and the harp. Which will he choose, do you think?”
“The harp,” Aine said, though it was only an attempt to stall while she worked out the situation. If Keondric was working for Fergus and the druid, it was of his own accord, not because of infection. He would not have been able to move across wards otherwise.
Somehow that was even worse. She could excuse weakness. But this treachery was pure evil. Conor’s escort must work for them as well. But why attack so obliquely?
They feared him, she decided, and not just his sword. They thought he was the one with the gift of sight. Keondric had no idea Conor was acting on Aine’s visions.
“You’d better hope he chooses you. Otherwise, you’re of no more use to us. Strategically, that is.” Keondric smiled, and while it was a pleasant smile, it hinted at darker things beneath.
Aine forced herself to maintain a calm exterior. As long as Keondric believed she did not fear him—as long as he believed he could win her—he would refrain from violence. “Why would you betray us? You’re the wealthiest man in Faolán besides Calhoun. Your clan has advised the king for generations.”
“How long do you think that will last once Faolán falls?” At Aine’s shocked expression, Keondric’s tone softened. “I know it sounds cold, but given the choice between being an ensorcelled slave and maintaining peace and prosperity for my clan, what else could I do? I cannot condemn them to death.”
Aine sighed. She could understand his position, however distasteful. But would Fergus and Diarmuid uphold their end of the bargain once they got what they wanted?
“What’s to happen to me, then?”
“That’s entirely up to you. I’m taking you to Glenmallaig. As long as you cooperate, you’ll be safe. I swear no one will harm you while you’re under my protection.”
And if she chose to leave his protection by refusing to do what he wanted. . . . Aine heard the warning as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud.
After they ate a bit of cheese and bread, they mounted up again. This time he did not hold her so tightly. Grateful he had allowed her to keep her cloak, she surreptitiously closed her fingers around the wheel charm. She closed her eyes and tried to see Conor, but minutes passed without result. She tried again, hoping to glimpse Lorcan and the rest of her party, but she was no more successful the second time.
She tucked the charm back into her dress and tried not to let despair overwhelm her. Ruarc—her faithful guard, her trusted friend—was already dead. What made her think the rest weren’t as well? Maybe that was why she couldn’t see them. She stifled tears before they could rise again.
“Are you all right?”
“No,” she snapped. “You’re trying to destroy everything I care about in the world. I am definitely not all right.”
Keondric had the grace to stay quiet and leave her to her brooding.