CHAPTER NINE

Aine stumbled after the warrior. “What do you mean, Comdiu sent you?”

“Just what I said.” Taran nudged his captive forward with his elbow, holding the rope that fastened Gabhran’s hands behind his back.

“Do you work for my aunt?”

Ahead of them, the Lakelander snorted and the older warrior chuckled. “Not quite. But she’ll pay handsomely for this captive.”

“So you’re mercenaries.” Aine stopped and stared at the two of them. She’d never have taken them for sellswords, not from their educated speech and fine clothing, though she’d hardly had enough contact with any other kind to know the difference.

Taran kept walking, though his tone dripped with sarcasm. “Mercenaries who just saved your life, my lady. I’d think you’d show more gratitude.”

“Taran,” the other warrior said quietly. “She’s just a girl.”

“No, he’s right. I am grateful. I just don’t understand. Why are you here? No one even knows I’m in Aron.”

Taran jerked his head toward their captive. “Someone knows you’re in Aron. And that someone is prepared to pay twenty silver pennies to have you, relatively intact.”

Aine trembled again at the reminder of what Taran had saved her from. No, Lord Riagain cared nothing for her, only her gifts. That had been the reason she’d waited so long to tell Calhoun. In the end, her visions hadn’t been much help to anyone, anyway.

In fact, her visions had sent Conor to his death. Her husband had just proved to be harder to kill than anyone had expected.

The pain, sharper for being unexpected, pierced her midsection, and she caught her breath. Not now. She couldn’t address her grief and still function in the present. “Do you intend to take me to Lord Riagain?”

“Weren’t you listening, girl? Gabhran here slaughtered my daughter. On whose orders do you think he did that?”

“Oh, it was Riagain’s orders,” Gabhran put in. “But the pleasure was mine.”

Taran spun and laid a well-aimed punch across the captive’s mouth. “I’m not daft enough to let you goad me into killing you quickly. But don’t think I won’t break every bone in your body, strap you to your horse, and let Macha have whatever’s left of you.”

Gabhran spat blood, his face pale, though it might have just been the pain of the strike. Surely the huge man had broken some teeth and rattled his brain a bit. Taran yanked the prisoner forward again, a twitch of his head indicating that Aine should follow.

She tried to figure out the situation through her fear-addled thoughts. So they weren’t working for Lady Macha, and they weren’t after her for the bounty. That meant they had reasons of their own for rescuing her, reasons they had not yet disclosed.

Unless Taran’s statement that Comdiu sent him was not mere hyperbole.

They broke from the trees onto the road, where another dark-haired man, this one short and slender, stood with five horses. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket and an elaborately stamped leather baldric, which held his short sword and a pair of daggers. Another member of their group?

“Ah, you found her,” the man said in another unfamiliar accent, this one both soft and guttural. “And in one piece, I see.”

Taran gave a terse nod. “Any sign of others?”

“Alone. Didn’t want to share the reward, most likely.”

The blond sent a look in Gabhran’s direction. “This one couldn’t care less about money. He enjoys being Riagain’s lackey.”

It was all too much. The scene swam around her. Taran kicked Gabhran’s feet out from beneath him and then guided her to a fallen log. “Sit, Lady Aine. You look as if you’re about to collapse.”

“What happens to me now? When Gabhran doesn’t bring me back, will Lord Riagain send more men?”

“Don’t worry. It will take time for Riagain to realize that his lapdog isn’t returning. It remains to be seen how long Lord Gabhran continues to enjoy the light of day.”

In that moment, Aine couldn’t blame Gabhran for blanching. The viciousness in the mercenary’s voice was bad enough, and it sounded as if what Lady Macha would do to him was far worse.

What kind of place had she come home to?

The death of Riagain’s man conveniently left an extra horse, a gelding nearly as fine as those she’d ridden in her brother’s stables at Lisdara. “You can ride?” Taran asked.

Aine nodded and moved to the massive horse’s side. When the smaller mercenary appeared at her elbow, she took a halting step back.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.” He gave Aine a sweeping, courtly bow. “Taran has forgotten his manners again. I am Pepin, at your service.”

“Easy, Pepin,” Taran said. “She’s under my protection. If you touch her, I’ll have to kill you.”

“I would not dream of it.” Pepin pretended to be offended as he took Aine’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Taran is bad-tempered, but you could ask for no better protector.”

Taran smiled faintly. With his head, he indicated the light-haired man who guarded their prisoner with a placid expression. “That over there is Sigurd.”

Norin. She should have guessed. Sigurd gave Aine a sober bow and then returned his eyes to Gabhran.

Because Pepin was the most likely source of information, Aine turned her smile on him. “How did the three of you come to work together?”

“That, my lady, is a story that requires a roaring fire and a cup of good wine. Suffice it to say that our northern friend, Sigurd, got himself into a bit of difficulty in Cira, and yours truly came to his aid.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Sigurd said. “Thanks to your aid, we barely escaped the city with our lives.”

“A misunderstanding. How was I supposed to know that two people wanted Lord Gaius dead?”

Sigurd stared back, clearly unconvinced.

Pepin waved a hand in dismissal and then winked at Aine. “An oversight. They keep me around because I’m a crack aim with a throwing knife and, shall we say, good in less accessible spaces?”

Aine looked between the two men, unsure whether she should be amused or alarmed. Considering she depended on this group for safe transport, she wasn’t about to insult them. “What about you, Sigurd? Are you Sofarende? How does a Northman come to Aron?”

“I get seasick.” As Sigurd turned away, the edge of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

“Enough talking.” Taran hoisted the prisoner up by his tied hands and hauled him over to the horse.

Gabhran held up his hands. “This would be easier if you’d unbind me.”

“Not interested in making things easier. Find your way atop the horse or you’ll be running behind it.”

Gabhran heaved a sigh, obviously having decided that mild irritation would play better than outright fear, and managed to haul himself onto the horse’s back. Taran looped a slipknotted rope around his neck. Should he attempt to flee, he would be yanked off his horse and strangled at the end of the noose.

The prisoner noticed Aine’s eyes on him and met her gaze with a smug grin. She turned away. Why couldn’t Taran have just killed him back in the forest?

The bloodthirsty thought surprised her, but no more than the brutality of her first few days back in Aron. Somehow she had thought that once she set foot on home soil she would be safe. How had she ever felt safe here?

“My lady, allow me.” Pepin knelt at the side of the horse and offered his knee as a step. Aine grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane and hauled herself atop its back and then tugged her skirt down over her legs. The others mounted and the group moved as one, surrounding Aine and the prisoner. Taran took the lead and urged the party into a brisk walk.

After several moments, Aine asked, “What did you mean when you said Comdiu sent you?”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

“No, not usually.”

“Comdiu did not send a bolt of lightning or write the command on the wall, if that’s what you mean.” A hint of a smile colored Taran’s voice. “I’ve been after Lord Gabhran for years. When I heard about the bounty, I knew he would be first in line to go after you, so we picked up his trail. When I saw you there, I knew Comdiu meant me to intervene. Somehow you’re important.”

“You’re a Balian, then.”

“Comdiu may have abandoned me when I needed Him, but I did not abandon Him. Where He directs, I obey.”

Aine frowned. There was no hint of humor or irony in the mercenary’s voice. He truly believed Comdiu had failed him, yet he still obeyed —this man who had turned his back on his lord, if he had indeed ever served one. How did one respond to a statement like that?

With gratitude, she decided at last. She cleared her throat. “Then thank you. I will gladly accept your help returning to the safety of my aunt’s house.”

Taran remained quiet for so long, she began to wonder if she’d offended him. Then he cast one more unreadable look over his shoulder. “That’s where you’re wrong, my lady. There is no safety in your aunt’s house.”