She put her head down and followed the woman inside, hoping she wouldn’t see anything more than she already had. That had been more than enough for the night.
•••
It was a pair of hours before dawn when she heard the front door open. It wasn’t that she’d been listening for that, of course. She’d had plenty of her own concerns to see to.
She’d watched Mansourah be placed in the best guest bedchamber with the same sort of care a baker might use while popping a delicate batch of cakes into an oven. She’d been quite happy to be offered a spot on the divan in front of a roaring fire in the Lesser Parlor, then spent the better part of the night pacing. If she’d fallen asleep for an hour or two, sitting on that divan with her cheek propped up on her fist as she leaned against the rolled arm of the sofa, who could blame her?
That she knew without thinking how to make a quick dash for the front door said nothing but that she was thoroughly committed to being able to find the nearest exit, should such a necessity arise. If she made a complete ass of herself by throwing her arms around Acair of Ceangail’s neck and shaking right along with him for far longer than was perhaps circumspect, well, who was to know?
She pulled away from him, took his cloak and hung it on a hook by the door, then put her arm around his waist.
“You’re soaked,” she said. “Your mother has whisky, though I suppose you already know that.”
He only nodded, looking thoroughly exhausted. She realized he wasn’t going to be giving her the details of his journey anytime soon, so she pulled him with her into the kitchen. She thought he could most likely find his own chair, so she concentrated on bringing the fire back to life. That seen to, she poured him a hefty mugful of what had been so helpful to Mansourah, then set it down in front of him. He eyed the glass, then looked at her.
“Poisoned?”
“Mansourah drank copious amounts and is still breathing,” she said, pulling out a chair for herself, “or so I assume. I tried it and I’m still alive, if that eases you any.”
He took a deep breath, then threw back the entire glass without pause. He shook his head sharply, then rubbed his hands over his face. He looked at her and smiled faintly.
“Thank you,” he said. “Forgive my lack of manners before.”
“Long journey?”
“Shattering,” he said. He tried to speak a time or two, then he rose and went to stand with his back to the fire. “He’s evil.”
“Your pony?” she asked. “I’d say he’s just trying to impress you.”
“He succeeded brilliantly,” Acair said with feeling. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked at her. “I’m assuming that since we’re both inside and not lying dead outside in a ditch that my mother extended her hospitality.”
“She did,” she agreed. “We might want to thank Mansourah for it. I believe your mother is inviting a pair of your cousins to come for a visit with him as the prize.”
He pursed his lips. “I would have sympathy for him, but I’m fresh out of the same. I assume she locked him in a bedchamber so he won’t flee during the night.”
“He’s enjoying the best guest chamber, or so I understand. We’re enjoying the Lesser Parlor.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it. “I was fully prepared to make a lecherous remark, but I’m too damned tired to try. You might have to carry me there, though.”
“No food first?”
“I’d likely fall asleep in my porridge and smother myself. I will, however, tend the fire—”
“Nay,” she said, rising and taking the fire iron away from him. “Go lean somewhere and I’ll see to this. I don’t have any means of restoring your face if you fall into the hearth.”
“And what a terrible loss that would be,” he said with a mighty yawn.
She had to agree, but she wasn’t about to agree out loud. She banked the fire, then walked with him to the door.
“First one to the parlor takes the sofa,” he said.
She wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t serious about that, but he was beginning to slur his words so perhaps he was simply babbling with weariness. She did enter the parlor first, though, which left her less than a handful of minutes later stretched out on that perfectly comfortable divan, covered in a decently warm blanket. Acair took off his boots, then rolled himself up in a blanket a pace or two away. Silence descended save for the occasional snap and pop of the wood in the hearth.
She could have sworn she heard a hint of song in those flames.
She watched the fire for a bit, trying to decide if she were losing her wits or not, then gave up and looked over the edge of the cushion at her companion. Acair was watching the ceiling, no doubt looking for answers to mysteries she imagined she didn’t want to know about. He had seen things, that lad there, things she absolutely knew she wouldn’t want to encounter. It showed in his eyes in what were apparently very rare moments when he let his guard down. For all anyone else knew, for all he admitted to, he was simply a terrible worker of magic on an endless quest to do foul deeds.
She wondered how true that was.
