“I understand plenty,” Emeric cut in. He drew a steadying breath. “I havenae come here to argue. I’ve come to talk. Will ye hear me out? Havenae I earned at least that much for all the times I’ve saved yer sorry arse?”
Despite himself, Magnus felt a smile tug a corner of his mouth. Ah, it was good to see Emeric, despite the circumstances. And he was right. Listening to what he had to say was the least of what he owed the man.
He turned to Mistress Kearnan who was loitering nearby, no doubt listening to every word passing between him and Emeric. “Will ye show Isabelle to her room?”
“What?” Isabelle said. “I don’t—”
“Go with Mistress Kearnan,” Magnus said. “She’ll see ye settled and comfortable.”
“Come, my dear,” Mistress Kearnan said. “I’ll have one of my lasses bring up water for a nice hot bath. How does that sound?”
Isabelle opened her mouth as though to argue, but the prospect of a hot bath seemed to sway her. “You’ll be right here?” she asked Magnus.
“Aye, lass. I’ll be right here. I’ll speak to ye later.”
She nodded and then followed Mistress Kearnan to the back of the room and through a door.
“Who is she?” Emeric asked, following the way Magnus’s gaze tracked Isabelle’s departure. “That accent. I swear she sounded like—”
“Do ye wish to talk or not?” Magnus snapped.
Emeric pressed his lips into a flat line. Then he indicated the table he’d vacated. “Shall we?”
Magnus preceded him to the bench, lowering his big frame down onto it carefully. Emeric slid onto the seat opposite. His bow, never far from Emeric’s hands, leaned against the wall. He didn’t speak but merely picked up the crude pottery jug that sat on the table and poured two cups of ale. He pushed one across the table to Magnus.
“Drink. Ye look like ye need it.”
Magnus grunted his thanks and then tipped back the cup and downed the ale in several long, deep, gulps. Aye, he needed it, and more besides.
Emeric took his ale cup in both hands and leaned back, his green gaze shrewd as he studied Magnus.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“What’s this all about? What have ye gotten yerself into that ye would abandon the Order? And don’t give me any of that ‘it’s personal’ nonsense.”
Magnus rubbed his forehead in irritation. He was tired, dirty, and Emeric’s insistence was getting under his skin. His gaze roamed around the inn, the fire flickering at one end a welcome warmth against the chill outside.
“I’m...searching for something,” Magnus admitted.
“Searching for what?” Emeric prodded.
When Magnus didn’t answer immediately, Emeric sighed in frustration. “By all the gods, Magnus! Ye canna keep being stubborn.”
At this, Magnus slammed his cup down onto the table with a growl. “It’s not about being stubborn, Emeric! It’s about putting things right! Ye of all people should know what that means!”
Emeric’s eyes narrowed. “So I was right. Thisisabout yer personal crusade.”
“So what if it is?” Magnus’s gaze met Emeric’s steadily. “It’s about fixing what I broke.”
Emeric let out another sigh, rubbing his forehead as he contemplated his friend. “And what is it ye think ye broke, Magnus?”
“Everything.” The words were barely audible, as if he had to pry them from his throat. A wave of silence swept over them. Even the background noise of the inn seemed to fade into the distance for that suspended moment.
“Ye canna undo the past, Magnus,” Emeric finally said in a low voice. “No matter how much ye wish ye could.”
“I know,” Magnus admitted, his hand clenching around his ale cup. “But I can try and make amends for it.”
