“Likely. But extra services have extra cost.” Artair folded his hands underneath his chin. Another man his age might have stroked his beard, but the MacAlasdairs had never been able to grow them. It had gotten Cathal into a few fights in his boyhood. “I’ll pass the word along. If…Valerius”—he said the name with the same distaste Sophia had shown at first—“is leaving a blood trail, there’s likely a few who will have picked it up.”
“They might not be so willing to speak with us.”
“Mayhap not. But they’ll have talked of it to another, who’ll speak to yet another, and in time we’ll hear of it if we’re listening.” Artair’s smile was much older even than his face and spoke of centuries of war, and the edges of war, and the fighting men who cared little for their nations or kings. “Have patience, boy.”
The old reminder was half reassuring, half provoking. “The matter’s an urgent one.”
“And we’re treating it urgently. Act…and then have patience.”
* * *
After dinner, on the staircase, Cathal asked Sophia for her hair. He had tried to find enough privacy for the request and had sent Roger away beforehand—his turn on guard was coming to an end, and he’d tell Munro where to find them—but he couldn’t think of a plausible excuse to keep Alice absent. Nor could he justify wanting her gone, save that making his request in front of those sharp eyes made him feel like a lad begging for his lady’s favor. Matters were awkward enough as was.
Nonetheless, he charged into the face of danger. “It’s for the defenses,” he said and paraphrased Artair’s explanation. “They need to know you. So to speak.”
“Yes,” said Sophia. She was unpinning her wimple as she spoke, and her face lit with the new idea. “It does stand to reason that they would, especially given that I’m not one of your people. I understand very little of the theory, of course, but from what I know, it makes a great deal of sense.”
“I’m glad you think it does,” Alice remarked and shook her head as Sophia reached for her knife. “Stand still. If you do it yourself, you’ll look like a hedgehog. I know, remember?”
“I was ten,” Sophia protested with a laugh that warmed the stone staircase. Yet she stood motionless as Alice lifted a single lock of her hair away and sliced through it.
Alice, in her turn, handed the strands of hair over to Cathal like a surgeon dropping an arrowhead on a tray. “I hope this will suffice. Or do you need to shave her head?”
“No. That should be fine.”
“It must be a fascinating process,” Sophia said. “This spell of yours, I mean, not shaving my head. I’d dearly love to see it, were you so inclined.”
“I’m inclined,” Cathal said. As he spoke, he found that it was true. He would have given much to have Sophia at his side during the ritual, both to watch her fascination and to benefit from her advice, if anything went amiss. He sighed. “But no. Chamber’s got its own defenses. None but my bloodline can enter or even see inside.”
Sophia frowned. “But then, if a spell goes awry—”
“Then it’s a truly dark day for us, aye. An uncle of mine lost an eye that way. One of my cousins died. Other mishaps too, more minor ones. The ideal is to have another of us standing by to lend aid.”
“If enough of you are in the castle,” said Alice, with a look between him and Sophia that he couldn’t quite puzzle out. “There aren’t that many.”
“No. Often we’re at least two. Now…war. And love, or at least marriage.” Cathal shook his head. “I’d not call that the wisest protection, but neither did I set it up, and I fear to try to change it. I’ll only be doing as much as I am by rote and detailed instruction… Could I bring you in, I’d gladly do so. As it is, you must accept my regrets.”
“I understand,” said Sophia.
All three of them stood silent on the stairs. Much time couldn’t have passed, for once again footsteps broke the quiet. Munro appeared only a bit later, but still the moment felt longer. To Cathal’s surprise, Roger was following only a little way behind, hopefully not bearing any catastrophic news.
“I bid you good night, ladies,” said Cathal.
“Good night,” said Sophia. She started to ascend the stairs, then turned back. “Be careful. And if anything does go amiss…call. I cannot say I’ll be able to help, but I’ll try.”
Cathal stared as she left and stopped looking before too long only due to a combination of will and the realization that Roger had lingered and was watching him. Abruptly, he turned and began to head back down to the hall. “Aught wrong?”
“I don’t think so, sir. Indeed, I hope not.” Roger glanced sideways at him, then away.
“Sounds promising.”
Roger flushed. “I’ve not forgotten that you’re the laird’s son, nor that you’ve the castle and all of us in your charge. And I’d not question your judgment lightly, you understand. There’s nobody who’d do that.”
Christ have mercy.“But you are questioning it. Have out with it, then. I don’t bite,” Cathal said, trying to remember what little he knew about Roger.
Like Munro, Roger had grown up in the village, and his people had lived there almost as long as the MacAlasdairs themselves. Roger hadn’t ever left, even to fight with Wallace’s army. He’d been willing enough to go, but his parents were aging and he was their only son. At practice, he wasn’t notably worse than his fellows and displayed even a little more alertness, one of the reasons why Cathal had picked him for Sophia’s guard.
Now he cleared his throat, folded his arms, and said, “How much do you know about…her?” A jerk of his head upward made quite clear who he meant, since it was doubtful he’d concern himself with Alice.
