He glanced up at the low black clouds racing so swiftly across the sky, wishing they could whisk him back to Dare. The Tobar Ghorm and its little islet were more than dark, bleak, and lonely.
The place was having a weird effect on him and he didn’t like it.
Most especially he didn’t care for the way — since stepping into the clearing and nearing the well — he couldn’t help but notice the lines on the Holder’s face or the bony thinness of his shoulders.
The slight hitch in his step when he walked, as if his hips pained him.
“Did you know, Raven,” he said then, suddenly standing next to the well, “that even on a day as dark as this, the water of the well remains blue as sapphire?”
As if to prove it, he leaned over the fallen stones and peered down into the rubble. Straightening, he turned back to Ronan.
“You should look.” He glanced at the well again, his robes lifting in the wind.
“I saw the water as a lad,” Ronan admitted, remembering his awe at its brilliance.
And, too, how his young boy’s heart had believed his father’s tale that the dazzling blue was the eye color of a beautiful but tragic Celtic princess who’d drowned herself in the well when her sweetheart was killed in battle.
Preferring death to life without him, or worse, being forced to wed another, she’d rowed herself out to the little islet and taken solace in the only way she knew.
Ever since, or so legend claimed, she granted favors and healing to those visiting her well, taking especial care to help those unlucky in love, not wanting others to suffer the sorrow that had taken all joy and light from her life, ultimately causing her death.
Pushing the tale from his mind, Ronan strode across the clearing to join the Holder at the well. He did not attempt to peer through the jumble of stones and weeds to see the glittering water.
Instead, he folded his arms. “ So- o-o, Dungal Tarnach,” he began, “if you are indeed the man who penned a certain missive, I would hear the name of the traitor in my midst.”
The Holder raised a brow. “You doubt my identity?”
“I would only be sure I hear the words from the man who brought such tidings.” Ronan narrowed his eyes, taking in the Holder’s simple robe and his flowing white hair and beard. “You do not look like any MacKenzie I ever saw. Or did you useDruidechtto bespell my grandfather?”
“Valdar MacRuari saw what he expected to see — as did all your men.”
“Dare men are no fools.” Ronan spoke with conviction. “They know men that areothersroam our glen from time to time. They know to be wary.”
“And they knew MacKenzies were still riding through your lands.” His mouth quirking, the Holder lifted a hand, palm upward to the heavens.
In a blink, he was changed.
For one earth-tilting moment he stood before Ronan no longer looking aged beyond measure, but like a shadow image of the Black Stag. Or, at the least, like a man who shared that one’s blood and name.
Then he lowered his hand and was himself again.
Tall, berobed, and gaunt, his white-maned head held proud despite the slight stoop to his shoulders.
“So you are Dungal Tarnach.” Ronan refused to acknowledge the man’s transformation talent.
All druids were skilled thus.
Even Torcaill, though they never discussed such things.
Ronan kept his eyes intent on this druid, now a Holder. “It matters little to me under which guise you cloak yourself. I would only hear who thinks to betray me.”
“He means to do more than betray you.” Dungal Tarnach held his gaze, his faded blue eyes equally earnest. “His plan is to taint your food and drink with poison. He will seek to kill you, your lady, your grandfather, and any others who might have the misfortune to sit at your high table when he chooses to make his move.”
“And do you know why?” Ronan could scarce speak past the bile in his throat. “Dare men are known for their loyalty. I cannot think of a single one who would turn so viciously against his own clan.”
The Holder shrugged. “Then perhaps you should consider the other thing Dare men are known for — they dwell on blighted ground. Outside this glen, your name rarely passes good folks’ lips. They fear just thinking of you will touch them with your darkness.”
Ronan grunted. “It is because of the like that our men are so true, so beholden to our own.”
