“I do not understand,” Ronan said, and he didn’t.
To his surprise, Dungal Tarnach smiled. “Would that I could tell you my druidic honor obliged me to warn you of such treachery in your midst,” he said, that odd almost-wistful note in his voice again.
“Alas,” he continued, “it had naught to do with the three greatest precepts druids abide by. Do you know them?” He glanced at Ronan, one white brow arcing. “We train for twenty long years, enduring much hardship to hone and perfect our skills. But above all, we vow to honor the gods, to be ever manly, and to always speak true.”
“And you are speaking the truth.” Ronan knew it in his bones.
“To be sure.” The Holder lifted his voice above the rising wind. “But not for those reasons. They would only have swayed me . . . many years ago.”
“And now?”
“Now . . .” Dungal Tarnach looked away, his gaze seeming to search for an answer in the thickly clustered ash and rowan trees crowding the edge of the glade. “Now, I warned you because doing so serves our purposes as well.”
Ronan almost choked.
His jaw did slip. “Warning me serves the Holders?”
Dungal Tarnach looked at him, his gaze no longer a harmless blue. “We seek only the return of what is ours. The Raven Stone, as you know,” he said, the red glint in his eyes deepening on each word. “The stone was tainted when Maldred stole it from us. His thievery — taking the property of friends — greatly diminished the stone’s power.”
“Then why do you still want it?” Ronan felt a ridiculous surge of hope.
“Because even tainted, the stone is ours.” The Holder stood straighter, seeming to grow in height and dimension. “It is of untold sanctity and significance to us. And its powers are still formidable.”
“Then why didn’t you jump when you were handed a chance to search for it within our walls?” Ronan puzzled. “You’re no’ making sense.”
“Druids always make sense,” the Holder corrected him. “Turned or nae, we ne’er waste a word. Had we agreed to such a treacherous plan as was offered to us, the stone’s value would have decreased yet again. We must find the stone on our own terms, not accept it from the hands of a man whose heart is so blackened he’d spill the blood of his own to gain his wicked ends.”
“I see.” Ronan released a breath, understanding indeed. “So now that you’ve assured the stone won’t lose further power, you mean to keep plaguing us?”
“We mean to continue our search — as we have done since time was.”
“And if I tell you I have ne’er truly believed in the stone? Or that my father and grandfather and all those before them spent years looking for it, always to no avail?”
“Then I would tell you that their failure makes no difference. The stone does exist and we will get it back.”
The words spoken, Dungal Tarnach stepped forward and offered his hand. “I will also tell you I wish you well in dealing with your man.”
Ronan took the Holder’s hand, gripping tight. “And I . . . thank you for the warning.”
“It will be the only one given. The next time we meet, there will be no niceties. But” — his eyes flickered blue for just a moment — “I was gladdened to meet you here today. You are a good man, Ronan MacRuari. In another life we might have been friends.”
The words spoken, the Holder turned and walked away, quickly disappearing into the trees on the far side of the clearing, leaving Ronan alone.
His fury, though, erupted all around him, pressing close and cutting off his air.
“By all that’s holy, I still canna believe it,” he roared, spinning around to race through the underbrush.
Heart pounding, he charged down the narrow path to the jetty and leaped into the little skiff before he had time to disbelieve Dungal Tarnach’s words.
In his heart, he knew he’d spoken true.
He could only hope he wasn’t mistaken.
If so, he was about to kill an innocent man.
Chapter Fifteen
Hours later, Gelis wrinkled her nose and wondered how much longer it would take for Anice to pay a visit to Dare’s grandest luxury . . . a privy chamber reserved solely for women.
