* * *
Ivor swore as the unexpected knife cut through the skin on his cheek. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her before she could hurt him anymore, holding her in place. “Enough, ye mad lassie!” he snarled, the pain in his face making him sound harsher than he’d intended. “Will ye stay still?”
She looked into his eyes then, her own wide and desperate. Ivor was struck by how brightly they shone in her dirt-streaked face. Killian had told him that her eyes were lovely, but he’d failed to mention that they shone like the sea captured in a crystal.
Eithne struggled a little, then went limp in his grasp. “Please,” she said, her voice tired and defeated. “I just want to see me sister. Ye’ve all taken everything else from me. But if ye cannae let me go, then please, kill me here rather than taking me back to yer master. I’m begging ye, I—”
“Stop,” Ivor said, much more gently. He was shaken; apart from the softness and higher pitch, she evensoundedlike Killian. Joy and sorrow pounded in his chest as one as he let her go and uncovered his face. “Dinnae run. Listen. Me name is Ivor. I’m here to help ye.”
Eithne seemed to freeze in indecision. “Ivor?” she repeated. “From the letters? Who are ye? What do ye want?”
“I’m naebody,” he told her. He spoke to her in a low voice, the same kind he’d use to approach a lamed animal. “Just a mercenary. I am – was – friends with yer brother, Killian. When I heard what happened—”
She flinched back. Her startling eyes wide were wide. “Ye kent Killian?” she asked. He couldn’t blame her for the distrust in her voice, but at least she hadn’t run away entirely. “How am I to believe ye?”
Ivor took a breath. “Ask me what ye must, and I’ll answer if that’s what it takes. Just hurry. I want to get ye out of here before they notice yer missing.”
“Get me out of here and take me where?” she demanded. “What is it ye want from me?”
Why is she so frustrating?!
“I dinnae want anything from ye, lass. I just want to get ye somewhere safe. I’ll take ye north, where the MacDonnells are. That’s where ye sent yer sister, is it nae?”
Eithne blinked. “What do ye ken about me sister?”
“Everything that Killian told me, about her and about you as well!” Ivor replied in frustration. “I ken we’ve never met, but he was me best friend. I kent everything about him, which means I ken an awful lot about yer family. The fact that he’s gone is tearing me apart, and all I want to do is save his stubborn sister before she gets herself killed!”
“Ye think I cannae protect meself?!” Eithne snapped.
“Yer weak and covered in blood and bruises,” Ivor retorted. “Yer whole family has just died. It’s nae aboutcompetence.”
There was a long pause, and for a moment, he thought she was going to attack him again. Instead, she said, “What is—was Killian’s favorite color?”
“The red-brown color of the leaves just before winter,” Ivor replied instantly, remembering. “He said he thought it deserved its own name because—”
“—because there are words out there that we dinnae ken yet, and that’s a crime,” Eithne finished in a whisper. Tears shone in her eyes. “Ye were such close friends?”
“The closest,” Ivor replied. “I kent yer faither, too. I never met ye or yer sister, but I always hoped…well, for better circumstances.”
She was fighting her own distrust; he could see it in her face, and yet he could hardly blame her. She’d just lost almost everything she’d ever loved – and here was he, a stranger, accosting her in the forest! He would have to be gentle with her.
“What instrument did Killian play?” she asked in almost a whisper.
“The lute,” he replied without a pause. “Killian Kinnear was nae a man of the sword. He was a gentle soul, and his heart was in his music. It just makes all of this even more tragic. His favorite song was the Ballad of Blue and Green, and he used to sing it to wee Myrna when she was still a babe in arms.”
Her tears ran freely now as she listened to his words, and if Ivor hadn’t been so hardened by his years as a mercenary, he might have wept too. Such a loss was unbearable for the world. He could not imagine how it must feel for Killian’s own sister.
“Ye did…ye were…” she sobbed. Ivor gave her a moment to collect herself, and then she breathed out. “I must ask questions three, ye ken.”
Of course, ye must. Ye’re a fae creature with those eyes, just as Killian carried the blood of the Sith when he played on his lute.
He nodded, and Eithne took a deep breath. Her voice shook as she said, “Ye may not ken this, but if ye dae, me trust is yers. What was the other name that Killian sometimes used for me?”
He remembered a day where he’d sat under a tree. At the same time, Killian played his lute, singing a ballad of the historic Eithnu from where Eithne’s name arose. She had a number of names, but her true name, the one that only her heart knew, was…
“Feada,” he answered. “He called ye Feada, like the tree-groves, when he wanted to be whimsical.”
Eithne stared at him wordlessly, then held out her hand. He took it in his, surprised by how small and delicate it felt against his palm. “All right,” she said decisively. “Then let’s go.”
