So, he’d taken the shot, sent the arrow home, and thanked God for the bounty the glorious animal had provided. And when John saw the piece, Cian would garner another boon from its sacrifice.
He knocked once, good and sharp, and waited for his friend. The door opened so promptly, it startled him, and his hand flew to the dagger at his hip.
John noticed and gave him a nod of apology. “Come in, come in. Kettle’s on, but we haven’t much time. Bring the sled.”
Not much time? Cian’s stomach and shoulders fell in unison. He so looked forward to their monthly chats wherein he would finally have a chance to converse with the living while honing his own grasp of modern speech—not that he had much use for it. But perhaps one day…
Cian dragged his sled inside and went back to close the door. “Ye’ve something important to tend to, do ye?”
John began to nod, but stopped himself and shook his head instead. Then he heaved a heavy sigh and dropped his backside onto his cold metal stool.
Cian’s hackles rose. Something was wrong with his one and only friend in the world, and if the man needed his help, he would do whatever was needed, Cian’s own safety be damned.
“What is it? What can I do to help ye, John?”
The man shook his head again, then looked Cian in the eye. “I have never lied to ye, Cian MacInnis, and I willnae start tadee.”
“Ye’re leavin’ Aviemore?” It was the only disaster he could imagine, since John had already lost his wife.
“Nay. Never that. Never that?—”
“Ye’re ill, then?”
“Nay. I’m hale. A wee bit heartsick, mind. But not that…”
Cian breathed easier and strode to the bench to sit. He’d pushed enough. His friend would explain in his own time.
“I’ll just say it plain, then, shall I?”
Cian shrugged.
“Two women came to see me?—”
“The two I saw from the tree line?”
“Aye. They havenae been gone long.”
Cian nodded and waited for more.
“They had a message for ye.”
His head snapped back, as if he’d been struck by a powerful fist. “A message forme?”
“Aye.”
“And how do they ken about me?” Only John knew him by name. Only John knew he was more man than myth, that he was both more and less than a traveler come down from the mountains from time to time. But he’d never believe that his friend had shared Cian’s name with anyone but his late wife.
“They claimed to be witches.”
The burst of Cian’s heart forced him to his feet. He struggled to keep a breath long enough to speak. “Witches? They claimed as much? Aloud, even?”
John scowled. “Aye. They did.” He shook his head. “This is not so rare these days, lad. There are organizations…”
“Covens?”
“Aye. No doubt. But many a lass claims to be a witch for…any number of reasons.”
Cian blanched at the very idea of it. “They claim it, willingly, when it is not true?”
