Page 14 of Tair

Ronan came in with a tray, which he placed on a side table before regarding Sgathan with strained patience. “Fair evening, Seneschal.”

“My thanks, Cook, but you neednae bring my meals to me,” he reminded the older man.

“If I didnae you’d forget and starve.” The cook hesitated before he asked, “Shall I send a wench with a tray to the dungeons, then?”

He shook his head. “The prisoner, she shallnae starve. In the morning she’ll be on her way.”

“The laird’s drinking up the whiskey again,” the cook said before he stalked out.

Sgathan knew that strong spirits calmed Tair more than they made him drunk, but then so did Ronan. Why would he mention it?

’Tisnae your duty to nursemaid the laird, his twin would have said. Leave Tair alone to deal with what plagues him.

He got up and dropped the bolt bar on the chamber door before he took out the scroll he’d only just purchased from a traveling merchant two days past. The edges crumbled a bit as he unrolled it to reveal the scrawl inside, which had been written in Éireann. He could read that tongue well enough to translate the text, which was a warning about men wandering the forests at night.

Steal not into the darkness to wander the woods, my friend, for among the trees dwell countless vicious creatures hungry for your flesh and blood. They dress in garments fashioned from vines, leaves and mold, and beckon from doorways that alight in trees. You may find them tempting, but they only wish trap you inside their cursed places, where they may feast on you powerless and unable to cry for aid.

“Melia.” He’d encountered such tales before this one, always claiming that the forest Fae intended to harm those they met. In truth they were more likely to keep them as pets, as they sometimes released them many decades later. Their captives did not age, and seemed forever afterward rather addled.

Should you attempt to elude them, beware their terrible unnatural servants. Neither man nor beast, these creatures attack and devour mortal kind from the inside out. Once they burrow into the body, the victim cannae be saved.

The rest of the text made up lists of name places where the melia lived, although most were in Éire. He noted a few places in Scotland, but none anywhere near Gealladh. Another fruitless purchase, more wasted coin.

Shall I ever discover the truth?

Unlike the rest of the clan Sgathan had long concealed the one never-ending terror of his life; not even his twin brother knew of his struggle to cope with his secret. For decades he had consulted with herbalists and druids, collecting stories and legends from those who would tell or sell them to him, but none matched the terrible creature that haunted his every nightmare.

Worse, even if he discovered the truth about the monster, he still might never escape it.

Because Sgathan doubted he would sleep he went to work on his ledgers, and then made note of the stores they would need for the coming season. Near dawn someone knocked at the door, and when Sgathan unbolted and opened it he found one of the laird’s personal guards waiting.

His presence meant trouble. “What’s happened?”

“Seneschal, that wench locked in the dungeon last night, she’s escaped again,” the guard told him.

Chapter Four

After she woke up warm and cozy, Lucy sat up to look at the blanket someone had draped over her during the night. A beautiful shade of baby’s blush, the soft wool had been covered with clusters of glittering white gems. The unlovely smell of the dirty straw under her brought back everything up to her attempt to escape, but at least someone had thrown a plaid over it before they’d dumped her there.

Why is there a glitz-covered pink blanket on me?

Touching the improbable thing made her fingers tremble, but the cool bling and warm material seemed almost soothing against her skin. That made even less sense than it being there. She pulled the ridiculous thing around her and glanced around at the dark, dingy cells across from hers. No sign of Seumas, who had probably been the one to hit her from behind last night. The back of her head should have hurt when she touched it, but whoever had hit her hadn’t done any serious damage. She couldn’t even detect a lump.

It’s this or death at the hands of my ex, Lucy reminded herself. Hopefully this improves.

“Can’t get any worse.” Then she remembered something she’d said to Dorchad.

I’m in the pink and covered with bling.

She pulled off the fantastic blanket, throwing it away from her as she scrambled to her feet. When she glanced down she saw the soft wool turning black, but as she tried to grab it the fabric evaporated through her fingers like dark smoke.

“You’re that bloody thing she wanted.” She looked all around the cell, and even kicked over some straw, but saw no sign of the blanket. “Pain in my bum.”

Where had it gone? Had it turned invisible or hidden itself out of reach? She didn’t know enough about the cluet to understand why it had come to her in the night, turned into what she’d said, and then vanished the moment she’d woken. Still, if it was drawn to her, then maybe she’d get another go. She’d found it hanging on a fence in her world, and then it had played blanket for her here—was it because both times she had been in imminent danger? Or was she making up this fantasy story to forget the fact that she was locked in a sodding dungeon?

“Time to leg it.” Lucy squared her shoulders, and took the other clip from her hair. “Let’s hope the second time’s a charm.”

It took her only a minute to pick the lock a second time, but she didn’t rush up the stairs. Instead she took down a torch and walked into the open cell across from hers. Behind the faux stone panel the hidden stairwell stood empty, and two narrow passages stretched on either side into darkness. It smelled musty, as if it hadn’t been aired out in ages.