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“Your wife, is she?”
Sion raises my hand with Máthair’s ring. “She is.”
A huge roar from above vibrates through the stone walls of the castle, drawing the goon’s attention. He leers at me. “I’ve got more willing hens to pluck than the likes of you.” Without another glance at us, he pounds up the stairs.
I’m shaking so badly; Sion has to support me as we stumble through the arch into the dark room. We slide out of sight behind a chair and drop to the floor.
“Are ya all right, Eala? Oh, God.” Sion smooths the hair from my face and pats my arms, searching for broken bones. When I gingerly touch my swollen lips with the tip of a finger, he flinches.
My voice quavers. “I’m not supposed to get hurt.”
He hangs his head. “No, you’re not. It was reckless of me to fly up the stairs so. I couldn’t think what to do but claim you as mine.” His hands slide along the sides of my face, thumbs tenderly caress my cheeks. “I swear, from here on, you’ll be treated as the rare gem you are.” Sion rests his forehead against mine. “Forgive me. I beg you.”
“I want to go back to the campsite.”
He pulls away, conflict screwing up his face. If we leave without finding Matthew, Mrs. Kennedy’s soul will repeat her fate against unforgiving boulders in an endless loop. Sion will add another failure to his scorecard. He said he only had until Beltane, and there are souls besides Alaina Kennedy to free.
Sion stands, bringing me with him. His features are stone. “We’ll go back.”
“Wherever you be going, will ya take me?” The voice from under the desk makes us both jump. A boy no more than eight- or nine-years old crawls out to stand before us. Thick chocolate waves frame a gaunt face. His eyes catch enough light to reveal desperate hope. He’s dressed in the garb of a serving lad. My heart breaks a little for Sion. This kid is too young to be Matthew Kennedy.
“Your masters will beat you for leaving,” says Sion matter-of-factly.
“If I stay, I’ll be dead.”
Sion kneels in front of the boy. “And who’ll be killing you?”
He’s so kind and easy with the kid. It’s a side of him that coaxes awake a soft spot in my heart.
The boy gestures to the stairwell. “They kept some of us aside. Said we’d serve the wine to the McMahons during the feast.”
I stand behind Sion and address the boy. “Isn’t it your job, honey?”
This close, I see how badly the kid shakes.
“I heard soldiers talking. The wine is poisoned. The O’Carrolls will be killing the McMahons to keep from paying them for the fighting.”
“Damn me,” Sion whispers and looks up. “The Bloody Chapel.” His grip on my arm promises another bruise as he drags me toward the stairs. “I’ve lost my bearing and brought you on a cursed night. We’ve got to get out of the castle, NOW!”
When the boy doesn’t follow, I wave him on. “Come with us.”
Sion hisses in my ear. “I’ve got no claim on his soul. If we help him, we might miss Matthew.”
“We’ll send him into the woods, tell him to run.”
“Fine.”
“Wait.” I kneel next to the boy. “Do you know Matthew Kennedy?”
He speaks between sobs. “Aye. Mattie’s another they pulled aside to serve the wine.”
I smooth a strand of hair out of his eyes. “I need you to do something for me. Get outside, then run as fast as you can into the trees. Don’t stop until you get to a place with kind people. Understand?”
He nods, and I drop a kiss on the top of his head.
It’s horrible to leave the little guy, but we fly down the stairs. Sion asks every servant we pass on our way if they know Matthew’s whereabouts, careful not to mention poisoned wine.
The sword of terrible truth pierces me. I can get hurt here. Slip ups have the potential to be fatal. Sion lied to me. His protection has limitations. If that brute in the hallway decided to rape me, what could Sion do once he was knocked out cold?
