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“How old were you?”
“Seventeen. Loch had to nurse me back to health because Pa didn’t believe in weakness.”
We fell silent, watching the water swirling away down the drain.
“I found them all.”
“Who?”
“The ones who tried to kill me. It took years, but I never forgot.” The hoarseness in his voice told me how close he came to dying. “Come on, let’s washup, and you can meet my best soldiers.” He twisted around in my arms and kissed the top of my head.
“Your best soldiers?”
“Bran and Sceólang.”
The second name sounded like Shore-lang.
“My furry soldiers.”
“Those monster dogs outside?”
“Yep.” He stepped out and grabbed a towel for us both.
“Okay,” I said nervously.
I liked dogs, but they were like dogs on steroids.
“They wouldn’t ever harm you, but they wouldn’t let you leave either.” He grinned at me.
We dried off and headed downstairs. As Sean opened the front door, the cool air flicked the ends of my still-damp hair up. I scratched my scalp, realising how nice it was not to be wearing my wig. Had it burned up in the flat? That thought reminded me I ought to ring Cat. She was probably going spare.
Sean whistled, long and shrill, and the two massive behemoths bounded over.
“Sit,” he commanded, and I nearly sat down, too.
He smirked at me as if he had read my mind.
“This is Bran. She is the leader. And this is Sceólang. He follows Bran.”
“Are their names significant?”
“They are named after the two dogs in a famous Irish myth. You can pet them.”
“What breed are they?”
“Irish wolfhounds.”
“Did you put steroids in their food?” I ran my fingers through Bran’s wiry fur.
“No, they are a big breed of dog.”
“Did you live in Ireland long?”
“I was actually born in the States, but we returned to Ireland when I was a baby. We moved here when I was twelve. My father was always looking to expand his power base, but he pissed off too many of the wrong people in Ireland.”
“Your accent is still strong. How long is it since you moved?”
“Are you asking if I’m an old man?”
