He suspected he had met his match?and then some.
He shook his head, realizing that he would never know just how much power she had if he didn't get her somewhere quiet where he could set to healing her. He turned, then found himself facing another man with a crown full of white hair and power roiling off him like heat from a raging fire.
Miach backed up a step in spite of himself.
"Outside," the man said, nodding toward the end of the passageway. "Follow me."
"What?" Miach demanded in astonishment. "Are you mad?"
"Do you want her to live?"
Miach continued to balk. He gathered his wits about him and readied a spell of defense. The man looked over his shoulder.
"Don't bother with that," he said. "Come along, Mochriadhemiach. There's a good lad."
Miach gaped at the older man as he walked toward the doorway leading out into the courtyard. "Who are you'!"
The man stopped at the doorway and looked back. "Nicholas of Lismòr. Are you coming?"
Miach found himself following, if for no other reason than to be free of the lingering stench of spilled wine. Perhaps if he walked out into the chill night air, his head would be clear. For all he knew, it might even aid Morgan.
Though he feared it would take much more than that.
Nicholas of Lismòr? How in the world had he gotten to Tor Neroche? How had he come to be here at this particular time? And just what in the hell did the man think Miach was using for wits? Did Nicholas actually think he would simply hand Morgan over because he was ordered to?
He followed Nicholas until they stood out in the courtyard outside the kitchens. He clutched Morgan to him.
"I will fight you?"
"Your battle, lad, is not with me," Nicholas said.
"Lothar is gone," Miach said flatly.
"Your fight with him will come later. You have hearts and loyalties to win inside. I will see to Morgan."
Miach did not ease his hold on her. "How did you get here?"
"I flew."
Miach blinked. "But how…"
"I daresay you'll know in time."
"I want to know now." Miach cradled Morgan more closely to him.
"Would it make you feel better to know she is my niece?"
Miach frowned in spite of himself. "Your niece? How so? Gair had no brothers."
Nicholas smiled approvingly. "Then you know that much. Surely you know that Sarait had a sister. Four sisters, actually."
Miach cast his mind quickly back through the histories he'd read until he latched onto a name that had never seemed important.
Until now.
Nicholas of Lismòr.
Lismòrian of Tòrr Dòrainn.
