Three of his sword-brothers—Kai, Conall and Oskar—had all met this woman, and after that encounter their lives had been turned upside down. Emeric didn’t want that. He’d had his fill of turmoil and upheaval. All he wanted was a quiet life—for a time at least. Was that too much to ask?
“I dinna know why ye are here, Irene,” he said. “But I dinna want any trouble.”
Irene chuckled, the sound reminiscent of water flowing over pebbles in a brook. “Trouble is rarely a matter of want, young Emeric,” she replied. “Often, it is a matter of need.”
His temper flared, but he bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Arguing with Fae was like arguing with the wind—pointless and frustrating. He took a deep breath, forcing the ire from his voice before he spoke again.
“I am not interested in whatever riddles ye have for me.”
“Ye may not be interested, Emeric Mackintosh,” she said. “But ye may not have the luxury of choice.”
Emeric gave a frustrated huff. “And why is that?”
She cocked her head at him. “Why did ye join the Order of the Osprey in the first place?”
The question caught him off guard. He’d been sent by his father to foster with the Sutherlands. They had introduced him to the Order and joining them had meant he had regular pay to send home to his family. It was as simple as that.
And yet, his reasoning sounded hollow in his own ears. Itwasn’tas simple as that, and he knew it. In fact, it was far, far more complicated. It was tied up with things he did not want to think about, much less discuss with one of the Fae.
“I...I—” Emeric stuttered. “I wanted to provide for my family.” His words felt stilted and weak, a feeble defense.
Irene MacAskill gave a small nod, as if confirming something she already knew. “A noble cause, Emeric Mackintosh,” she said, her voice carrying a note of approval. “But remember, the most challenging battles are not always fought on hardened fields. Sometimes, they are waged within a man himself. And the battle continues inside ye.”
What was that supposed to mean? Was this the cryptic nonsense that his sword-brothers had warned him about?
With a weary sigh, Emeric ran a hand through his hair, brushing back the sandy-colored strands. A flicker ofannoyance lit in his stomach, warming his chest. He never did have much patience for such twisty talk.
“I dinna understand yer riddles, Irene,” he said. “Speak plainly. What business do ye have with me?”
Irene raised an eyebrow. “Always the direct approach, eh?”
She stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Despite her small stature, she had an air of power around her that made Emeric want to step back. He forced himself to hold his ground.
“Ye joined the Order because ye were drawn to, as all who join the Order are. There are some born into this world that destiny swirls around, like a rock in a river. Such ones have important parts to play in the unfolding of history. Ye are such a one, Emeric Mackintosh. Ye can say ye joined the Order merely to support yer family, but ye and I both know it was more than that. Ye have always been a restless soul have ye not? Always looking for something ye canna quite find?”
Emeric swallowed hard. He took a moment to process her words. Aye, he had always felt restless, as if some unseen force leashed him and tugged him towards a purpose he could not quite figure out. But destiny? That was a heavy word, one that he wasn’t sure he was ready to carry.
Emeric ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. This wasnothow he had expected his day to go. “Irene,” he said. “Did ye forget the bit where I asked ye to speak plainly?”
She laughed, a sound full of child-like joy. “Emeric Mackintosh,” she chortled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in mirth. “Ye are a man of earth and stone, that’s for sure!Fine, I’ll speak plainly.” She cocked her head at him. “There is a choice coming yer way, a choice that will force ye to question everything ye think ye want. It will be a choice that will force ye to heal the division in yer heart, to decide, finally, who ye are and who ye want to be.”
Emeric looked at her, brow creased in confusion. “What choice? What division?”
“Ye are a man of two hearts, Emeric Mackintosh. One that longs for the thrill of the battle, the brotherhood of the Order, and the honor it brings. The other yearns for peace, quiet, for a life away from the clash of swords and the cries of the dying. Ye think ye can keep these hearts separate, live two lives in one. But ye canna. One will come who will show ye that.”
“Who?” Emeric demanded. The wind seemed to carry his words away, scattering them across the landscape.
Irene’s expression was unreadable. “That,” she said softly, “is for ye to discover.”
She turned and he watched her walk away, her figure becoming small in the distance until she disappeared amongst the heather.
Emeric shook himself. The clouds had rolled in and the day had turned cold and blustery, just like his mood. Muttering under his breath, he retrieved Plover’s reins, climbed into the saddle, and kicked him into a gallop.
Aye, there was a storm coming all right.
