A sinking feeling settledin her chest.
Where?
During yesterday’s mayhem, the Earl of Dalkirk had seized their home.
Grief built in her chest. As if where they went at this moment mattered. Blar was her only remaining family. They would be together and free. With the earl furious at their escape, they would go wherever necessary, do whatever they must, to keep safe.
“You want me to travel to Tiran Castle in this weather?” the young man grumbled from behind the curtain.
“Keep your voice down,”Wautier hissed.
Elspet stiffened. Why would the merchant want to send his assistant to Tiran Castle and hide the fact from her? She crept closer.
“Tell the Earl of Dalkirk,” Wautier whispered, “that I have purchased his brother’s broadsword from a thief. I am unsure how ’twas acquired, but warn him that I suspect his nephew, Cailin MacHugh, has returned intending to claim his rightful title.”
Confused, she frowned. Sir Cailin was the earl’s nephew? Howcould that be?
“But he died as a lad,” the man repliedin a low voice.
Somethingshe’d been told in heryouth as well.
“Dinna question me!”Wautier hissed.
“A-aye.” The youth stumbled out.
“Tell him that the coat of arms on its hilt is proof to those within Dalkirk that Cailin MacHugh is the rightful claimant. A fact,” the merchant grumbled, “that will infuriate the earl.”
Achair scraped.
With a gasp, Elspet stumbled back. Merciful saints, the warrior who’d saved her, the knight she’d robbed, was the rightful heir of Dalkirk!
With a frown, she stared at the curtain. Why would news that Cailin lived displease his uncle unless… Heart pounding, she took another step back. The Earl of Dalkirk was behind Cailin’s supposed death, which must explain why Cailin hadn’t ridden straight to Tiran Castle, or disclosed his full name when they’d met.
“And dinna discuss this with anyone but the earl,” the merchant said with soft warning.
“A–aye,” the lad replied, fear thick in his voice.
She must inform Cailin! Elspet grasped the hilt, hesitated. As if after she’d lied and stolen his weapon Cailin would believe anything she had to say. What if after she explained, he refused to help her? Breath unsteady, Elspet stared at the broadsword. Should she stay for the coin to pay Moireach to free her brother?
How could she? After Cailin had saved her, he deserved to know that his uncle was being informed of his presence on Dalkirk lands. As well, if his uncle was involved in attempting to kill him, Cailin must despise the earl as much as she and would indeed help her free her stepbrother.
Calmer, she accepted the logic of her decision. He had a horse and could make the trip to the guard in but a few hours, when on foot and with her injured ankle, ’twould take her a day. As for how she’d convince Moireach that he could trust Cailin, she would worry about that whenthe time came.
Steps thudded on the other side of the curtain. The hanging blanket shifted as the outline of the merchant bumped against it. Wautier whispered something too soft for her to hear.
Quickly enfolding the sword in the blanket, Elspet hobbled to the door, scowling at the bits of metal hanging above. With a glance toward the blanket, thankful the makeshift curtain remained in place, she propped the sword against the wall. Withdrawing hersgian dubh, she stood on her tiptoes and caught the tied bits of metal in her fist. With a slash, she severed the string, then secured her dagger.
After another glance back, thankful the cover hadn’t moved, she picked up the covered weapon, eased the door open, and crept out. Once she’d secured the entry, Elspet tossed the bits of metal, then fled.
Ignoring the shooting pain with each step, the lash of bitter cold wind, she pushed on. At an outcrop of rocks a distance from the merchant’s home, she collapsed beneath thestone overhang.
Her breath rolling out in a cloud of white, pain screaming up her leg, she glanced at the covered broadsword, fought the rush of nerves. What if another knight named Cailin had come into possession of the previous Earl of Dalkirk’s sword and, as Cailin had claimed, he was doing naught but passing through? Or what if the merchant had misidentified the crestupon the sword?
Or, in her panic, she had erred and sealed her stepbrother’s fate? No. After losing her mother and stepfather, she couldn’t lose Blar.
Frustrated, she jerked open the blanket. Flakes of snow hurled past as she stared at the gold crest etched within the pommel.
Faded memories of Cailin’s sailing to Rome to study came to mind, then news of his death. Much loved as he was, all within Dalkirk had mourned his passing. She slid her finger across the tip of the hilt as she recalled how Cailin’s father’s sword had disappeared. Rumors of a witch’s curse upon the blade, of fairies taking the weapon to the Otherworld, or a ghost hiding the sword to preserve it for Cailin’s return were among many reasons for its disappearance. Regardless, the broadsword had never been seen since.
