Ailith fell against her brother’s shoulder, tears streaming. Her tears didn’t last long.
The first warrior stepped out of his cage and ran straight at John.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alasdair
Alasdair moved toward the door the moment it slammed shut in his face, a wee lass pressed against it, staring up at him with a scowl older than her face.
“They’re my bairns, Lia.” He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, wondering how to make someone who seemed both ancient and a child understand what it meant to lose both parents within a year. Losing either child would kill him.
Losing both? Incomprehensible.
“Alasdair, I know you’re worried, but they can handle themselves,” Lia said in her best calming voice.
Dyna took his hand and tugged him back. “You have to leave them be. They have important work to do.”
Alasdair lost control. “Don’t tell me what to do. And don’t play the same game you did with me years ago, Dyna. You don’t know how I feel. You can’t know how I feel.”
Dyna pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “I can’t know, is that what you think?”
“Not your bairns down there in an unknown world, are they?” His hands landed on his hips, and he leaned toward her, then spun away and paced a circle, the standing door to the underworld behind him.
“Oh, and I suppose I don’t understand that either. Where the hell were Tora and Sandor when Maeve had them? Some known world, ’Dair?”
Alasdair stopped pacing and stared at the sky because she was right. Blast it all to hell, but she was right. Dyna had been shattered into pieces when her bairns were stolen by monsters, yet she had survived, standing here whole. “This is different, Dyna, and you know it.”
“It is. John has a sapphire sword that can take anyone down inside that door,” Lia declared.
“But can it take ten down? And what creatures are in there? And while he’s fighting, where is Ailith? Attacked by some cruel Unseelie like Gruin?” He pressed his fist against his chest. “I’m sick with the thought of it.”
Emmalin took two steps forward and whispered, “But I can know exactly how you feel, Alasdair.”
He nearly ran to his wife and wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissing her forehead, then her lips, pressing his face against her hair for a moment that was too short. “I know you can. What do we do?”
Dyna said, “You wait.”
Alasdair nodded, going within to come up with something, some memory, to help him get through this. He whispered, “She’s an innocent, Em.”
“I don’t think so. Alasdair, when was your first battle?”
He thought back, grateful for the challenge. When had he first used his sword in battle? The time on the hill with the sheep? When he had to fight for John when the English captured him. How old had he been then? Thoughts battled in his mind to grab his attention. A quick image of Ailith being held by a warrior or John with a sword at his throat fought for his focus.
He tugged at the collar of his tunic because it was too tight, making him too tight.
“Never mind. It’s not important.” Emmalin kissed his cheek and leaned her head on his shoulder, but still the thoughts persisted.
Dyna came up on his opposite side, taking his hand and squeezing it. He’d been wrong. Dyna knew exactly what it was like. And Edan? He paced faster than his father ever did when he’d been arguing over the English.
Magni broke into his thoughts. “You should listen to your grandfather.”
Alasdair let go of Emmalin enough to turn toward him. “I would if I could, but he’s not here. And neither is my sire.”
Sandor came forward and said, “You’re right. They’re not here because they’re both busy. But Grandmama Maddie and Aunt Aline are.”
Alasdair went still.
He had known Sandor had the gift. He had watched him as a child, seen the lad turn toward empty corners and murmur to people no one else could see. He had seen Jake Grant chase him around the great hall at Duart to tickle him, Sandor squealing “Unca Shakie chaseen me” at the top of his lungs. He had smiled at it then. He had never needed it for himself until now.
