"Thank God." Finally he was making progress. The prospect of coming face-to-face with someone still possessed of his senses was more wonderful than he could have imagined. "Take me to this commander."
"You can't mean that! I couldn't possibly. It's far too dangerous. Even if he didn't believe you were Ciaran—"
"No fear of that. I'm not about to tell him this ridiculous story you've come up with. He'd think me a lunatic."
"No. He'd think you were something far more dangerous. Don't you even wonder what he was doing here? He warned me to beware of thieves prowling around this area. Ireland is filled with men shoved off their land, desperate in the wake of the last rebellion. And then, of course, there is the main reason Redmayne has been transferred here. He's searching for some mysterious leader of a ring of smugglers who have been making the Crown's soldiers look like fools for some time now."
He squirmed inwardly, dark possibilities spilling out before him. "You're being ridiculous. I'm no rebel! No thief!" he cried. Yet why did he feel this creeping sensation of danger at her words, this prickling of instincts even the blow to his head hadn't dulled? What did he really know about himself? Only that something had driven him out into the night, to this remote place with its unearthly shadows. Was there the slimmest chance he might be the fugitive this Redmayne sought?
"Please, Ciaran, think! Redmayne won't recognize you, won't be able to give you back your identity. But that won't matter! Considering all the unrest, Redmayne will think it safer to keep you behind bars rather than leave you to run about the countryside. Is that what you want?"
Claws tightened about his chest, and he couldn't breathe as a flash of memory washed over him. Walls imprisoning him, his hands bloody as he pounded against the locked door. Quickly as the fleeting image had come, it was gone. All that remained was the sensation of helplessness. Icy sweat broke out all over his body. No. He couldn't risk being imprisoned. Didn't dare.
She clutched at his arm, her fingers trembling. And he was stunned at the sizzle of recognition that seemed to race through him at her touch. "You have to come with me to Misthaven. I beg you."
He tugged away from her, breaking the disturbing contact, and snarled an oath. If there were even the slimmest chance he was one of the fugitives this Redmayne sought, he'd be putting his neck in a noose if he went to the garrison. For all he knew, this Redmayne could be an enemy he should remember. The man had been here just before he'd stumbled out of the mist. What if the gash on his head was a souvenir of Redmayne's regard?
He concentrated, probed into the dark reaches of his memory, trying to catch hold of the reason that the very name Redmayne slid like a blade's edge across his nerves. Or was it merely this woman's odd delusions that were unnerving him?
After all was said and done, what choice did he have except to go with her? He was at this mad woman's mercy.
Only until I can discover who I am,he assured himself.Until I can make some other arrangements.Until I can find the self I lost somehow in this infernal mist.
Maybe the woman—Fallon, wasn't that her name?—maybe Fallon was right. If he just had some time to rest, to plow through the morass inside his head, he might find some fragment of the man he was, and his memory would return. It would. It must.
What if you never remember? a voice inside him jeered. What if you've lost yourself forever?
No, he couldn't think that. Wouldn't. He would remember, somehow. Resolve settled, heavy in his gut. Something to hold on to in a world gone mad.
He gripped the ancient dagger, the only thing that felt familiar, right, in his hand. This was the only clue to his identity that his attackers had left him.
He would unlock its secret, find himself again.
He turned to Fallon. "I'll go with you because I have no other choice. I have to find out who I am, who did this to me. Someone left me here on these cliffs, naked, alone, my head bashed in. Maybe they left me to die. I intend to find them before they return to finish what they started. And when I do..." He touched his fingers to the gash in his temple. "I'll make certain they'll pay for what they've done."
Relief stole across Fallon's animated features. "You won't regret it. I promise you, I'll prove I'm right about—"
"Stop. You can take me home with you. I'll even let you call me Ciaran for the time being. I'll call myself Ciaran. Why the blazes not? I don't have any other name." His eyes narrowed. "But if you bludgeon me with this ridiculous story of yours for one more minute, I swear I'll take my chances with this Redmayne you hate so much."
"Fine! I won't say another word until you're settled. Now, we just need to get you down from the cliffs. I left my horse a ways down the hill. I'll just whistle and—" Her brow wrinkled. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Oh, no. When I left Misthaven, I wasn't thinking clearly—"
"What a surprise." Ciaran muttered.
"I rode Cuchulain."
"C—who?"
"My horse. He has a somewhat uncertain temper."
"You mean he's wild? A man killer?"
"He has an unfortunate habit of breaking people's bones whenever he gets the chance of it. He's gentle as a lamb with me, but loathes everyone else. When I left Misthaven, I didn't come here intending to call you back. Even if I had, I wouldn't have thought to bring another mount for you. I suppose I always assumed you'd come, uh, fully armed and... and clothed, and—"
"Don't tell me. Delivered from the mists of fairyland astride a mount of thunderbolts or some such?"
Red stained her cheeks, and she looked almost sheepish. He didn't want to think her beautiful. "I've never summoned back a legend before," she admitted. "Next time I'll be better prepared."
She whistled, and a massive stallion trotted out of the darkness, white coat shimmering against the night. A devil-horse, many would have called it, towering strength, raw muscle, eyes wild as be-damned. Beautiful and dangerous as the jagged cliffs below. Anyone who had allowed a woman near it must have lost his senses. But then, he'd almost forgotten the type of family he was dealing with.
