Alarm stirred in his gut. He was unsettled enough. The last thing he needed was another heaping spoonful of Fallon's fairy-tale dreams. He ground one hand against his brow. "You promised you wouldn't harp on that nonsense anymore!"
But she wouldn't be dissuaded. She clung to him even tighter, her face aglow. "The Red Branch had a code, almost like... like Arthur's standard of chivalry. No Red Branch knight could ever eat until everyone else had been fed. A Red Branch knight was honor bound to provide for those weaker than he, to give them anything they needed—his spear, his warming fire, the very clothes from his back—just as you gave Mrs. McGinty your cloak!"
He spun around, stalked a few paces away. He winced, realizing the reason her fantasies were so damned terrifying was because she believed in them. "Don't turn this mess into some sort of heroic deed," Ciaran warned. "It was your cloak. It didn't mean a damn thing to me."
"But you didn't have anything else to wear!"
Heat seared his cheeks, his mouth curling in a formidable frown. "If I'd been in my right mind, I never would have done it. It was foolhardy. Reckless."
"You would have given that cloak to her no matter what—given her anything, down to your last drop of blood. It's what you were born to do: shield those weaker than yourself."
He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to cover his ears like a witling boy and block out the words. But he only stood, scowling. "I wasn't doing anything except making a complete fool out of myself. Don't you realize how dangerous it was, handing off that cloak like that?"
"No! It was wonderful. Honorable. I knew you were Ciaran."
He swore under his breath. "I would hope this legendary Ciaran of yours would show more common sense than I did a moment ago! You say it's vital no one knows about me, no one can trace me to Misthaven. Just exactly what do you think will happen when Mrs. McGinty arrives at her daughter's house? Don't you think they'll ask for some sort of explanation as to where she got that cloak? And what will she say? 'From Miss Fallon Delaney and a naked man.'"
He could feel the excitement drain out of Fallon. She stilled, her voice suddenly small. "But... But maybe... I mean, I can't imagine—"
He plunged on, ruthlessly. "If I am some sort of fugitive, my grand heroic gesture might lead this Redmayne person you're so afraid of right to your front door."
"Mrs. McGinty would never do us harm!" She rose to the old woman's defense, as outraged as if she and Maeve were bosom friends and not two strangers who had stumbled across each other on a moonlit road.
"She might not harm us intentionally. But we didn't warn her to keep silent."
Fallon's hand dropped away from him, and he was surprised to find the place it had covered suddenly cold. She caught her lip between her teeth, and Ciaran felt as if he'd kicked a kitten.
After all, crazed though she might be, Fallon had taken him, a complete stranger, under her wing. Invited him into her home. True, she thought he was some magical hero, and yet he'd seen her concern as she bent over Maeve McGinty. Somewhere beneath those dream-addled wits was a generous heart, and a brave one. Who knew how much danger she would incur because of her kindness to him? If it wasn't for Fallon, he'd still be wandering around on that rocky cliff, naked, bewildered, alone.
"Maybe we should go after her. Get a vow of silence."
Ciaran grimaced. She hadn't said "tell Maeve to keep her mouth shut," or even "ask her to be quiet." No. A vow of silence. As if it were some ancient rite. Legendary heroes, fairy magic, what other nonsense was her imagination stuffed with? Why did some secret part of him almost envy her?
He forced a rare gentleness into his voice. "Chasing after Mrs. McGinty now would only make this seem all the more strange." If it was possible to make things stranger than meeting a naked man and a landholder's sister on a night road.
"No," he insisted, "better to leave it as it is."
He wasn't sure what possessed him to reach out, to touch her cheek. Smooth as new cream it was beneath his fingertips, warm and velvety, scented with heather. So very, very fragile for a world filled with jagged cliffs and battered heads, angry strangers and stormy skies. Her breath caught at that tiny touch, as if it were something rare, something she was unaccustomed to—the brush of someone's fingertips.
Ciaran didn't want to feel empathy for her, but he couldn't help it. Who was she, this fey creature with a woman's body and a child's dreams shining in her eyes? He wanted to cup his palm against her cheek, thread his fingers back into the subtle flame of her hair. But he stayed still, barely touching her.
"Fallon, everything will work out in the end. Maeve's family will be so excited over Bridie's new babe that it will likely take some time for Mrs. McGinty's tale to get back to this Redmayne. We'll just have to make sure that by the time it does, we've discovered who I am."
"Yes. Of course. That's it. Then Redmayne won't be able to hurt you, hurt Misthaven, hurt anyone ever again. You'll understand your destiny. You'll be glad I summoned you back."
Was that what she needed Ciaran of the Mist for? To battle with this Redmayne she so dreaded? What had she done to make such an enemy? How dangerous was this Captain Redmayne? And why the devil did he feel a tightening like a noose around his neck whenever he heard that name?
He felt Fallon's hand upon his arm, her grasp eager.
"Just wait, Ciaran. You'll find out who you are, and then everything will be just as I imagined."
"No, Fallon." Ciaran cut her off, turning away from her hope-filled face, unwilling to deceive her. "Then I'll be gone."
Chapter 4
Squares of gold lantern light glowed from the stable windows, the musty, warm scent of horses and hay filling Fallon's nostrils as she reined Cuchulain into the shadows at the side of the stables. The horse pricked up his ears, tossing his head as he strained against his reins, eager to return to his oat box and straw bed.
But with each hoof fall bringing them nearer, Ciaran grew tenser, more reluctant.
