Redmayne was watching him intently. "MacDonough? Do you wish to have a word with them? In private, of course. Permit me to point out that I am, once again, a most obliging gentleman."
What he wanted was to shove Redmayne's teeth down his throat and carry Fallon away to some fortress where he could keep her safe. Since that was impossible, he'd have to talk some sense into the two of them himself. But what kind of game was Redmayne playing? And why was he making such a magnanimous gesture? Out of the goodness of his heart? If Ciaran were wagering, he'd bet the captain didn't have a heart. Yet, what choice did he have but to play along?
"Yes. I want to see them." Ciaran glanced down at his battered chest, then hesitated, all but choking at the prospect of having to ask Redmayne for anything. Only the thought of Fallon seeing him this way and the pain it would cause her allowed him to speak. "My shirt," he ground out. "First let me put it back on."
Redmayne's gaze flicked to the bruises his soldiers had left, and Ciaran thought for just a moment that disgust glinted in his eyes, something akin to regret. Then it was gone. "I suppose the misplaced enthusiasm of my sergeant has left you a trifle unsightly for a lady's eyes. And those ropes." Redmayne gestured toward Ciaran's bound hands. "So unnecessary." He sliced through the bindings with a knife. "Escape is impossible, unless, of course, you could enlist the aid of one of the local heroes. I might suggest that legendary one whose castle I intended to destroy, since he's made an appearance recently."
"Is that so?" Ciaran gingerly eased his shirt over his bruised ribs, hoping the pain would disguise the sense of triumph he felt. But Redmayne was too canny to miss even the slightest twitch of his lips.
"You might tell your bride that my plans for the castle have been temporarily abandoned. It seems Phineas Butler left Ireland—and on a particularly stormy night. But not before he'd withdrawn his permission for the demolition of the castle."
Ciaran's eyes narrowed. "You can't touch it without his permission."
"Not when it belongs to a proper English landlord, I'm afraid. But there are other castle ruins, other rings of standing stones. Even Ciaran of the Mist can't protect them all."
"Someone else will."
"I'm certain you're right. I've found these people most tenacious. Some might even call such determination in the face of such odds heroic."
Ciaran stared at the officer, astonished by his words.
Redmayne strode toward the door, then stopped and turned to cast an inscrutable frown at Ciaran. "Whoever terrorized that pathetic wretch Butler played a master stroke. It quite astonished me. And I am rarely surprised."
"I suppose your powers of omniscience don't stretch to untangling magic."
"Magic." Redmayne rolled the word off his tongue as if he'd never heard it before. A smile played about the corners of his mouth. "There are times this land could almost make a man believe in it—until he comes to his senses." With that, Redmayne exited the cell.
Ciaran's numb fingers were still fumbling with the shirt buttons when the door opened again. He looked up, swallowing hard at the sight of Fallon, her lithe body garbed in primrose yellow, her face pale and taut, her eyes filled with torment. And love, Ciaran realized with stabbing pain.
Hugh's strong arm was around her waist in comfort, as if some new and precious bond had been forged between them. Ciaran's throat tightened at the sight of it.
"Ciaran!" Fallon raced to close the space between them. She flung herself into his arms. Ciaran winced, but made no sound as waves of hot fire surged beneath his rib cage. Instead, he cradled her close, drinking in the clean scent of her hair, the satiny caress of her cheek against his jaw.
He looked up to see Redmayne in the doorway, the captain's eyes piercing, intense, something unexpected softening his mouth. Envy? Impossible.
"Captain," Hugh Delaney said. "There is something I need to discuss with you."
Ciaran started to protest, then stopped, trapped. He couldn't afford to betray anything to Redmayne. "Hugh, wait. I owe you some explanation for all this."
Hugh wanted to refuse. Ciaran could see the stubborn jut of a Delaney jaw he'd witnessed all too often in Hugh's sister. What could he do if Hugh walked out that door with Redmayne? There would be no way to stop him.
"Please," Ciaran said, silently asking for help from every wandering spirit, every roving fairy, every ghost who called Ireland home. The safety of so many teetered in the balance. It seemed an eternity before Hugh spoke, his face grim, reluctant.
"All right. For a moment only."
Redmayne's gaze sharpened. "I'll await your pleasure in my quarters, Mr. Delaney," the captain said, sketching a bow. The cell door closed, the bolt rasping as it slid into place.
Fallon drew away from him, her hands on his face, tears glistening in her eyes. "How... how did this happen? Why didn't you tell me you were going through the souterrains? Didn't you trust me?"
Ciaran winced at the anguish in her face. "I trust you with my life, lady, but I couldn't put you in any more danger. You would have insisted on coming with me, and if you had—Fallon, if you had, you would be locked in this cell."
"Maybe not! I could have... have helped somehow. Done something to stop this madness. God in heaven, Ciaran, they plan to hang you!"
"He's not going to hang, Fallon," Hugh said, his voice steely. "I'll be damned before an innocent man dies in my place."
Ciaran glared at his brother-in-law. Hugh was standing stiff, resolute. "And what about all the innocent people who will suffer and die if Redmayne puts the noose around your neck, Hugh? Fallon says the English have been attempting to take Misthaven away from the Delaneys for generations. And this would be the perfect opportunity for them to do so."
Hugh's Adam's apple bobbed convulsively in his throat, his eyes darkening with guilt. "I wish there were some way to hold the land. But there's no help for it."
