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And he had called Tadhg brother.
TADHG SAID NOTHING as they went through the lower room, once the storefront for a poor-man’s moneylender, now devoid everything but a bare counter, a cold fireplace, and shuttered up windows.
He guided Maggie up a set of creaking stairs in the back, blond-haired Rowan menacing at his heels, to the upper rooms.
Rowan reached around them with a huge paw, rapped three times, then paused, then twice again, and a lock clicked again. The door swung open.
He heard Maggie give out a gasp of amazement.
He muffled a sigh and ushered her inside.
This room was the antithesis of the downstairs. Where it had been cold and barren, this was warm with fires and braziers burning, oils lamps hung on the walls and candles lit on every flat surface.
Where downstairs had been small and cramped, this upper storey ran the length of five buildings, the upper walls having been knocked down to connect the floors into a huge great hall. The long room, more than half a block in length, was separated at intervals by huge oak beams, but no doors.
Where downstairs had been simple, this was resplendent. Thick wool tapestries and richly painted walls made it feel like a rich manor home, and the long oak table running down the center of the room was covered with decorated pottery and jugs of drink.
Where the downstairs had been bare, this was replete. With treasure.
Silver goblets and plate decorated with gold filigree filled the shelves of towering wardrobes along the walls. Carved chairs sat around the table beside becushioned benches. Barrels sat on end, serving as storage containers overflowing with bolts of rich fabric and tunics with various lords’ devices on them. Such things came in handy when one needed to suddenly to claim allegiance to, say, the baron of Wessex or the earl Gloucester.
Dozens of thick, iron-banded chests sat on the floor, pushed up to the walls. And stuffed onto shelves and hung along the walls, were swords and knifes and iron-headed maces, steely sharp targes and crossbows and hunting bows. It was an entire armory beside the front door.
Tadhg had brought Maggie to the outlaw den that had spawned him, and he was almost consumed by the shame.
Silently he guided her to the long table, to a spot nearest the fire, then stilled as he become aware someone was sitting at the far end of the table, dark and silent and watchful.
Their eyes met across the length of the table.
Fifteen years of absence, hovering over a sea of unspoken hurt, pregnant with unexpressed fury, snapped between them. Tadhg held his breath.
“I told Rowan not to let you in,” Máel said, languid and cold.
So that’s how it was to be. Well, and what did he expect?
“Aye?” Tadhg replied, just as coldly. “Well, he did, which makes you as lacking in leadership as you were when I left.” He turned to Maggie and said gently, “Sit, lass,” his hand at her back.
She lowered herself on the bench and slid the veil off her head. In the firelit room, with her pale skin and dark hair, she almost seemed to glow.
Máel’s dark eyes tracked her movements. The urge to protect bit like teeth in Tadhg’s chest. He sent a silent warning glare down the table.
Intercepting it, Máel smiled bitterly. “Why are you here?”
“You have a guest. Feed her. Then we talk.”
Máel stared at him a second, then shoved the bench back and walked out.
Tadhg turned to Rowan, who almost snarled in response but, after a glance at Maggie, stomped to a back room and returned with tray of cheese and bread and a pewter cup. Maggie stared at the food a moment, then swallowed and tipped her head up to look at him, her eyes wide and frightened.
“I’ll return in a trice,” he promised, and strode to the back of the room, where Máel was already positioned. Rowan stalked after.
He kept his head up, his eyes expressionless, revealing nothing of the way his chest felt blasted open seeing these brothers he’d exiled from his heart so many years ago. You’d almost think they were still part of him, the way it hurt. But showing weakness would only make them circle like the wolves they were.
Unfortunately, Tadhg was practically comprised of weakness at the moment. He needed everything. He had nothing but dangerous contraband and a magnificent, vulnerable woman he would die for.
They could discover neither of those things.
But if something had to be revealed, if some sacrifice was required in the end, Tadhg knew which it would have to be.
