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The old woman eyed the dog with a long, measuring stare. “You’ve had him long?”
“He sort of attached himself to us on the road.”
“Did he?” She studied Killer long enough that the terrier opened one lazy eye to return the shrewd gaze.
“You’re very kind, Mrs., uh . . . Mrs. . . .” Elisabeth fumbled, not knowing how to address her hostess.
Laughter rustled in the old woman’s chest. “Madame Arana.” She draped the blanket upon a chair. “It is nice to have a house full again. Since ma petite Helena’s brother died, the quiet has taken over. Too many empty rooms full of sad memories.”
Petite Helena? That was taking things a bit far. The Amhas-draoi woman had the build of an Amazon. The looks too, come to think of it. Tall, dark, and cool as ice. Even bathed and changed into clothing that didn’t resemble a charwoman’s Sunday best, Elisabeth felt an absolute frump in comparison.
“I will leave you now. I must see to the young man. He is a poor patient, that one. Typical male. Plaint toujours—always fussing. Not trusting to my skills. I know much of the old ways. He would do better to allow me to tend him.”
“I wish you luck. He’s exceedingly stubbo
rn.”
“Ah, but then, so am I.” Madame Arana smiled, her eyes lost in the creases upon creases of her face.
Elisabeth stepped away from the window, the thick carpet a luxury under her bare feet as she crossed to the bed. Sank into its feathered depths, the faint scents of lavender rising from the sheets. “Do you know why your granddaughter wants Brendan? Why she’s doing”—she spread her hands to encompass the comfortable, well-appointed bedchamber—“all this? The Amhas-draoi want Brendan dead, he told me so himself. Yet we’re welcomed as guests. Why?”
“You are a guest, Miss Fitzgerald, if an unexpected one. At no time did we predict your presence. None of my scrying ever alerted us to this possibility. This makes you an unknown. Throws all possible futures into doubt.” Suddenly the golden-eyed grandmother seemed less snuggly tea and biscuits than prescient Fey-gifted seer. “My visions are no longer helpful.”
Why had Elisabeth asked? When would she realize questions only brought answers she didn’t necessarily want and bred more questions that raced like rabbits round her brain?
“Helena has searched for Brendan Douglas since word first came of his return to Ireland. The whys are clear in Amhas-draoi duty. The brotherhood looks to stamp out the last vestiges of the Nine. Only the manner of her seeking has changed as circumstance changed. As the visions changed. Now do you see?”
She didn’t but nodded anyway. “Who are the Nine?”
“That is not my story to tell. Better to ask young Douglas if you truly wish to understand.”
Therein lay the rub. Did she want to understand? Or would it only pull her in deeper?
Elisabeth placed a hand upon Killer, letting his even breathing steady her own whirling head.
“What do you know of the young man?” Madame Arana asked, a sternness to her face at odds with her earlier cheerful ebullience. “What has he told you of himself?”
“I’ve known Brendan forever. His family’s estates march next to ours.” She lowered her gaze. “He and I were betrothed once. Long ago. Before . . .”
“Before the Nine’s destruction.” Madame Arana finished her sentence.
“Actually I was going to say before he ran off for parts unknown, but—”
Madame Arana continued blithely on. “Terrible times, those were. Terrible for the Other.”
Other. The Nine. Amhas-draoi. It was nothing to do with her.
“Kilronan led them.”
That got her attention. “Lord Kilronan?”
Helena’s grandmother smiled with an I-knew-I’d-pique-your-interest-sooner-or-later look. “Oui, the last earl was smart. Clever. A born leader. But the Nine’s greatest hopes lay with the boy. The son of Kilronan. His heir.”
“Aidan was Lord Kilronan’s heir. Not Brendan.”
“In lands and titles, the eldest inherited. In power and skills, young Douglas was all his father hoped he’d be.” Despite her frail appearance, she stooped to poke at the fire. Toss a new log among the embers, her hands roped and tough with hard work. She straightened, lifting her gaze to Elisabeth, a gemstone sharpness in her topaz eyes. “He’s back. Let’s hope he’s not too late. And that he’s no longer the true son of his father.”
“What do you mean by telling me all this?”
