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Conor tried moving past Gram. “I can’t let him get away.” She stepped back into his path. “Ellery—” Conor threw up a hand. “Ellery was held at knifepoint by that coward. I want him. Tonight.”
He’d stopped her words, but he couldn’t stop the thoughts battering his mind. He should have protected her. He should have kept her safe. But safe for what?
The grounds shone silver under the waning moon hanging high in the western sky. Though no breeze moved among them, the trees shivered and whispered. Bells echoed, voices calling across the woods, over the park. Frightened, anxious voices.
Lights danced in the wood, a green faery glow that moved and bobbed from path to path as Glynnis was piskie-led back toward them.
Mikhal put up a hand, holding Conor back when all he wanted was to don the Heller’s mantle. Hunt Simon down. Then Asher.
Enough hiding. Conor would take this battle to them.
“He’s gone,” his father announced. “They’ve watched him pass the northern boundary markers. He’s on horseback. And alone.”
“And Aunt Glynnis?”
“She’s safe. They’re leading her home.” The lights and the bells came nearer before breaking off as Morgan and Glynnis broke from the trees. Glynnis’s robe was torn and muddied, her hair a wild mane about her head, but she seemed unhurt.
Morgan supported her as they walked back to the group. “I’ll take her in to Gram. Jamys will look her over.”
Mikhal agreed.
On their way past, Glynnis caught Conor’s eye. Her gaze steadied. “Talan?” she whispered. “Our little boy has become one of them. I’ve lost him forever to the devil’s army.” Her gaze shifted to the house. “Christ has forsaken me. And now I’m truly all alone.”
Held upright by Morgan, she shuffled by, the weight of her sorrow crushing.
Mikhal started for the path. “I’m going to walk the boundaries. See what I can discover.”
“I’m coming, too.” Conor re-gripped his sword, the solid weight of the steel unnaturally calming.
A new task taking shape in his mind.
Chapter Twenty
Ellery closed her eyes, leaned back into her pillows and listened to the rain drumming against the house, the steady squeak of Conor’s mother’s rocking chair. Both sounds calmed her jagged nerves. Eased the lingering feel of Simon’s knife at her throat, the sight of Conor helpless on his knees. She couldn’t be sure which terrified her more.
Niamh Bligh shifted, began humming softly. Her quiet presence had soothed more than any effusive offers of comfort. Had done so since the men had gone. Since Glynnis’s return. Since the house had settled once more into silence.
Opening her eyes, Ellery turned her head to the darkness beyond her window. Was Conor still searching for Simon among those ancient trees? Did Asher stalk Daggerfell’s dark woods? Was the safety of this house only a mirage?
She wanted Conor. Here. In front of her. She needed to see him safe and whole. Needed to touch him, feel his reassuring warmth under her hands. Know that he was all right, and that things weren’t as black as they appeared.
“Where are you, Conor?” she whispered to the storm. The rain pounded harder, the wind shaking the casements and howling like an animal begging entrance. Only Niamh’s steady rocking kept Ellery from leaping out of bed and hunting him down herself.
A knock broke off Niamh’s song, and then the door swung open.
Ellery flashed back to the night they met. Conor stood on the threshold, soaked through, his clothing muddied and stained pink with blood. Fatigue etched lines in his face, but his eyes remained as hot and gold as a summer sun.
She sat up, the quilts bunched between her hands. A wild fluttering began in her chest.
Niamh stopped rocking. “Con,” she scolded. “You’re drenched. And your arm. You’re bleeding.”
He stiffened, giving a respectful nod as water sluiced off him, puddling across the floor. “It’s fine, Mum. I only came to tell Ellery she’s safe.” His gaze sought her out. “Simon won’t be back. I’ve done what I can to strengthen and steady the wards. It should be enough if nothing else occurs.”
“But being injured so soon after your illness,” his mother commented, fixing her spectacles on her nose. “Are you truly all right?”
He swung his arm back and forth, flexing the damaged shoulder. “Nothing a good sleep won’t cure. But I wanted Ellery—I wanted to see she was all right.” All the while he spoke, his eyes never swayed from her.
“Did you?” Niamh’s tone was hopeful. She rose, yawning. “As you see, she’s well. But she worries for you.” She patted Conor absently on the shoulder. “We all do.”
