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Until the village tucked between the moors and the sea. Until the night he’d returned from the dead to a young woman’s challenge.
A knock dragged him back to the present. Followed almost immediately by Morgan’s head peering around his door. “We need to talk. Can we come in?” She’d brought reinforcements.
“Bit late to ask,” he answered, fisting his hand over the ring.
Morgan ignored his sarcasm as she beckoned Ruan and Jamys in behind her. All three looked at once both sheepish and unflinching as they took up positions around his room.
He sat up, knowing what was coming. Dreading it, anyway. Ruan and Jamys settled near the door as if expecting him to make a dash for it.
If he thought he could make it, he might try. He was too keyed up, too pulled taut to sit quiet through their browbeating.
Morgan was the spokesman. She went right for the throat. “You’re not going alone.”
“Say that again?”
“You’re not facing Asher alone. It’s foolish and makes no sense.”
“What’s foolish is thinking your presence would help. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Don’t sell us short, Con. We’re not unschooled dolts. I’ve been with Scathach for five years. Ruan and Jamys,” she motioned to her brothers, “are skilled if not trained. We can do this.”
“I won’t allow it.”
Ruan straightened, shrugged matter-of-factly. “Short of tying us up, you can’t stop us from being there when it happens.”
“And what makes you think I won’t?” Conor swung out of bed. Rubbed an impatient hand across his jaw. “Hell, you’re barely out of the sick room. And that was Simon, for God’s sake.”
Ruan touched his side. “That was a coward’s blow, and you know it. I owe that bastard one.”
“But it’s not Simon alone. What will you do against Asher? You’ve got more sense than this, Ruan.” His gaze sought out Jamys. “Are you in on this lunacy? All three of you would be sport for Asher. For his packs of Keun Marow. He’s already killed four amhas-draoi.” His gaze swung
between the three of them. “He’s already killed Ysbel.”
Jamys stepped forward. “We’re a family, Conor. That means we hold together. Fight one Bligh, you fight us all.”
“It also means I don’t let you get yourselves killed.” He speared Morgan with a glance.
“You talked them round to this foolishness.”
Morgan went stiff. “I told them what I knew about Asher and what I knew about you. They made the decision.”
“Is that right?”
Ruan cocked his head, tried for a smile. “Four are stronger than one, Conor. Don’t turn your back on our help without some thought.” His gaze turned somber and cold as blue ice. “Remember. We loved her, too.”
Like a fist to the chest, the words knocked him back. They understood how close he’d come to letting the beast in him rule. And they had given him time to make his choice without interference. His time was up. “It’s not your fight,” he said.
But he knew now the words were pointless. They stood firm.
Ruan clapped him on the shoulder. “It is now.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Conor found his mother just where he expected to; buried deep among a stack of ancient texts, the pages crumbling, the leather bindings cracked or looking as if mice had gotten to them.
Morning sun streamed through the tall windows overlooking the rose gardens. The sky was a breath-stealing blue, the trees a spring collage of pink and white and green. But the view was lost on Niamh. Her eyes were trained on the words in front of her. Her mind locked on unraveling the mysteries within the writing. It had always been that way.
She broke off reading at his approach, giving him a pointed look over the top of her spectacles. “It’s taken you long enough to come to me. But better late than never.” She motioned for him to take a seat.
