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He flinched as if she’d struck him, his hand coming up, cuffs stained with blood.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s not my blood, Morgan.” His words came slow. Heavy. As if just standing exhausted him.
Grabbing her hand, he dragged her from the room. Down the corridor. And out into the milky sunlight of the alley where Brodie waited.
“Take her home, Brodie.”
Morgan grabbed his coat. “Don’t give in to it, Cam.”
He flung himself away from her. “Go, Morgan. That’s a direct order.” He stepped back. Looked to Brodie. “Take her home. And keep her there.”
The captain offered a solemn nod. “You’ll meet us there later?”
Cam gave a deep shuddering breath. Turned and walked away, shoulders hunched. “Much later.”
Chapter 19
Morgan stood at the western corner of the house. Touched the foundation, closing her eyes. She’d always found it easier to focus this way, though it fell short of Scathach’s high standards. The mage energy should flow without the need for tricks or crutches, her teacher chided her often enough. Still, if her only failing was shutting her eyes…
“Dor. Ebrenn. Dowr.” The power swam to the surface, drawn by her need and the spell’s chant. “Tanyow. Menhir. Junya.”
A flicker of light burst, then dissolved as the last barrier went up. This incantation would complete the circle, and though her wards’ crude protections would avail them little against a determined onslaught by Doran, it would slow him down. Give them time.
Time for what, she hadn’t figured out yet.
She straightened, dusting her hands as if she’d built the wall with hammer and chisel instead of Fey magic.
“Bluidy brilliant.” Taking Cam’s instructions literally, Brodie had refused to let her out alone. He stood behind her, hands across his chest, a look of mingled disbelief and amazement upon his face.
Morgan gave him a sidelong glance. “You seem to be taking it in stride. Most people would be crossing themselves at this point or readying their ducking stools.”
Brodie led her back inside. “I’m not most people.” Without being asked, he poured her a drink. Handed it to her with a tired smile. “He’ll get over it and be home. He always has before.”
Morgan let the smoky heat of the whiskey fill the worried, empty, frightened place. Dropping into a chair, she pulled her legs beneath her. “Do you think he gets over it? Or does he just bury it along with the rest of the pain he’s carrying? His family’s disapproval. The war.” She paused. “Charlotte.”
Brodie stabbed at the fire, the poker sending a shower of sparks snapping up the chimney. “Ye ken all that, do ye?”
“It’s a little hard to miss. If the emotional scars aren’t obvious, the physical ones club you over the head. She tried to kill him.” Her teeth chattered despite the soothing fire in her belly. She saw again the horrible twisting scar down Cam’s back, the rough healing on his thigh.
“By the time Cam came home, Charlotte had grown to believe her own wild stories.” Brodie’s gaze went far-seeing as he spoke. “He was a villain. A libertine and a rake. And when rumors of the Serpent Brigade began to circulate, she believed them too.”
“With good cause. Those stories turned out to be true.”
Brodie dropped the poker with a clang. Spun on her. “Charlotte attacked him in his bed while he slept. Did he tell ye that? Stabbed him in the back. And when he tried to defend himself, she stabbed him again. Amos found him, drenched in his own blood, more dead than alive. Did Cam lock her away? Reveal her as an attempted murderess? No. He let people believe what they would. If ye think Cam’s a natural-born killer, you’re a bluidy great fool, Morgan Bligh.”
Her stomach turned, a shudder of nausea rolling through her. “I know what’s before my eyes. He may not enjoy killing. It may tear him apart inside when he’s called upon to do it, but it’s there. It’s as much a part of him as the boy on the loch or the amazing lover.” She flushed at Brodie’s startled look of surprise, but continued. “Cam’s all those things.”
Brodie’s shoulders slouched. He poured himself another whiskey. Tossed it back. “Ye speak like ye love him.”
She pulled herself into a tighter bundle, almost as if she protected herself from the tease of those words. “I’m not what Cam needs. He’s not what I need. It would
n’t work. And love isn’t everything.”
Brodie’s clear gray gaze sought hers. As sharp as a spear point. “Call me a hopeless romantic, but sometimes ’tis the only thing.”
Cam fell in beside Rastus, the corporal’s steps barely faltering at finding himself accompanied.
