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Outrage filled her mouth with a bitter taste. Her kin had used him—were still using him. She set her jaw in a determined line. “It appears ye’ve figured out they’ll never say aught, yet ye still capitulate. Why?”
Color swept from the open neck of his shirt to his tanned cheeks. “I ask myself that every single time one of the Celts shows up with a new chore.”
“Have ye come up with an answer?” She kept her tone soft, non-confrontational.
He tightened his hand atop hers. “Aye, but I’m not proud of it. I’m afraid of what they’d do to me, how they’d punish me if I defied them.” He straightened his spine. “There are other reasons too. You asked about my visions. I have no life of my own for the best of reasons. I fall into dreams, deep trances where I’m helpless.” He stopped, and an uncomfortable look washed across his face. “What I dream almost always comes to pass.”
Pieces clicked into place. She tried to rein in her reaction, but didn’t do a very good job. No wonder Arawn strung him along and likely kept an open link to his mind. The dragon suggested Angus could dream the truth, and he’d mentioned trance states, but she hadn’t put the information together.
Until now.
He gripped her chin with his other hand and forced her to look at him. “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Tell me what you know.”
