“How did that talk go then?” Morfyd called over her shoulder.
“Shut. Up.”
Morfyd shook her head. If love always made you this pathetic, she wanted nothing to do with it.
Brastias tugged the hood of his cloak over his face. Again he wondered how much longer they had before Lorcan made his move. He could feel it. Feel it coming. Even before his spies told him to start getting his men ready, he knew that something had changed. Lorcan’s troops were readying for battle at Garbhán Isle. And he sensed that a strike would be coming from Lorcan himself, but he wasn’t sure when or how.
He wished he could see Annwyl. Discuss it with her. She knew her brother better than anyone else. She’d know exactly how and when Lorcan’s forces would strike. Instead, all he could do now was wait for more information to come their way and hope they’d have time to react.
The door to the busy pub smashed open and again he turned to see who entered. Already he’d lost three hours waiting. Waiting to see her.
Danelin brought him over another ale and sat across from him. “How much longer?”
“Until she gets here.”
Brastias didn’t mean to be so abrupt but he didn’t like being out in the open any more than Danelin. He’d rather be back at the camp, safe, with a lot of troops surrounding him. But he had to know how Annwyl fared. It had been days since the witch called Morfyd came to see him that first and only time. He hoped she would bring more messages from Annwyl. But she never returned. So, when he heard she was in the village visiting one of the women about to have a baby, he decided to go to her himself. He heard she always stopped at the pub for food or drink later in the evenings. So he waited and worried. Not about her or even about Annwyl. But about the rebellion.
He could tell the rebellion would soon come to an end. Tension grew daily. Many of the local villages emptied out. All except this one. Many of the rebellion’s families lived here. Their wives and children. He debated whether to give the order to move them all into the Citadel of Ó Donnchadha where they would hopefully be safest. He knew the women would never willingly leave their mates.
As he wondered about the logic of this move, he saw her. How could he miss her? She stood taller than Annwyl and almost the same height as him. A grey cloak covered her witch’s robes. She found a table in the back and ordered food. After the bar wench left, Brastias walked over to her table.
“Remember me?”
Glittering blue eyes turned to look at him. Her eyes were almond shaped, almost like a cat’s. “How could I forget? You’re so compelling.”
Brastias smiled as he sat down opposite her. “How is she doing?”
“Better. Stronger every day.”
“How much longer before she returns to us?”
The witch blinked. “Not sure really.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure?”
“What exactly do you think I mean?”
The witch’s vagueness caused the hairs on his neck to rise. He didn’t like this one bit. “Is she safe?”
The witch hissed at the insult. “Of course she is. Safer than if she were with you.”
Brastias glared at the witch. “Really? And how is that possible when you are here and she is wherever you left her? Alone.”
Perhaps it was the look in the witch’s blue eyes or the way she didn’t answer him, but it suddenly became clear.
“She’s not alone, is she?” When the witch didn’t answer, he grabbed her hand. She snatched it away as if he were on fire. She stood quickly. “Be well assured that she is safe. And soon she will return to you. You’ll be able to find me at the village from time to time should you need to get an actual message to her.” She tossed a few copper coins on the table and stormed out.
“What the hell happened?”
Brastias looked up at Danelin. He shook his head. “I don’t know. But something’s going on.”
Danelin sat down as the barmaid left the witch’s food on the table and scooped up the coins she left. “What?”
“I don’t think the witch is taking care of her. It’s somebody else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think she’s safe?”
Brastias thought about it a minute, listened to his gut. “Yes. I think she is.”
Danelin seemed surprised by that. “Then why do you have that look on your face?”
“Did you see the way she ran out of here? Like I had the plague or something.”
“Who? The witch?”
“Aye.”
“And this bothers you because . . .”
“Well . . . it’s rude.”
“Uh huh.”
Brastias growled at his second in command. “Shut up.”
* * *
Fearghus turned the page of his book with one of his talons. He never bothered to read the story about his grandfather, Ailean, before. But Ailean spent most of his life as human. And lately, Fearghus began to wonder what that was like.
Completely engrossed in the chapter about Ailean and three bar wenches, he didn’t know Annwyl sat down beside him until she pushed herself up against his side, near his wing. She brought wine, cheese, bread, and a book. She didn’t say a word, just began reading and occasionally drinking or eating.
Fearghus watched her. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“No talking tonight?”