again in black, this time in a pantsuit.
“Take your pick,” the man said with a grin. “‘Gallus,’ from ‘gallows,’” he said in my direction. “A compliment in Scots. Cheeky, mischievous, daring.”
“As in ‘worthy of hanging,’ if you want to be literal about it,” said Lady Nairn darkly. “I will be raising gallows myself if we begin shedding actors before we ever get to rehearsals…. Kate, meet the gallus Eircheard.” His name sounded like Air Cart, though with the breathy back-of-the-throat “c” at the end of loch and Bach . “The king’s loyal servant Seyton in our production. And also the doomed King of Summer in the Samhuinn festival. Emphasis on ‘doomed.’”
He winked at me. “Marching merrily—if a wee bit hirplty-pirplty—to the sacrifice.” He took a few steps toward me, extending his hand, and I saw that he had the rolling gait of someone with a lifelong limp. One foot was encased in a strangely shaped and heavily built-up shoe.
“Eircheard,” Lady Nairn went on, “meet Kate Stanley. Whom you may not monopolize until you have given her the chance to escape upstairs and freshen up.” To me, she added, “I laid something out on your bed. I hope it fits.”
He raised his drink in my direction. “ Slàinte mhath, ” he said. “When you’re suitably tarted up to be given a drink, you can toast me back. I’ll teach you how.” His eyes bright with laughter, he turned away.
Before anyone else could stop me, I slipped out, running downstairs and out into the night.
6
I’D JUST REACHED the lane when a car turned into it up ahead and drew alongside me. It was Ben.
“She’s not there, Kate.”
I started walking again, and he jumped out of the car and caught me by both shoulders, spinning me around to face him.
“I saw her,” I said stubbornly. “Not Lily, obviously—but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t somebody else.”
“That’s why I went back.”
I blinked. “You…?”
“Went back,” he said. “Checked every inch of the hilltop and as much as I could of the surrounding slope, just to be sure. She’s not there…. She was a nightmare, Kate.”
“She was real. And the gown that was draped over her was real, too. I touched it…. It was blue. It had weight. It had sound, for Christ’s sake.” It had cascaded back over her with the dry, rattling sound of rain in the desert.
“They do, sometimes.”
I let him drive me back up to the house, watching him as he drove. He’d battled demons of his own, once, in the aftermath of some operation-turned-bloody-fiasco in Africa. I’d never learned the full details, only bits and pieces as his worries about me had come out, after I’d seen a few gruesome sights myself in the wake of searching for a killer two years before. I caught my breath. Was that what he was worried about? That this was some kind of delayed reaction to that experience?
“It wasn’t a hallucination,” I said defensively as we walked across the terrace. At a bench near the door, I stopped and sat down, blinking back tears. “I mean, the knife is real.”
“Another reason I went back.” He pulled the blade from his knapsack and laid it on the bench. Its pattern of coils and scrolls gleamed in the moonlight. “You have no business going up there alone, Kate. No jacket. No flashlight. And no weapon. For Christ’s sake, if she is real, there was—and maybe is—a killer up there. If you want to go back, at least ask me to go with you.”
“Where I need to go, actually, is Birnam Wood.”
He sat down on the bench, the knife between us. “Kate—we need to talk.”
I stiffened. “Not now.” I’d been afraid this was coming.
“I—”
“ Not now. ” I wanted to think about the knife. About the girl on the hill, dreamed or real. About the manuscript and Sir Angus’s mysterious death. About anything but our parting. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Consulting.”
I was used to the half truths and tangents that
“Take your pick,” the man said with a grin. “‘Gallus,’ from ‘gallows,’” he said in my direction. “A compliment in Scots. Cheeky, mischievous, daring.”
“As in ‘worthy of hanging,’ if you want to be literal about it,” said Lady Nairn darkly. “I will be raising gallows myself if we begin shedding actors before we ever get to rehearsals…. Kate, meet the gallus Eircheard.” His name sounded like Air Cart, though with the breathy back-of-the-throat “c” at the end of loch and Bach . “The king’s loyal servant Seyton in our production. And also the doomed King of Summer in the Samhuinn festival. Emphasis on ‘doomed.’”
He winked at me. “Marching merrily—if a wee bit hirplty-pirplty—to the sacrifice.” He took a few steps toward me, extending his hand, and I saw that he had the rolling gait of someone with a lifelong limp. One foot was encased in a strangely shaped and heavily built-up shoe.
“Eircheard,” Lady Nairn went on, “meet Kate Stanley. Whom you may not monopolize until you have given her the chance to escape upstairs and freshen up.” To me, she added, “I laid something out on your bed. I hope it fits.”
He raised his drink in my direction. “ Slàinte mhath, ” he said. “When you’re suitably tarted up to be given a drink, you can toast me back. I’ll teach you how.” His eyes bright with laughter, he turned away.
Before anyone else could stop me, I slipped out, running downstairs and out into the night.
6
I’D JUST REACHED the lane when a car turned into it up ahead and drew alongside me. It was Ben.
“She’s not there, Kate.”
I started walking again, and he jumped out of the car and caught me by both shoulders, spinning me around to face him.
“I saw her,” I said stubbornly. “Not Lily, obviously—but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t somebody else.”
“That’s why I went back.”
I blinked. “You…?”
“Went back,” he said. “Checked every inch of the hilltop and as much as I could of the surrounding slope, just to be sure. She’s not there…. She was a nightmare, Kate.”
“She was real. And the gown that was draped over her was real, too. I touched it…. It was blue. It had weight. It had sound, for Christ’s sake.” It had cascaded back over her with the dry, rattling sound of rain in the desert.
“They do, sometimes.”
I let him drive me back up to the house, watching him as he drove. He’d battled demons of his own, once, in the aftermath of some operation-turned-bloody-fiasco in Africa. I’d never learned the full details, only bits and pieces as his worries about me had come out, after I’d seen a few gruesome sights myself in the wake of searching for a killer two years before. I caught my breath. Was that what he was worried about? That this was some kind of delayed reaction to that experience?
“It wasn’t a hallucination,” I said defensively as we walked across the terrace. At a bench near the door, I stopped and sat down, blinking back tears. “I mean, the knife is real.”
“Another reason I went back.” He pulled the blade from his knapsack and laid it on the bench. Its pattern of coils and scrolls gleamed in the moonlight. “You have no business going up there alone, Kate. No jacket. No flashlight. And no weapon. For Christ’s sake, if she is real, there was—and maybe is—a killer up there. If you want to go back, at least ask me to go with you.”
“Where I need to go, actually, is Birnam Wood.”
He sat down on the bench, the knife between us. “Kate—we need to talk.”
I stiffened. “Not now.” I’d been afraid this was coming.
“I—”
“ Not now. ” I wanted to think about the knife. About the girl on the hill, dreamed or real. About the manuscript and Sir Angus’s mysterious death. About anything but our parting. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Consulting.”
I was used to the half truths and tangents that
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