Oath of the Brotherhood by C. E. Laureano Page A

felt it seeking, testing the protections woven into the keep’s walls. No one else seemed to notice the invisible battle that waged beyond, though, and admitting her sensitivity would only bring unwanted scrutiny. Even theancient healer, Mistress Bearrach, did not know Aine’s secrets, but the longer she studied with her, the more difficult they were to conceal.
    Oonagh, the lady’s maid she shared with Niamh, was folding clothes into a large oak chest when Aine entered her chamber. “My lady! I thought you were at your lessons!”
    “I’m riding with Mistress Bearrach this morning. Will you send for Ruarc? I can find my riding clothes.”
    Oonagh curtsied in acknowledgement and hurried from the room. Aine took her time selecting a brown wool dress and a lightweight cloak from the wardrobe. She had just pulled on the clothing when a familiar rap sounded at the door. She slid a sheathed knife onto her belt and buckled it quickly, then swept the cloak around her shoulders. When she opened the door, Ruarc lounged against the opposite wall.
    Aine had known her Seareann bodyguard for so long it was hard to see him as others did, but objectively, his mere presence was enough to discourage untoward thoughts. Middle-aged, but as lean and strong as he had been in his early years, Ruarc projected restrained menace, like a viper poised to strike.
    He was the gentlest soul she had ever met. He could also kill remorselessly with the proper provocation. The latter was likely why Lady Ailís, with her last breath, had passed his duty to Aine. Ruarc never questioned the matter. He had merely appeared at her side, and he had not left it since.
    “You look troubled,” he said, falling into step beside her. “What is it?”
    “The same as always.”
    Ruarc fingered the dagger at his belt, a sure sign he was troubled. “Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come here. You’ve been unsettled since we arrived in Faolán.”
    “And what was there left in Aron? Mother’s dead.” Aineswallowed the lump in her throat. Six months was not long enough to dim her sense of loss. She steadied her voice and continued, “Aunt Macha has no use for me. She tolerated me for Father’s sake. If she found out . . .”
    “I know, but   —”
    “I’ll be fine. It’s just harder to ignore certain aspects of my talents here than it was in Aron.”
    They emerged into the bright morning sunlight and started across the courtyard to the beehive-shaped clochan, a stone remnant of a more primitive age that now served as Mistress Bearrach’s residence.
    “It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Ruarc said, his brow furrowing as he studied her. “Something else is bothering you.”
    “It’s nothing.”
    But it wasn’t nothing. The Mac Nir boy disturbed her. She couldn’t look at him without feeling the subtle hum of energy, a stronger, brighter version of the threads underpinning Faolán. Worse yet, she had dreamed of him in Aron the night before Calhoun’s invitation arrived. She had been poised to decline until she was struck with the certainty that that boy waited for her in Lisdara. Instead, the words had spilled out, “Tell my brother I’ll come.”
    Ruarc’s frown deepened. “My duty is to protect you, Aine. If you hold things back, it makes my job much harder.”
    Aine forced a smile and put a light hand on his arm. “I have full confidence in you.” A pity his particular skills would be of no help in this situation.
    Just as they arrived at the clochan, the door sprang open. An elderly, white-haired woman scowled at them from the threshold. “What took you so long?”
    “Forgive us,” Aine said, aware that Ruarc was struggling against a smile. He found Mistress Bearrach’s ill temper moreamusing than she did. Then again, he didn’t bear the brunt of it. Still, the old healer knew more medicine and herb lore than a dozen of the clan’s physicians, and Aine had already learned more from her in four months than in two years with her