The Renegade's Heart by Claire Delacroix Page B

with me in this, Stewart, or would
you return to Seton Manor with nothing to show for your quest?”
    “You were never so reckless before.” Stewart
looked hard at Murdoch. “Where were you, lad? Why did you not
return home? It is clear that you could not have had a wound like
that the earl insisted you had sustained, for it would have lamed
you had you survived. When did you become a man so enamored of
falsehood and deceit?”
    “I will not speak of it, Stewart.”
    “Perhaps it is best you did not see your
father again,” the older man muttered. “It would have killed him to
have seen his favored son become an untrustworthy rogue.”
    Murdoch eyed those fireflies and realized
they were more numerous than he had imagined. Their golden light
reflected on the snow, like a thousand flames on a thousand
candles. The Elphine Queen had followed him.
    What would she demand of him?
    How much time did he have?
    He realized that Stewart yet awaited his
answer. “I will see Duncan’s property restored, if it is the last
deed I do. Surely that vow has merit to you?”
    “I do not like it.” The older man exhaled
mightily, looking troubled. He shook a finger at Murdoch. “No one
shall be injured. No blood shall be shed, be it of man or horse.
And if any deed must be done that is illegal, the boys shall not
lift a hand to do it. You know that they would do any deed for you.
I would have your pledge that you will not ask that of them.”
    “I will not.” Murdoch agreed. “Then, we are
in agreement.”
    “No,” Stewart said with vigor. “We are not in
agreement. I merely cede to your command as I see that you will not
be swayed. It is possible that I can save you from your own folly,
and truly, your father would have wished me to attempt as much.” He
sighed. “I know not what I shall tell the boys of this, for they
have the notion that knighthood is filled with honor, not
banditry.”
    “Do they not know the merit of the greater
good?” Murdoch asked, his tone sharp.
    Stewart considered him anew. “Where were you? What so embittered the honorable man I once
knew?”
    “I will not speak of it,” Murdoch said again.
He felt the older man studying him, so gestured to the forest and
lightened his tone. Though he was certain of what his companion
would say, he had to ask. “How strange there should be fireflies in
January. Perhaps this is evidence of the sorcery said to be
practiced by the Lammergeier family.”
    Stewart looked at the forest, then back at
Murdoch. The change in his expression said more than his words. He
could not see them. They were Fae. “Truly you have need of a
meal, my lord. There are no fireflies in winter.”
    “What of the lights?”
    “I see no lights. Time it is to have some
bread in our bellies, that is what I see. Where are those boys?
Hamish! Gavin!” Stewart rode onward, shouting when the silhouettes
of their two young squires separated from the forest shadows.
    Stewart gave orders to the boys before he had
even dismounted, sending them in haste to gather a meal and set a
fire. They scurried, and Murdoch wondered which of them was more
terrified of the gruff older man. Stewart led the way from the
path, riding deeper into the forest.
    Murdoch followed, a trickle of cold sweat
sliding down his back. Kinfairlie and the kiss of Isabella seemed a
thousand miles behind him as the fireflies swarmed around him,
flying around him with frantic speed. Murdoch swallowed and kept
his eyes open. They circled his head in a dizzying blur, their
light bright enough to make him wince.
    With proximity, the truth was inescapable.
They were Fae. Tiny Fae with golden wings, Fae who laughed and
chased each other, filling the air with the swish of their wings
and the tinkle of their merriment. One landed on his gloved hand
and smiled up at him, as if in recognition of a fellow spirit. It
knew Murdoch could see it, for it laughed at his horror.
    The tiny golden Fae marched toward Murdoch’s
cuff, its wings