eyes briefly, then embraced him again. Ruith was very grateful that Sarah had seen him completely undone, for he was no better than his grandfather at hiding his emotions. It was a bitter weeping, but somehow a cleansing one. He held his grandfather, happily, until Sìle finally pulled away. He dragged his sleeve across his eyes, then laughed a little.
“I am too old for any more of these surprises. Tell me I’m finished.”
“Rùnach is alive and in Buidseachd,” Ruith said, supposing that it was better to have all the shocks over with at once.
“With Soilléir, no doubt, that young rogue,” Sìle grumbled. He frowned. “Well, I’m almost unsurprised by that, though I am positively undone seeing you. You’d best explain yourself, lad. And since I’m assuming I don’t have you to thank for bringing yourself back to the living, I’m assuming there is someone with sense in the area?”
Ruith fumbled behind him for Sarah’s hand. He pulled her to stand next to him and opened his mouth to introduce her.
It wasn’t necessary.
His grandfather gaped at her in much the same way he’d gaped at him not five minutes earlier.
“Sorcha?” he managed. “But . . . nay.” He continued to look at her in surprise. “Forgive me, child, but I mistook you for someone else.”
Ruith watched Sarah look at him briefly, then back at his grandfather.
“Sorcha was my mother.”
Sìle’s eyes again filled with tears. “Sarah, then.”
Ruith looked at Sarah, but he couldn’t see her very well for that dratted smoke that seemed to permeate every bloody chamber of the inn. Then again, tears were streaming down her cheeks. The only one in the chamber who wasn’t weeping was that damned king of Neroche, who likely never had anything take him by surprise.
Ruith looked at his grandfather in time to watch him reach out and gather Sarah into his arms. He patted her back gently.
“Ah, you poor lass,” he said gently. “I’m so sorry.” He patted her a bit more, then pulled back and looked down at her. “And where have you been keeping yourself, young Sarah? If you tell me Weger’s tower, I will have an attack, so take pity on an old elf and tell me something else.”
“I was masquerading as the daughter of the witchwoman Seleg.”
Sìle made a noise of horror. “Surely not.” He drew her arm through his and led her over to the fire. “And where was that old hag hiding you? And how is it you came to know my grandson? He’s a good-looking lad, isn’t he?” He looked at her with sudden calculation in his eyes. “You could do worse, you know.”
Ruith caught the look Sarah threw him—not precisely one of panic, but it was close—and laughed a little. He listened for a few minutes to what of his whereabouts and antics Sarah was able to relate, then realized Miach was watching him. He looked at him, then felt something slide down his spine.
He was beginning to dislike that feeling quite intensely.
He sighed and walked over to stand next to his former companion in dastardly deeds. “I’m prepared for just about anything. Spew away.”
“You haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you and given that I know you always know things you shouldn’t, I’ll say it again: spew away.”
Miach looked at Sarah. “She’s perfectly lovely. And your grandfather seems to like her.”
“So do I.”
“Besotted, are you?”
“Admittedly.”
Miach smiled at him. “It is good to see you, Ruith. Where in the world have you been? I’m assuming somewhere between here and Doìre, else Sarah wouldn’t have encountered you.”
“Shettlestoune,” Ruith said with a sigh. “Hiding in a house on the side of a deserted mountain.”
“You, my friend, had cause,” Miach said, “though I imagine hiding isn’t all you’ve been doing.”
Ruith studied him for a moment or two. “How did you know to find me, or is this a happy coincidence?”
“Do you want the answer to that?”
“Actually, I think I might.”
Miach nodded toward the window, which was a safe distance away from the fire and just made for private conversations. Ruith followed him, then stopped and looked at his—and he could hardly believe it—future brother-in-law.
“How is the crown?” he asked.
“Uncomfortable,” Miach said honestly, “and a little heavier than I expected.”
Ruith smiled in spite of himself. “At least you’ve satisfied Sìle.”
“Barely,” Miach said, with feeling. “It took almost dying to convince him that I loved Morgan—Mhorghain, rather.”
“Is that what they’ve called her?” Ruith asked, finding the question surprisingly difficult.
Miach nodded. “You will like her, I imagine. She is much like your mother, but perhaps