shrugged. What should she say? She knew things she should not and not all of them from visions.
“What does the Donegal priest think of your grandmother, I wonder?”
“I do not know, but he is not like many priests. He trained one of the Donegals to be celi di and does not assign penances out of cruelty.”
“He is indeed a man of God then.”
“Most likely.”
Silence stretched between them, but he did not release her and she made no move to distance herself from him.
She bit her lip, as she was wont to do when agitated.
“It is hard.”
“What?” Could that really be his voice, so soft and understanding?
She looked up at him, losing herself in his amber gaze against all good thinking. “To know things others do not, things you should not know.”
“Is it?” He brushed the back of his hand down her cheek.
“Yes.”
“Surely it is not all bad.”
“Perhaps not.” Ciara leaned into Eirik’s touch, unable to do anything else.
“It got me Galen’s attention when he had pulled away from his family, spending most of his time with his friends instead. It also cost him his life.”
“Your brother did not die because you were trying to help him find the Faolchú Chridhe. He died because he followed Luag in hunting innocent Éan children.”
“Galen didn’t want to hurt them,” she felt compelled to point out again.
Some of the hardness seeped back into Eirik’s expression. “But he did nothing to stop Luag.”
“No.” She dropped her head, not wanting to see the look of censure on Eirik’s features.
Her brother had committed a heinous act in even hunting another Chrechte, the fact he had not wanted to hurt the children did not exonerate him.
“I am sorry you lost your brother.”
The words of condolence were so unexpected, she fell mute in shock.
“But not that you killed him,” she finally said.
“I cannot be; to feel regret would be to place his life above the children he allowed to be threatened.”
“Yes.”
“You agree?” He tugged her face back up so their eyes had no choice but to meet.
“I am not a fool.”
He nodded, his understanding glowing in the amber of his eyes. “Just a woman with knowledge she does not know what to do with.”
Tears threatened at this further understanding and she blinked to keep the moisture back. “Yes.”
“Anya-Gra will help you.”
“So, I am not the descendant of a king, but a spiritual leader?” she asked, thinking of the old woman she had seen in her dream.
“Probably both. The royal family of the Éan have ruled our people for millennia and each spiritual leader we have had has also come from my line.”
“Do you think it was the same with the wolves, before MacAlpin?”
“Aye. I am certain of it.”
“But our royal lineage is now spread out like birdseed tossed from a high window among the clans.”
“But only you possess the king’s sword.”
“I have a dirk with the same stones, and the arm cuff of one of my ancestors who was kelle, but I do not have her sword.”
“As you said, your line has been spread out among the clans, but for you to have all three items, your lineage must be as pure as Mairi claims.”
“They never told me.”
“Your parents?”
“Or my brother. They all hid it from me, like I didn’t matter.”
“Mayhap they did not want to burden you with knowledge too heavy to bear.”
Her aching heart was touched by Eirik’s attempt to console her, but she knew the truth and she shook her head.
Finally finding the strength of will, she pulled away from him to go to the bed and look down at the sword. She was afraid to touch it again and maybe have another vision.
“So, it truly was the weapon of a monarch? I always thought it looked like it should be.” Yet even after her vision, she had a hard time believing it.
“Aye. I have one just like it.” Eirik drew his sword over his shoulder and swung it down to land against his other hand between them.
It was bronze as well, the edges of the blade sharpened to a much finer bevel than the one she kept in her trunk.
“May I see the handle?” she asked.
He repositioned the weapon so that it laid across his hands, fully open to her inspection.
After examining his sword closely, she stepped away from both it and the weapon lying on her bed. “They are not just alike.”
“Are they not?” he asked, as if indulging her.
“No. On your handle, the dragon is the center figure. On mine, the conriocht is