at Ciaran through a glassy haze, and then he blinked and those gorgeous eyes focused. “What?” he whispered.
Ciaran found himself as dumbfounded as Red had been only moments ago. He could not seem to look away from those mesmerizing eyes. The hoarse voice sent a thrill of excitement racing through him. It took him a bit to focus. “We should hurry and get what ye came tae get.” He flipped his chin toward the east. “More rain is on the way.”
The spell was broken. Red blinked again and nodded. He reached past Ciaran and took the torch from Ram. Without hesitation he limped toward the bigger part of the ship and climbed inside.
Ram shrugged and followed.
Louisa took up the rear, but she did not even get three feet before she turned and started retching.
Angus was there almost immediately, patting her back and offering up a piece of his plaid as though he were coddling a bairn. His voice was smooth and comforting and so unlike Angus that Ciaran did a double take.
Och! Was this the same man who’d only yesterday shot Hamish in the arse with an arrow for stealing a sip of his mead? Apparently Ciaran wasn’t the only one infatuated by these strangers. Striding over to Angus, he swiped the other torch and immediately spotted the charred remains of people. There were five of them in this area, all in seats.
Red was going around to each of the deceased. It looked as though he were praying or delivering last rites or something. He’d touch the bodies, but every time he caught one of them looking, he quickly snatched his hand back.
Ram asked him if he needed help, and Red declined.
Odd. Ciaran shook his head and headed toward the other part of the ship. He raised the torch and looked around, listening to the rumbling thunder in the distance and the chatter of soft voices behind him. This part of the ship had definitely fared better.
He stepped up onto a violet floor covering, and his feet sank into the plushness. Odd. It was like rushes, but not. He walked farther back between the rows of seats.
The seats were black and each one had an eagle with its wings outstretched embroidered on the backs in a shiny gold thread. It looked like thin metal. Ciaran ran his fingers over the thread. It was not hard, but soft like thread should be. His fingers sank into the seat back with barely any pressure. It was like no padding Ciaran had ever felt. Soft. They spoke of luxury and were plusher than even the finest furniture at Lochwood Castle. Ciaran could not resist. Turning, he took a seat and was engulfed in comfort. Och, but this was fine. Like lying on lamb’s wool. Perhaps he could free the seats and take them home? He stretched out his legs, but there wasn’t much room due to the seat in front of him. However if he removed the seats one by—
What was that? His boot hit something under the seat in front of him.
Ciaran leaned down, raising the torch high so as not to catch the chairs on fire.
A small sparkly slate about ten inches long lay on the ground. Ciaran picked it up. One side had raised blue crystals. The other side was sleek and gray.
His pulse accelerated, and the hair on the back of his neck rose up. He’d seen this before. At Patrick’s cottage. Ciaran had asked Marcus about it once. Marcus had said it was something they’d used to access information back home, and after that he’d never seen the object again. Och, could this thing hold information about the men attacking them? About the building? His mind whirled with the possibilities. He turned it over, looking for a way to use the item. He needed to ask Red how to use it.
“Did you find something?”
Ciaran looked up into Red’s green eyes.
He stood just outside of the tail end of the ship with his hands full of small metal objects.
Ciaran opened his mouth to say yes and to ask Red how to use the slate, but what came out was “Nae.” With an odd thickness clogging his throat, he slid the slate under his kilt and shook his head. “Nae, I have nae found a thing.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I stand corrected. A blanket on the right man is quite fetching.”
—Timothy on fashion… again.
Ciaran was hiding something. Bannon was sure of it. He glanced over at Ciaran, riding tall in the saddle beside