face at being caught acting like a complete featherbrain… again.
Jumping at shadows. Timothy snorted.
You started it by talking about bogles! With a groan and a shake of his head, Bannon rubbed his elbow and went to the table. “Hi.”
“Hi, yeself.” Ciaran grinned at him, but the grin didn’t last long. His eyes were heavy-lidded, tired, and… troubled? “Care tae join me?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but turned back toward the fire.
“Sure.” Bannon stepped up onto the dais, walked around the table, and stopped to Ciaran’s right. The heat of the fire warmed his chill and chased away the last of his embarrassment. The wind outside seemed to grow quieter, but the unrest in the hall was still there, and it had nothing to do with bogles and everything to do with Ciaran.
He sat there with his elbows resting on his knees, his lovely bare knees…. The plaid had traveled up his thighs, showing off a good deal of hairy legs. Nice muscular legs. But Ciaran didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was focused on the fire. His features were relaxed, but the pensiveness in his eyes was undeniable.
Apparently, Bannon wasn’t the only one who’d had a mentally taxing night.
Finally, Ciaran glanced up at him. Again the soft smile appeared and disappeared as Ciaran patted the table beside him.
After climbing onto the bench, Bannon turned and sat. Immediately the warmth of Ciaran’s body infused him, and he found himself scooting closer. “What’s bothering you?”
“Who says anything is bothering me?” Ciaran turned his head toward him.
Bannon arched one brow.
Again the smile returned. “I’m just thinking.”
“What about?”
For several moments, Ciaran didn’t say anything. He turned back to the fire, glancing up above the huge opening.
Bannon followed his gaze.
A big claymore rested on pegs sticking out of the stone wall. The sword was beautiful, with a gold pommel with a large emerald gemstone in it. The cross guard was gold as well, with the same stone, only smaller, at the ends. The leather wrap on the handle had seen better days, but it didn’t take away from the beauty. The gold continued down the thick silver blade in the middle for about three inches and came to a point. After the gold ended, intricate swirls and knot-like symbols were engraved along the blade for another six inches or so. After that….
Squinting to get a better look, Bannon wrinkled his nose and frowned. “Is that rust on the blade?” Splotches of brown marred the otherwise gleaming silver of the blade. He could not imagine why anyone would let such an exquisite instrument rust. It truly was a work of art.
“The sword is steel; it willnae rust. That’s bluid.”
Ewww…. And that was even worse! Bannon gawked at him. “Why wouldn’t you clean it?”
“It was my father’s. It’s been passed down to each laird fer over half a century. Dìonach Na Sìthe.” The words were foreign but spoken with such pride, such longing, that it sounded like a caress.
“What does that mean?”
Ciaran unfolded his hands and laid them on his thighs. “Defender of Peace. That’s what the sword is called. My father had it with him when he was killed.” His voice trailed off as he continued to stare up at the sword.
Bannon watched him, taking in his strong profile, knowing there was more to this story. “You said it’s the laird’s sword. Why don’t you use it?”
“I dinna deserve it. Nae till I avenge my father’s death. And nae until I find my men,” Ciaran said so softly, it was almost a whisper, but somehow it seemed to echo in the empty hall.
The words sent a chill right through Bannon. The goose bumps that had mostly faded in Ciaran’s company broke out on his arms again. He sat there stunned, that this strong brave man could possibly think he wasn’t worthy to wield his father’s sword. Somehow with all this planning and spying, he’d completely forgotten about the wrong the IN had committed against Skye.
Reaching over, Bannon slipped his hand underneath Ciaran’s and entwined their fingers. “We’ll find the men.” He hoped. Honestly, he feared they were already dead, but as long as there were no bodies, he was holding out hope.
Ciaran stared at their hands for several seconds. After a moment he squeezed his thumb, then asked, “How’d it go with Patrick and Marcus?”
Bannon sighed and leaned his head against Ciaran’s shoulder, longing for more contact. “It went.”
“That doesnae sound good.” Letting go of him, Ciaran brought his palm up and rested it