The Witch and The Thief

19

Maera studied him for a moment, wondering if she'd seen the item Lachlan had retrieved among Lucida's possessions in her bedroom at the vault. "What did you find for her?"

"A gold ring once belonging to her mother with no power to it save that of sentimentality and cherished memories." Lachlan sighed and pointed to the dark navy dress on the trunk as he gave himself a mental shake, "She brought this for you."

She swallowed convulsively as her eyes fell on the gown of unmistakable quality, unable to speak past the lump of emotion lodged in her throat. Once again, Lucida proved she was far kinder than Maera had wanted to believe her to be.

Lachlan watched the play of emotions on Maera's face. The vulnerability he found there made him desperate to hold and soothe her. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat to keep from saying or doing something foolish.

He glanced around the room, searching for a safe topic and bit back a sigh of relief when it landed on Haggis, slumbering on the rug near his feet. Lachlan picked up the sleeping cat, then returned to the bed. "And here's further proof of her kindness, should you still be doubting."

Maera's brow creased in a delicate frown as she tried to make sense of what he meant until the ball of orange fur lifted its head and blinked sleepily at her. She covered a gasp, staring at Lachlan in disbelief even as she reached to take the cat. "Haggis?"

Lachlan sat on the bed near her hip with a smile and handed him over. "Lucida said he missed you dreadfully."

"I've missed him too."

Fresh tears pricked at her eyes as she hugged the cat close and pressed her cheek to his little head.

A warm silence settled around them, punctuated by Haggis's contented purrs and the soft crackling of the fire. Now and then, it popped and showered red-hot embers to the slab hearth.

Maera quietly acknowledged her soul had been like those flames for decades, held imprisoned within an ironclad casket, and only allowed to burn when Drummond deemed her powers necessary. But with Lachlan, everything had changed. Maera sniffled and wiped away the moisture staining her cheeks before meeting Lachlan's gaze. "A-and the duel? Is there a plan?"

Lachlan scoffed and shook his head. "His Imperial Lord of the Deepwood and Aggie seem to think there is."

"'Tis that dreadful?"

"That particular word would be putting it mildly," Lachlan murmured. "They're either deranged or intend for this to fail and end with us dead, perhaps both. I don't know what I was thinking to suggest the duel in the first place." He leaned his elbows on his thighs and sighed.

His shoulders sagged as he bowed his head and admitted in quiet defeat, "I'm not sure what is worse, that I believed myself cunning enough to escape certain doom at Nathair's hand in such a way, or that I now have two power-hungry warlock's promising to spill my blood. T'would have been better if I'd stolen the stone a second time and faced my fate."

Maera pursed her lips as she caressed her fingers lightly down Haggis' back, "When is the duel to take place?"

"I am to meet Drummond at the Screeching Bagpipe outside Ebonweald by week's end." He rubbed his forehead, "'Tis fortunate, we can take a slight detour through Rivenburgh on our way, at least."

"Why do you say that?" Maera asked with a frown creasing her brow. Haggis jumped from her arms and strolled around the room, investigating, though he wouldn't tell her what he was hoping to find.

Lachlan sat up, a small, half-hearted smile bending his lips, "If the fates are with me, Rhys and Orin will be there, though they may not be glad to see us when they learn of Finley and Darragh's demise."