Morrigan's Cross
Page 55

Moira glanced at Larkin. “He eats like two horses.”
“Hmm. We’re going to need regular supplies.” She spoke to King now. “I’d say that falls to you or me, as these three can’t drive. Both Larkin and Moira are going to need clothes that fit. If you draw me a map, I can make the next run.”
“There’s no sun today.”
Glenna nodded at Hoyt. “I have protection, and it may clear up.”
“The household needs to run, as you said, so you can draw up your plans. We’ll follow them. But as to other matters, you have to follow. I think no one goes out alone, out of doors, into the village. No one goes out unarmed.”
“Are we to be under siege then, held in by a shower of rain?” Larkin stabbed the air with his fork. “Isn’t it time we showed them we won’t let them set the terms?”
“He has a point,” Glenna agreed. “Cautious but not cowed.”
“And there’s a horse in the stable,” Moira added. “He needs to be tended.”
The fact was Hoyt had intended to do so himself, while the others were busy elsewhere. He wondered now if what he’d told himself was responsibility and leadership was just another lack of trust.
“Larkin and I will tend to the horse.” He sat when Glenna put plates on the table. “Glenna needs herbs and so do I, so we’ll deal with that as well. Cautious,” he repeated. And began to devise how it could be done while he ate.
He strapped on a sword. The rain was a fine drizzle now, the sort he knew could last for days. He could change that. He and Glenna together could bring out sun bright enough to blast the sky.
But the earth needed rain.
He nodded to Larkin, opened the door.
They moved out together, splitting right and left, back-to-back to gauge the ground.
“Be a miserable watch in this weather if they just sit and wait,” Larkin pointed out.
“We’ll stay close together in any case.”
They crossed the ground, searching for shadows and movement. But there was nothing but the rain, the smell of wet flowers and grass.
When they reached the stables, the work was routine for both of them. Mucking out, fresh straw, grain and grooming. Comforting, Hoyt thought, to be around the horse.
Larkin sang as he worked, a cheery air.
“I’ve a chestnut mare at home,” he told Hoyt. “She’s a beauty. It seemed we couldn’t bring the horses through the Dance.”
“I was told to leave my own mare behind. Is it true about the legend? The sword and the stone, and the one who rules Geall? Like the legend of Arthur?”
“It is, and some say it was fashioned from it.” As he spoke, Larkin poured fresh water in the trough. “After the death of the king or queen, the sword is placed back in the stone by a magician. On the day after the burial, the heirs then come, one by one, and try to take it out again. Only one will succeed, and rule all of Geall. The sword is kept in the great hall for all to see, until that ruler dies. And so it is repeated, generation after generation.”
He wiped his brow. “Moira has no brothers, no sisters. She must rule.”
Intrigued, Hoyt stopped to glance over. “If she fails, would it come to you?”
“Spare me from that,” Larkin said with feeling. “I’ve no wish to rule. Bloody nuisance if you’re asking me. Well, he’s set, isn’t he?” He rubbed the stallion’s side. “You’re a handsome devil, that’s the truth. He needs exercise. One of us should ride him out.”
“Not today, I think. But you’re right in that. He needs a run. Still, he’s Cian’s, so it’s for him to say.”
They moved to the door, and as before, stepped out together. “That way.” Hoyt gestured. “There was an herb garden, and may still be. I haven’t walked that way as yet.”
“Moira and I have. I didn’t see one.”
“We’ll have a look.”
It sprang off the roof of the stables, so quickly Hoyt had no chance to draw his sword. And the arrow struck it dead in the heart while it was still in the air.
Ash flew as a second leaped. And a second arrow shot home.
“Would you let us have one for the sport of it!” Larkin shouted to Moira.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, a third arrow already notched. “Then take the one coming from the left.”
“For me,” Larkin shouted at Hoyt.
It was twice his size, and Hoyt started to protest. But Larkin was already charging. Steel struck steel. It clashed and it rang. Twice he saw the thing step back when Larkin’s cross glinted at him. But he had a reach, and a very long sword.
When Hoyt saw Larkin slip on the wet grass, he lunged forward. He swung the sword at the thing’s neck—and met air.
Larkin leaped up, flipped the wooden stake up, caught it neatly. “I was just throwing him off balance.”
“Nicely done.”
“There may be more.”
“There may be,” Hoyt agreed. “But we’ll do what we came to do.”
“I’ve got your back then, if you’ve mine. God knows Moira’s got them both. This hurt it,” he added, touching the cross. “Gave it some trouble anyway.”
“They may be able to kill us, but they won’t be able to turn us while we wear them.”
“Then I’d say that’s a job well done.”
Chapter 13
There was no herb garden with its creeping thyme and fragrant rosemary. The pretty knot garden his mother had tended was now a gently rolling span of cropped green grass. It would be a sunny spot when the sky cleared, he knew. His mother had chosen it, though it hadn’t been just outside the kitchen as was more convenient, so her herbs could bask in the light.
As a child he’d learned of them from her, of their uses and their beauty while sitting by her as she weeded and clipped and harvested. She’d taught him their names and their needs. He’d learned to identify them by their scents and the shapes of the leaves, by the flowers that bolted from them if she allowed it.
How many hours had he spent there with her, working the earth, talking or just sitting in silence to enjoy the butterflies, the hum of bees?
It had been their place, he thought, more than any other.
He’d grown to a man and had found his place on the cliff in what was now called Kerry. He’d built his stone cabin, and found the solitude he’d needed for his own harvest, for his magic.