Page 19 of Fang & Fury

Niall stared down at him. And in his eyes, Darach glimpsed that same vulnerability he’d marked a few days earlier—and hope. Despite everything, Niall craved his loyalty.

Darach kept his tongue leashed. To say anything else now might tip the balance.

He had already made his position clear, and he’d not ruin everything by saying the wrong thing.

Even so, it was hard to wait while his brother decided whether he was in earnest.

They stared at each other, and eventually, Niall’s lips curved. “I accept your pledge, Darach.” He lifted his right hand, as if to grip Darach’s shoulder as he might have years ago—before relations between them soured—but caught himself at the last moment. Instead, he nodded to Gregor. “Take my brother upstairs and perform the binding sigil.”

Darach climbed the wooden stairs that led to the broch’s higher levels. One floor, and then two. He took note of the way they were going and marked every passageway they led him along.

He needed to remember the way out.

On the second floor, they escorted him silently down a long passageway lined with burning cressets. Gregor led the way with Darach walking behind him, and four warriors—Idra still among them—bringing up the rear.

He’d been careful not to meet her eye as they left the hall. He couldn’t do anything to raise suspicions.

Not when they were this close.

Gregor stopped then, yanked open the curtain to an alcove, and strode inside.

Darach followed.

However, the moment he stepped over the threshold, he abruptly halted.

There, working on two warriors, tattoo needles in hand, were Ailsa and Kayla.

Both women had been singing softly, yet upon Gregor’s abrupt entrance, they looked up, startled.

The druid strode by them without a glance, heading straight for the far end of the large alcove, to where a table and two stools sat.

Darach didn’t follow him. He couldn’t help it. His gaze went straight to Ailsa.

She stared back at him, lips parted.

He drank her in.

Ailsa’s black hair hung in a heavy braid down her back, and a forest-green tunic clung to her lissome form. Although she wasn’t as thin as she’d been upon their arrival at this fort—her face a little fuller, her cheekbones not quite as sharp—lines of strain bracketed her mouth. Her eyes were hollowed, and her complexion even paler than he remembered. All the same, he’d never seen anything lovelier.

And for a heartbeat, their eyes locked, and everything rushed back.

7: STEP BACK

AILSA FORGOT HOW to breathe.

She’d been focused on her task, shaping an eagle that spread its wings upon the warrior’s upper back. It was her second tattoo already this morning, a far cry from her old life in Braewall when Kayla had deliberately held her back. Those days were behind them now, as were the secrets and lies. All the same, it was an irony that she’d wanted to work on an enhanced tattoo for so long, and now she was being forced to ink them all day.

The earth magic she’d been weaving fled, dissolving like smoke, at the sight of Darach.

Dizziness assailed her then, as her lungs cried out for air, and she slowly exhaled.

The Hag’s Staff. He looked terrible. Haggard and filthy, with an unkempt beard and wild hair. Half-naked too; clad in just a pair of leather breeches and mud-encrusted boots. Scratches and bruises covered his bare chest. Despite that he was still muscular, she could see the outline of his ribs, and his collarbones stood out in sharp relief.

What have they done to him?

He stank too, of damp wool, old sweat and putrid things—a reek so bad that her eyes watered.

But it didn’t matter; what did was that he was alive, his honey-brown eyes warm. And he was looking at her as if The Maiden herself stood before him. As their stare drew out, he nodded.