Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1) (15 page)

‘Do you care?’ he asked softly.

I guessed not. I shook myself and changed the subject. ‘That’s why there’s a fever,’ I mused. ‘It’s the body fighting against the Gift.’

Byron gave me an approving nod. ‘Indeed.’

‘It’d be better if that didn’t happen. Then we can leave for the Foinse immediately.’ My tone was decisive. I ignored Byron’s sharp look .

‘The onset of the fever happens almost immediately,’ he admitted. ‘You’ll know you’re getting sick before you leave the grove. The sicker you are, the stronger your Gift. Because I received two, I was ill for a fortnight. It wasn’t … pleasant.’

That sounded like a considerable understatement. Great. I didn’t need a temperature and sweats to add to my already aching body. I sighed. ‘There was something else I wanted to ask.’

‘You wanted to know what Rebekah meant.’

‘Rebekah is the ginger nut?’

He stiffened slightly. ‘She wouldn’t take kindly to being called that but, yes, that’s her. There have been many Sidhe who wondered why you didn’t come back to take revenge for what happened to your Clan.’

These guys were all about knee-jerk reactions. Maybe I should try harder to borrow Bob’s DS9 box set and force them all to sit down and watch it. They might learn something from Commander Sisko. ‘I suppose I might have once taken revenge on the Bull for making my childhood so miserable. But I’d be more likely to thank him than punch him. If he hadn’t been such a wanker, I might not have left when I did. Then I’d never have met my real family. The ones who count.’ My eyes narrowed accusingly. ‘The ones who you’re messing with.’

Byron cocked his head, gazing at me as if he were trying to work me out. ‘You should never have been placed with him. My father made a mistake, even if he had the best intentions.’

I didn’t want to discuss the past. It was, after all, the past. ‘From what I was told, what happened to my Clan was my father’s fault. And I can’t take revenge on a dead guy.’

Byron stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. ‘You’re not your father,’ he said.

I searched his face. He was telling the truth. Unlike most of the other highborn Sidhe in this place, neither he nor Jamie seemed to care whose daughter I was.

‘Sir? Byron?’ someone interrupted. ‘You’re wanted in the grand hall.’

Both of us turned. It was a nervous-looking pixie who was doing everything he could to avoid eye contact with me. Interesting. Perhaps these people really were afraid of me. I could use that.

‘On my way,’ Byron grunted. He gave me a final glance. ‘I’ll escort you to the grove tomorrow. Until then, try and avoid having sex with anyone else. We don’t need half the castle in love with you.’

I grinned. ‘Why ever not?’

Byron rolled his eyes. ‘By the way, it’s pyrokinesis.’

Puzzled, I stared at him. ‘What is?’

‘My second Gift.’ He touched me lightly on the shoulder and walked out. The pixie ran.

I watched them go, then dropped my head and examined my shoes. I didn’t like the idea of being able to call up fire. Certainly it would have its uses but in this day and age it would be used far more for destruction than anything else. I shivered and thought about Byron’s other comments. Whenever I got answers, I also ended up with more questions. I hadn’t come here to learn about myself, however. I didn’t need new revelations or an emotional growth spurt. I was happy the way I was.

I lifted my chin up and spotted a pretty feather in an inkwell on a table nearby. I picked it up, then whistled. I couldn’t be entirely sure but this looked like it came from the wings of a unicorn. It was priceless. The damned beasts were so hard to catch unawares that unless you were an unblemished virgin, you’d no hope of getting close to one. I grinned to myself. Charlie would give me a good price for it. I shoved it down my top. It tickled my skin but I wasn’t going far. I was Integrity Taylor, thief extraordinaire after all – not Integrity Adair, Clan princess.

I took one last critical glance in the mirror. It was just as well I’d arrived at the Cruaich well prepared. The hot pink scarf went very well with my black jumpsuit. Topped off with diamante-encrusted sunglasses, I decided l looked more like a footballer’s wife than a shady Sidhe. It wasn’t a bad effort but I didn’t want any of these royal idiots getting the wrong idea and thinking I was a glittery pushover so I also attached my trusty utility belt with my thievery gadgets. Ha! Let them make of that what they would.

‘We need to go now, Integrity,’ Byron drawled from the doorway.

I tapped the scimitar nestled securely in my inner pocket where it would be safely out of sight. ‘You ready for this, Bob?’

There was the tiniest vibration in response. The genie had kept me up half the night with his plans to find an astronaut for his next owner and blast off in a spaceship. I’d let him babble on. It might keep him more focused for the next few days if he felt like he had plans for the future that didn’t involve stubborn Sidhe naysayers.

‘Coming!’ I called, before stepping out to meet Byron. The second I did, I was tempted to duck back into the bathroom and change my clothes. The formal finery he was wearing put me to shame.

‘You look nice,’ he told me politely.

Damned by faint praise. ‘Well, you look like an over-dressed duck,’ I told him, pretending not to notice the way his shirt moulded itself to his torso.

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Are you suggesting that I’m fowl?’

I stared at him. ‘Did you just make a joke?’

He grinned. ‘It seems like it’s the best way to get your attention.’

Slightly nonplussed, I let him take my arm and lead me out. It was a long way down to the ground floor. Several Sidhe minions and other Clan workers dipped in curtseys and bows as we passed.

‘It must get kind of irritating,’ I muttered, ‘having people do that all the time.’

He gave a short bark of a laugh. ‘They’re not doing it for my benefit.’

I bristled. ‘Well, they’re certainly not doing it for mine. Most of you lot hate me. And one of you is trying to kill me.’

‘I’ve not found any evidence of a plot against you. And nobody hates you.’

We passed by Tipsania, who was wearing an alarmingly low-cut gown. ‘Interior, how
are
you?’

I gritted my teeth. ‘It’s Integrity.’

‘Oh!’ she simpered. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m just awful with names.’

‘Alright,’ Byron conceded once she was behind us, ‘
most
people don’t hate you.’

‘I don’t know why her knickers are in such a twist. She’s got the perfect life. At least in her eyes, anyway. I’m the lowlife crim without a true name.’

‘Not everything is as it seems,’ he replied cryptically. ‘Not even you.’

When we eventually made it outside, the older woman who’d stopped me before was in front of us. She swooped down in another low curtsey and said, in a clear voice, ‘Chieftain Adair.’ Unfortunately her words were followed by a high-pitched cackle that made her appear even crazier .

I stiffened. There was a murmur from the cluster of Sidhe around us and I spotted several dirty looks. It confirmed that all those who despised me openly were high born. I chewed this over silently as Byron and I continued on our way.

The last person we encountered before the grove was Jamie. His cheeks reddened rather adorably but he did give me a small grin.

‘Hi,’ I said softly.

He raised a hand in acknowledgment. Feeling Byron’s gaze, I smiled tightly and walked on.

‘Jamie is a good man,’ he told me quietly. ‘I’d hate to think you were toying with him.’

Actually, I felt a bit sorry for Jamie. He’d probably been chewed out by Byron and was suffused with embarrassment when he saw me. Well, two could play the cryptic game. ‘As you said, Byron dear, not everything is as it seems.’

Without waiting for his reaction, I strode ahead, halting only when I reached the edge of the grove. I peered inside. There was a path and there were a lot of trees but I couldn’t make out much else.

‘You know,’ I said to Byron as he reached my side, ‘when I was four or five, I made the mistake of stumbling into the Scrymgeour grove. I didn’t get very far. It was probably only a few metres. The reactions I got though?’ I whistled and shook my head. ‘You’d think I’d tried to commit murder.’

He squeezed my fingers. ‘That was wrong,’ he said simply. ‘The groves are holy places to us all but you were only a child.’

I stared in, emotions warring inside me. Trepidation was winning. ‘Are you going to come with me?’

‘No.’ He released my hand. ‘Only one person should enter at any time. It makes it less confusing for the ancestors.’

‘But whose ancestors will I meet?’ I whispered.

Byron didn’t answer. From here on in, I really was on my own. I reached for Bob’s scimitar and handed it over. Byron looked confused. ‘You’re giving me a letter opener?’

It was safer not to get into a discussion about what it actually was. Not with Bob listening in. ‘Just hold onto it for me, will you? It has, um, sentimental value.’

Despite my concerns that someone was out to get me, I couldn’t risk Bob hearing my true name. There was no telling what he’d do with that kind of power. And even if Byron tried to clean the blade, Bob wouldn’t appear. Until I used up my wishes – or died – I was Bob’s owner. Besides, the sacred groves were places of peace. It would be sacrilege for someone to attack me here.

Byron nodded, watching as I squared my shoulders. With a deep breath, I crossed into the grove and focused on logical thinking rather than my twisty emotions. Truth be told, I was hoping that my true name would be something manageable. My knowledge of formal Sidhe language was scanty; it was just as well it was only used in ceremonial settings and for legal documents, or I’d be stumbling around here without a clue about what was being said around me.

If I received a complicated Sidhe name, I’d be as likely to forget it as to make the mistake of letting someone else know what it was so they could attain absolute power over me. One syllable might be okay: ‘Pink’ would be cool if someone hadn’t already nabbed that name. Two syllables could work. If my true name turned out to be ‘Danger’, I could have a lot of fun. I imagined meeting someone for the first time. ‘Hi. I’m Integrity and Danger is my middle name.’ The best part would be no one would ever twig I was telling them the truth. It’d be a great in-joke. Unfortunately it was more likely that I’d end up with Poo Madra Na Cathrach Ar Mo Brog or something equally dim-witted and unpronounceable.

I ducked my head to avoid some low lying branches. I thought the trees lining the driveway on the way up here were unusual, but they were nothing compared to these. None of them possessed a single leaf but all the same they were stunningly beautiful. The branches and trunks were a soft silver, gleaming in the weak midday sunshine. I glanced back; I couldn’t make out Byron’s figure. Despite the lack of foliage, these trees did a damn good job of concealment.

I was surprised at how nervous I was feeling. I’d been a part of some seriously ambitious heists in the past and never felt more than the faintest trickle of nerves. In those scenarios, however, I was always well prepared. Right now I had no idea what to expect. By the time I reached the small clearing in the centre of the grove, with its gurgling fountain and paved stone circle, I was shaking.

‘Okay,’ I said aloud, balling up my fists, ‘I’m here.’ I pulled out the scroll Byron had given me and began to read, my tongue stumbling over some of the words. I felt beyond awkward. Once I was done, I took a deep breath and looked up. Nothing happened. Now what?

There was a whisper from right behind me. I spun round, expecting to see someone but there were only trees. The branches hung overhead, gnarled twigs reaching out towards me like ancient fingers. I shivered and turned back just as there was another strange whisper. I took a deep breath.

‘You’re going to have to speak up,’ I called out. ‘I can’t hear you.’

The whispers increased in volume, although what they were saying remained incomprehensible. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to identify the words. Their sibilantic hush made that impossible until they all abruptly fell silent and one clear musical voice of no distinguishable gender spoke, freezing my bones.

‘Adair.’

A strange image flitted through my head of a young man in old-fashioned dress. He had brilliant white hair and violet eyes. He was also wielding a sword, swinging it with unrestrained violence about his head. His eyes turned in my direction and I gasped involuntarily as he heaved the sword towards me.

Then he was replaced by another man of similar build and colouring. Then another and another and another. The images came so thick and fast that I felt dizzy. The only thing that seemed to change was the mode of clothing. I cried out, willing them to slow down. There were too many and it was all too quick. Nausea filled my stomach. I couldn’t take any more. It had to stop. It had to…

Another man appeared. This time he wasn’t alone; he was pressing his cheek against the rounded stomach of a heavily pregnant woman. Both of them looked at me and smiled and, unable to help myself, I smiled back. There was tenderness in their expressions – and unfathomable, immeasurable love. Even though I knew they were only in my head, I still reached out. I wanted to touch them.

The woman held out one graceful hand. If I stretched I might be able to grasp hold of her fingers. The moment I tried, however, she began to choke. Blood trickled from her mouth and she collapsed. The man roared in helpless, silent agony as she slid from his arms to the ground. His eyes filled with an anguish that turned to rage. I stepped back as he stretched out his arms and howled at the heavens. He seemed to be struggling with some terrible inner turmoil. In the past I might have made fun of the phrase ‘gnashing their teeth and renting their clothes’ but it suddenly made sense. I desperately wanted to help him, to soothe him in some way, but I had no idea how. His body writhed and his eyes bulged. Then, like a cloud passing, it was over. His eyes were clear as he turned to me.

‘Layoch,’ he said before vanishing entirely.

I fell to my knees. There was a wetness on my cheeks. It took me a moment or two to realise it was tears.