Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(46)

Byron strolled over to the red-haired grumbler. He didn’t touch her or speak to her; he simply stood behind her chair. She immediately fell silent. Damn. That was some power. What exactly did he do for his father? Was he some kind of enforcer? I knew of a few Clan-less gangs that had people like that in their ranks. They didn’t tend to last very long.

I shook myself. Whatever Byron’s role, it didn’t alter the issue confronting all of us.

I cleared my throat. ‘This probably isn’t the best time to bring this up but I should mention it as it has a bearing on your plan.’

Aifric appeared confused. ‘Go on.’

‘I, er, don’t have a true name.’

You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

‘Say that again?’

I licked my lips and repeated myself. ‘I don’t have a true name. I never received one.’

It started slowly. Aifric’s cheeks flushed pink then, second by second, they grew darker until his entire face was a mottled purple. His blue eyes turned icy. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

I stepped back. It wasn’t my fault. If any of them had stopped to think about it, they’d have realised. All the same a shudder of fear ran through me. What would he do now?

Byron returned to his spot next to me. Surprisingly, he wrapped his hand round my upper arm and squeezed it reassuringly. By the look on his father’s face, however, that wasn’t going to help.

‘How can you not have your name?’ He turned to the table of astonished Sidhe, fixed on the Bull and raised his voice. ‘How can she not have her name?’

The Bull’s eyes darted around in terror and I realised for the first time that the man who was such a focus for my nightmares when I was a child was actually rather unremarkable. He was morbidly obese, which detracted slightly from his Sidhe good looks and poise, but he wasn’t the monster that I remembered. Whether age had diminished him or whether it was simply that I was no longer a child, I found that I could look at the Bull and feel nothing more than vague disdain. I was neither scared nor angry nor vengeful. I had won.

‘She was eleven years old when she ran away,’ he stammered. ‘It wasn’t my responsibility.’

‘She was your responsibility!’ Aifric thundered.

Byron’s grip round my arm tightened.

‘We agreed to leave her be,’ the Bull began.

‘Enough!’

‘If she doesn’t have her true name, then she didn’t receive her Gift,’ the moany red-haired Sidhe interjected. ‘That’s why she didn’t…’ The woman’s voice trailed away as Aifric’s icy blue gaze turned on her.

I frowned. Didn’t what?

‘Byron,’ Aifric snapped, ‘you will attend to this immediately.’

He bowed. ‘Of course.’

‘We will have to delay the journey to the Foinse.’ Aifric stroked his chin. His voice dropped. ‘When was the last time one of us waited until adulthood to receive our name?’

Silence answered him. He scowled.

‘It might make the fever worse,’ a stunning blond hulk of a man muttered.

‘It could be a week before she can travel,’ someone else agreed.

Excuse me? Fever? I crossed my arms and glared, expecting someone to explain.

Aifric shook his head in irritation. ‘Either way, we are forced to wait.’ He looked at Byron again. ‘Make the arrangements.’

A haughty-looking man with a hooked nose cleared his throat. ‘Is the Adair grove still standing?’

Several of the Sidhe exchanged nervous glances. I spotted a few shrugs and one or two head shakes.

‘Even if it’s still there,’ Aifric stated, ‘we don’t have time to travel there. We’re going to lose enough days as it is. We have no clue when the Foinse is going to give out. It might be days or it might be months but we can’t afford to wait. She can use the Cruaich grove.’

There was a collective intake of breath. ‘That’s reserved for Clan heirs,’ the ginger woman complained.

Aifric appeared unimpressed. ‘She’s the heir to the Adair Clan.’

She wanted nothing to do with the Adair Clan. I decided, however, that this was a good time to keep my mouth shut. Sometimes you learn more by listening. It wasn’t a habit I practised very often but I held my tongue ‒ at least until I had a better grasp of this situation.

‘You can’t let her in there!’ someone burst out. ‘What if she desecrates the ground?’

‘It’s sacred,’ another agreed. ‘Not for the likes of her.’

I almost laughed. It was amusing that they thought I would soil their precious grove simply by my presence. Not for the likes of me, indeed. Had I wandered into the pages of a Victorian novel?