8 A BLADE FOR HIRE #2
What if they’ve killed the tattooist? The worry surfaced then. What if, when you find her, she’s too injured to help you? His jaw clenched. If they’d hurt her, if they’d damaged her hands or her ability to work, he was in deep shit.
“When can we start our search?” the apprentice asked, her eyes bright now.
“Not tonight,” he said gruffly.
Her brow furrowed. “But any delay might cost us.”
“Listen to me.” He ensnared her gaze with his.
“It’s dark outside. We don’t know where they’re staying.
Going after them now, blind and desperate, is a good way to get us both killed.
” He paused, letting that sink in. He didn’t need this lass bungling his plans.
“We do this properly. We track them down in the morning, watch them, and learn their patterns. Then we make our move.”
“But what if they leave before then?”
“They aren’t likely to. They’ve been traveling hard … they’ll rest here for tonight at least.”
He made a silent prayer to The Mother that he was right.
The apprentice looked ready to argue, her jaw tight, those black eyes burning. But then she deflated slightly, nodding. “Very well. We start looking for them at first light then.”
He nodded before rising to his feet and gesturing for her to do the same. “Where are you staying?”
“In a roundhouse on the third tier.”
“Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Aye, it is.” He nodded toward the shadowy figures still watching them from across the ale-hall.
“You announced you carry a coin purse ripe for thieving. Half the customers in here are probably thinking about how easy it would be to take it from you in some shadowy wynd.” He paused then.
“And the other half likely have darker deeds on their mind.”
A nerve flickered in her cheek, and Darach swallowed a sigh.
Every moment spent babysitting her was another moment Kayla remained in enemy hands.
He had a job to get on with, and time was running through his fingers like dry sand. But the woman had just pinned a target on her back, and since she’d hired him as her bodyguard, he might as well play the part. Tonight, at least.
Keeping her alive made sense too. If Kayla were dead, her apprentice might be the only one able to help him.
Cold settled in his gut at the thought. Only as a last resort. After the last time he’d gone under a tattooist’s blade, he was loath to let anyone but the former druid work on him.
Luckily, the lass didn’t argue this time. Instead, she got up and followed him toward the door.
Outside, the night air was cool and sharp. The Whistle had died down to a low moan. Darach kept his stride measured, aware of her limping beside him on blistered feet. Sometimes, especially first thing in the mornings, he had a limp too.
“What’s your name?” he asked as they walked.
“Ailsa,” she said stiffly. “And yours?”
“Dale.” This lie came easily. He’d been using false names for years now. He had to. His brother already knew he was alive; he couldn’t make himself easy to find. His mood darkened then, and he pushed thoughts of that murderous sack of shit aside.
He didn’t want to think about his brother. Not now.
“You’re not from around here,” Ailsa said, cutting him another of her sharp looks.
“No.”
“Your accent … the southern burr … you’re from Braewall too, aren’t you?”
He stiffened. “Aye … once.”
“Why did you leave?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m hiring you. I want to know whom I’m trusting.”
That last word sat heavily between them, and Darach fought a lip curl.
She shouldn’t trust him—shouldn’t trust anyone—but circumstances had forced her hand.
They climbed the winding wynds up through the fort’s tiers in silence, accompanied by the whispering wind.
The labyrinthine lanes of Farnoch were largely deserted now that night had settled.
The only people they passed were the odd drunk or cloaked figure lurking in shadows.
It certainly wasn’t safe for a young woman to wander about unescorted.
When they reached the third level, they made their way up to the roundhouse, halfway up the hill.
“This is it,” Ailsa said, stopping before the door.
He turned to face her. “I’ll be here at dawn.”
In truth, he wasn’t sure he would. It all depended on how tonight went. But the promise slipped easily off his lips, nonetheless.
She nodded, studying his face in the dim light from a nearby torch. “Thank you.” Her voice held a husky edge now. “For helping me … and before, in the ale-hall.”
He waved aside her thanks, his mind already tracking ahead to where he’d begin his search. “Good night, Ailsa.”
Turning, he walked away. Behind him, the door whispered open and closed with a soft thud.
Once he was alone, he broke into a jog.
Enough delays. Time to get to work. He had until dawn to find those mercenaries; to discover where they were keeping Kayla. Luckily, he knew Farnoch well, and he’d start with that ale-hall near the market ground Ailsa had mentioned.
By dawn, her abductors would be bleeding out somewhere in the dark, and the tattooist would be free.
Free to help him.
Pain stabbed through his thigh then, causing his stride to falter.
He clenched his jaw. The beast was stirring earlier each night now. Clawing at him. Demanding release.
Fuck.
He had to find Kayla before it was too late.