Léirsinn wished the woman was merely reacting to an eyeful of Acair’s minder spell, but it was obvious Acair’s grandmother wasn’t looking in that direction. She was looking at her.
She would have ducked back behind Acair, but two things stopped her. One, Acair seemed rather reluctant to allow her to use him as a shield, and two, she realized with a start that she might be the only thing that kept them both alive. She wasn’t sure what was going through Mistress Cruihniche’s mind, but it didn’t seem to be thoughts of murder. She looked instead as if she’d just seen something that had knocked her firmly back on her heels.
Perhaps it was the dragon charm burning a hole in Léirsinn’s tunic.
Léirsinn had to look down to make certain she wasn’t on fire. The charm was rather warm to the touch even through the cloth, but she’d grown accustomed to it doing unusual things. If it saved them at present, she wasn’t going to complain.
She wondered what she was supposed to do to humor Acair’s grandmother, then decided there was no point in worrying about it. The woman was either going to slay them both on the spot, or—
Apparently, it was going to be or.
Cruihniche gave her another slightly alarmed look, then turned her sights back on her grandson.
“What is that other thing there?” she asked faintly.
“It is a spell,” Acair said, “with nefarious intentions at the ready. Never fear, Grandmother, it has its sights only upon me, your humble and penitent scrap of progeny.”
His grandmother considered that for a moment or two, then straightened her shoulders and pointed at Acair.
“Grandson, fetch the tea table,” she said, seemingly laying hold on her strength. She shot Léirsinn another look, then shook her head and walked back over to the doorway. She bellowed down the hallway for refreshments to be provided, then slammed the door shut.
Léirsinn didn’t want to know what those refreshments might entail, but as long as servants were delivering food and drink instead of chains and locks, she was happy to help Acair carry tea things over to a spot in front of the fire. She waited with him until his grandmother had arranged things to her liking, trying not to be too obvious about eyeing what foodstuffs were brought in and laid out. They didn’t look lethal, but what did she know? She was in the inner solar of a witch, and she had no means of escape save her own two feet. She didn’t think that boded well for her longevity.
“Sit,” Cruihniche commanded. “We’ll discuss your offenses after we’ve had a nibble and a sip.”
Léirsinn sat where invited and tried to look as trustworthy as possible. She had the feeling she had quite a substantial amount of her companion’s lack to make up for.
Cruihniche of Fàs—whatever title she preferred, though Léirsinn thought it best to just call her Ma’am and leave it at that—manned the teapot. Biscuits were provided, other delicate edibles placed just so, and whisky and rum were set well within reach.
Cruihniche shot Acair a steely glance. “Tea or strong drink?”
“Both, Grandmother, if you please.”
Léirsinn sat up a bit straighter and wished for boots and a cloak that weren’t so muddy when Acair’s grandmother turned that same sharp glance on her.
“And you, my wee horse miss?”
Léirsinn started to ask the woman how in the world she would know anything at all about her past, then decided it was probably best not to know. It made her uneasy to think how often she’d made that same decision over the past fortnight, but perhaps with time it would grow easier.
“Whatever suits you, my lady,” she managed.
“Harrumph,” Cruihniche said, but poured just the same. She sipped at her own strengthening concoction for a moment or two, then set it aside and looked at Acair. “Surrender the book, grandson.”
“But—”
“Now,” she insisted. “Before I rip your arms off to have it back.”
Léirsinn caught herself before she indulged in not only a look of astonishment but a hearty gasp. Acair’s mother had been rather blunt, or so it had seemed to her. She had no idea what to call his grandmother.
Acair looked horribly torn. “Words cannot possibly express the marvelous and unique nature of this tome—”
“Which is why it was in my private and quite hidden cubby,” Cruihniche said sharply, “not out in the open where any fool could pick it up and finger it. When, Acair, will you learn not to nose about in business that is not your own?”
He smiled a small, mischievous smile that should have felled every soul within a half-league radius. Léirsinn reminded herself that she continued to put up a decent defense against his charm with varying degrees of success, but that smile there was powerful stuff indeed. She had to tuck her hands under her thighs to keep from fanning herself, something she had never once in the whole of her life been tempted to do. Acair’s grandmother, however, seemed utterly unmoved by the sight.
“Reprehensible attempt,” Cruihniche said shortly.
“But, Grandmother,” Acair said smoothly, “how am I to stop myself when the prize is so—how shall we term it?”
“Unattainable?”
“I am holding on to the book,” Acair pointed out.
“Temporarily and only because I’m seeing how far out on the proverbial limb you’ll go before you realize you’ve gone too far,” she said.
“Curiosity is my worst failing,” he admitted.
Léirsinn appreciated his attempt at honesty. She didn’t think his grandmother was equally impressed, but it was, after all, Cruihniche’s solar that Acair was invading.
His grandmother grunted at him. “Curiosity is your worst failing? When there are so many contenders for that spot, that is the trait you choose? I think I have a far different opinion.” She looked at him pointedly. “Book.”
He hesitated. “Might I simply look through it another time or two? Léirsinn has been supplied with pencil and paper for the express purpose of jotting down the odd thing we might find interesting.”
Cruihniche frowned. “You don’t want the entire thing?”
“Oh, I want it,” he assured her. “I’m just trying to be polite by settling for less.”
She had another sip of her tea. “If all you wanted was a look,” she said, setting her cup down and shifting a platter bearing a cake closer to herself, “you could have just asked me.”
“I didn’t want to be a bother.” He paused. “That, and the last time I came to tea—”
“You rifled through my fine linens,” she finished. “Really, Acair, do you want to bring up the past at this particular moment?”
Léirsinn watched the exchange with fascination. Acair’s grandmother was fingering that cake knife as if she intended to do damage with it, though why the woman didn’t just reach for a spell was anyone’s guess.
“Well, you did send minions after me, Grandmother—” Acair began carefully.
“Which was far less than you deserved, and you’ve now made up my mind for me.” She set the knife down and held out her hand. “Book.”
Acair gathered it to his chest and cradled it there reverently. “One more look.”