Blane scolded Izzy. “I doona know where you’ve come from, lass. But here in Dunvarghan Castle they are family and are ne’er to be called a thing!”
Izzy rolled her eyes and sulked in her chair.
Blane took a quick inhale through his nose, breathing it out slowly, trying to maintain control. “Izzy,” he said coolly, gesturing toward Fergus ’ body jerking violently, “will calm yer man down, so Leigheas can remove the venom?”
Izzy scowled, her lower lip pouting – she always did that when she felt gypped –her body tightened up a bit. Her fists clenched, her arms tugging at the vines, testing the heather’s grip. Finally her shoulders sagged, and she murmured, “Yeah.”
Blane gave another signal to the heather pixies, slowly releasing and unraveling Izzy’s bonds.
Izzy rushed to Fergus’s side, a different look on her face, a worried one that I had never seen before. She knelt beside him, wiping away the drool from his mouth. “Fergus!” she sobbed, “look at me!” Stroking his cheek with the back of her hand, “Remember what you said to me in the cave? ‘ Tis easier to run, harder to stay and fight?’ Well, you better not be running now, Fergus! You better fight, Fergus, fight!”
Fergus’s eyes skidded to Blane, his nostrils flapping as he breathed heavily, in and out in labored breaths, his body still trembling nonstop from the pain.
Izzy pursed her lips to the side, angling her head back at Blane. “Seems like he doesn’t like you either,” she commented snidely.
I caressed Blane’s arm again, tugging at it softly. “We’ll go into the library while you do your work.” I mentioned to Leigheas, guiding Blane away, her arms glowing with a golden energy, a hot white light beaming out of her hands and into Fergus, her gummy mouth opened wide, clamping down hard on Fergus’s neck, sucking out the poisonous green venom.
Blane and I entered the library, lined with mahogany bookcases and four gold framed paintings, a roaring fire warmed the room, flickering soft light off Blane’s face, the agonizing screams echoing from the Great Hall soon trailed off as I closed the door, leaving us alone.
Blane didn’t look at me. He crossed the room to an ancient mahogany serving bar, straight for a crystal canister filled with single malt whiskey next to the roaring fireplace.
“There is hope for the lad,” he nervously, his muscles tensed pouring the amber liquid into a beveled glass, shooting the spirit down in one gulp.
I felt as if he was hiding something from me, his body was stiff. I clasped my fingers together, strolling around the room. I wasn’t going to let it affect me, so I continued on with the conversation. “He’s a very determined man.”
“Aye,” pouring more whiskey into his glass, “that he is.”
His powerful back rippled in the fire’s light, unyielding, hiding his face from me. Now, I knew he was concealing something, but what? I strolled over to the paintings, hanging pristinely on the walls, studying them, trying to figure out who this man was that kept on rescuing me and yet not allowing me to know him at all.
“I wanted to thank you for your help,” I said, observing the first painting of a man with a long crooked nose, pointy yellow teeth, an iron pike clutched in his rangy hands, a bloodied cap dripping down his frail frame. A small golden plate at the bottom of the painting read: Bloody Baron. I winced at the portrait and continued. “For everything you’ve done so far for me.”
I glanced back at Blane, still avoiding me, his palms pressed firmly on the table, tensing his sinewy shoulders. I moved onto the next portrait, a dense grove, ranged with sprouting oak trees, lush and green with vibrant vegetation, squinting hard I could see faces in the trees, and in its center , tumor-like features imprinted into the bark of the largest tree. The gold plate at its base read: Ghillie Dhu.
I stepped back, staring at Blane, his hand rubbing the back of his
Izzy rolled her eyes and sulked in her chair.
Blane took a quick inhale through his nose, breathing it out slowly, trying to maintain control. “Izzy,” he said coolly, gesturing toward Fergus ’ body jerking violently, “will calm yer man down, so Leigheas can remove the venom?”
Izzy scowled, her lower lip pouting – she always did that when she felt gypped –her body tightened up a bit. Her fists clenched, her arms tugging at the vines, testing the heather’s grip. Finally her shoulders sagged, and she murmured, “Yeah.”
Blane gave another signal to the heather pixies, slowly releasing and unraveling Izzy’s bonds.
Izzy rushed to Fergus’s side, a different look on her face, a worried one that I had never seen before. She knelt beside him, wiping away the drool from his mouth. “Fergus!” she sobbed, “look at me!” Stroking his cheek with the back of her hand, “Remember what you said to me in the cave? ‘ Tis easier to run, harder to stay and fight?’ Well, you better not be running now, Fergus! You better fight, Fergus, fight!”
Fergus’s eyes skidded to Blane, his nostrils flapping as he breathed heavily, in and out in labored breaths, his body still trembling nonstop from the pain.
Izzy pursed her lips to the side, angling her head back at Blane. “Seems like he doesn’t like you either,” she commented snidely.
I caressed Blane’s arm again, tugging at it softly. “We’ll go into the library while you do your work.” I mentioned to Leigheas, guiding Blane away, her arms glowing with a golden energy, a hot white light beaming out of her hands and into Fergus, her gummy mouth opened wide, clamping down hard on Fergus’s neck, sucking out the poisonous green venom.
Blane and I entered the library, lined with mahogany bookcases and four gold framed paintings, a roaring fire warmed the room, flickering soft light off Blane’s face, the agonizing screams echoing from the Great Hall soon trailed off as I closed the door, leaving us alone.
Blane didn’t look at me. He crossed the room to an ancient mahogany serving bar, straight for a crystal canister filled with single malt whiskey next to the roaring fireplace.
“There is hope for the lad,” he nervously, his muscles tensed pouring the amber liquid into a beveled glass, shooting the spirit down in one gulp.
I felt as if he was hiding something from me, his body was stiff. I clasped my fingers together, strolling around the room. I wasn’t going to let it affect me, so I continued on with the conversation. “He’s a very determined man.”
“Aye,” pouring more whiskey into his glass, “that he is.”
His powerful back rippled in the fire’s light, unyielding, hiding his face from me. Now, I knew he was concealing something, but what? I strolled over to the paintings, hanging pristinely on the walls, studying them, trying to figure out who this man was that kept on rescuing me and yet not allowing me to know him at all.
“I wanted to thank you for your help,” I said, observing the first painting of a man with a long crooked nose, pointy yellow teeth, an iron pike clutched in his rangy hands, a bloodied cap dripping down his frail frame. A small golden plate at the bottom of the painting read: Bloody Baron. I winced at the portrait and continued. “For everything you’ve done so far for me.”
I glanced back at Blane, still avoiding me, his palms pressed firmly on the table, tensing his sinewy shoulders. I moved onto the next portrait, a dense grove, ranged with sprouting oak trees, lush and green with vibrant vegetation, squinting hard I could see faces in the trees, and in its center , tumor-like features imprinted into the bark of the largest tree. The gold plate at its base read: Ghillie Dhu.
I stepped back, staring at Blane, his hand rubbing the back of his
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