The White Spell by Lynn Kurland Page B

of men sitting at a table, already hard at their evening’s labors. She had to admit that for as brutal as he’d been to those men who had wished her ill, he was utterly charming to those gamblers he was soon sitting down to join. If she’d been at that table and he’d asked her to hand over all her green ducks, she would have done so just to have him flash that smile of his at her—
    She put her hand to her forehead and suppressed the urge to place it there repeatedly and with vigor. Obviously too much intrigue at the barn had left her considering things she never would have if she’d been in her right mind. She had a hefty swig of ale and hoped it would not only settle her stomach but clear her head.
    It took three generous sips before she began to feel any more like herself. She kept hold of that cold pewter mug and watched Acair with a newfound detachment. He labored in her uncle’s barn and he was spotting her coin for supper. He was no more interesting than that.
    He waited until the game had ended and a new one was in the offing before he showed his companions a coin they seemed to find to their liking—a Nerochian half-sovereign, whatever that was. He joked affably with them as they set to their labors. She shook her head. He looked harmless enough, but she couldn’t let go of the thought that he just wasn’t at all what he seemed.
    Why would a man that handsome find himself mucking out stalls to feed himself? If his sire had so many sons, then why—
    She stopped herself before she wasted the effort to finish that thought. If his sire had so many sons, perhaps he hadn’t been able to provide for them all properly. For all she knew, Acair, being the youngest, had been at the tail-end of the line when it came to an inheritance and found himself with absolutely nothing to his name but a handsome face and some skill with cards.
    Or perhaps no skill with cards. She watched him and felt a bit of alarm sweep though her over the way he was frowning, as if he hadn’t a clue what he was doing. The truth was, he was losing badly. He scratched his head, made a few noises of dismay, and looked at his cards as if he’d never seen anything like them before. One of the men at the table made a rather vile jest at Acair’s expense. Acair only laughed in a good-natured fashion, then set to another bit of looking at his cards with an expression of utter bafflement.
    And then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t losing any longer.
    He won several hands in a row, gathering to himself a respectable pile of coins. The others fought valiantly, but in the end, the rest of the table threw in their hands in disgust.
    â€œYou cheat,” a man said, rising and pointing a finger at Acair. His face was mottled red. “You’re a bloody cheat!”
    Acair looked up at him coolly. “If you’re going to call a man a cheat, friend, you’d best have damned good proof of it, don’t you think?”
    â€œRalf, he bested you fairly,” one of the other men said with a sigh. He looked at Acair. “He does this to everyone. Can’t say I’m happy about losing my gold for supper, but I watched you closely enough. I saw nothing foul.”
    Acair rose. “And with that, my good man, supper and ale for the three of you is yours. Your friend can go drink out of the horse trough.”
    The man seemed to find that a reasonably acceptable outcome and gathered up his companions to go find the innkeeper. Léirsinn glanced at them, then looked back at the possessor of many more coins than he’d started the evening with. He sat down at the table, apparently not needing to go stand at the bar and wait for someone to take his supper order. A barmaid was immediately at his side, breathlessly inquiring about his desires. Unsurprising, but Léirsinn wasn’t about to argue. Acair might have been a rogue and a gambler, but he was generous with his funds. He ordered