If she could have listened to the talk at Gerith Keep at the same moment she’d have been bewildered. No one was looking for her there. Instead, they were grouped in one room with Geavon, making rather labored small talk. Each was almost frantic but they were waiting. They trusted Geavon, and he trusted those he had in other places. Moving too swiftly could risk everything. So they sat, ate food they did not want, making conversation they hardly heard.
Aisling was feeling sicker by the minute. If she didn’t get off this pony soon, she’d be throwing up. She felt the small beast turn, and the sounds of its hooves change. It halted. She was untied and tossed over someone’s shoulder. Then she could feel herself carried up a short flight of stairs. Aisling was dumped on a floor. It would be Ruart’s home, she thought. There was sheepskin under her hands, a fire somewhere near as she felt the heat.
Above her there was a chink of coin. Then the sound of a cork being pulled. An anticipatory mumble as wine gurgled into glasses. She could hear people drinking noisily. Probably the two who’d stolen her drinking to their success and payment. The next sounds puzzled her. A sort of choking, then a couple of muffled thumps followed by the sounds of coins again.
She was lifted to sit in a chair, the cords unwound. She steeled herself to be unsurprised by whatever she saw. It was Ruart as she’d feared. She nodded politely.
“My lord, an unconventional visit, I’m afraid.”
He leered, an aroma of wine preceding him as he leaned close. “But I don’t mind that, my sweet. I have a bedroom awaiting you.” She saw he was very drunk and despaired. Her head still swam and her stomach rebelled.
“So kind, but I do not plan to use it, my Lord Ruart.”
“But I do. Here’s a token of it.” He drew her to him, kissing her with a wet, eager mouth.
Aisling’s stomach finally revolted. She jerked her head to one side and vomited violently. As Ruart released her, she did so again. The sight and smell were too much for Ruart. He joined her and they threw up in miserable unison. From the door an urbane voice addressed the room at large.
“Not an edifying sight. But don’t worry, I’ll take her off your hands, Ruart.”
Ruart rose clumsily to his feet. “Changed my mind,” he said briefly. “Had a room made up for her. She’s staying here with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve changed my mind I told you. She’s too good for the games you play, Kirion. I’m not wasting a girl like this on a lot of chanting and spell-casting. You can have her afterward.”
Aisling had glanced about the room in intervals between her misery. Two bodies lay twisted to one side, wineglasses beside them on the floor. The two who’d stolen her, she presumed, paid off in a more permanent way than they’d expected.
It was Kirion in the doorway. His face bland but the beginnings of dangerous anger in his eyes. Ruart should be careful.
He might think himself safe in his own home, but not for long if he crossed Kirion.
She heard Ruart raise his voice. He’d moved over by the door to join her brother.
“No. That’s my word on it. You can have her once I’m tired of the girl. D’you think I paid out for weeks just to watch you draw circles on a pavement? I want her first.”
Aisling understood enough of that to turn her cold. Kirion was dabbling in real sorcery. It wasn’t anything she’d disbelieve of him, but it made her feel like a mouse between two cats. Of course lie wanted her untouched.
She felt sick again. She darted a glance about the room. No way out save past the two still arguing. She was badly cramped from the ropes and long journey. Her stomach rebelled whenever she moved, but she must try to find something to help her escape.
She was unable to reach out to the table near her without being noticed. But she knew from experience that people often dropped things down the backs of this new kind of seat. The wife to Geavon’s grandson had a set of them. Astia had asked Aisling only a few days ago to help search down the upholstered back for a lost needle. She’d found it by running the point painfully into a finger. And before that they’d also discovered two walnuts and a gaming counter.
Her fingers twisted downward, being careful not to let them see her moving., Her hand scrabbled slowly along the edges of the upholstery. Ah, no, it was only a coin. Still it might be of use in some way she thought. She moved her hand up to drop it into her boot top. Another coin and then a third.
Then her questing fingers touched something else. It was long, perhaps the length of her hand. Narrow, thin, pliable. At first she could not guess what it might be, then she managed a look down from the corner of her eye.
She knew now. Yes, that really might be of use. She might be able to sharpen it on stone if she was ever left alone. Doubled for strength it would be perhaps three or four inches in length. But hadn’t Keelan once said you could stab to the heart in less?
You could do other things with something like that, too. Hanion had taught her years ago as a kind of amusement one very cold winter when she was bored. The argument was growing more angry. She caught enough of it as it also grew louder to guess what might be the outcome.
Kirion was furious. What? Were his plans to be thwarted by the tool of his, this womanizing idiot? He was unpleasantly surprised to find they were.
Ruart was equally furious. His demands for anything he wanted hadn’t been refused since he’d risen to rule in his Keep. Now, and in his own home, mind you, this unpleasant little panderer was trying to keep the lord of his Keep from his desires.
He was angered enough to press the demand. He was afraid of Kirion—well, not actually afraid, he told himself, just wary. The man did have some kind of power. But nothing could happen to Ruart here. He had only to call and fifty servants would appear. He could have them do whatever he wished with Kirion then. He could even have him tossed into the special cell below. That thought sparked another.
His voice became quieter. “Listen, Kirion, are we to fall out over a female?” Soft talk never hurt, Ruart thought. “I can toss her in the cell downstairs. You know the one,” he said, leering. “No escape there. Then we can talk this over in comfort. I’ll throw dice against you for her if you like.”
Kirion paused in midshout to consider. It was true his sister wouldn’t be escaping from that cell.
“Very well. We could gamble for her, as you say, my dear Ruart.” My dear Fathead, his mind added. Something in your wine and you can sleep away a day and night. I’ll be long gone with her. You’ll get over it the next time you need me to persuade someone around to your way of thinking. Aloud, he added,
“I’ll come down with you. Two will manage her more easily in case she tries to escape.” Or in case you try anything, either, he added silently.
Aisling was dragged down stairs, stairs, and yet more stairs. She allowed herself to go almost limp, letting her feet stumble convincingly. The men were half carrying her and panting at the exertion. But with her head bent she was able to scan the levels she passed.
Like some old Keeps, half of this one was underground. Three floors, she estimated. The lowest would be where siege supplies were stored. The wine racks would be here, and any dungeons. Here, too, would be at least one secret escape route.
She had time for a quick look through a window slit as they dragged her from the original room. It was early afternoon. She calculated swiftly. She’d been taken soon after her morning meal, which she’d had quite early. She didn’t think she’d been unconscious long on the pony. Nor had Ruart and Kirion been fighting over her for much time—although it had seemed hours.
So Ruart’s Keep couldn’t be more than three or four hours’ walk away from where she’d been taken. She knew the direction, too; on one of his visits, Ruart had gone on about his Keep. How convenient the location, just to the northeast of Kars. Gerith Keep was also northeast of Kars. If she managed to escape, she’d know which way to go.