Elspeth took another drink of ale. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Kerr. If I do write about the flaming sword, I’ll be sure to keep your and your brother’s name out of the story.”
“I’d appreciate that, miss, thank ye.” Mr. Kerr got to his feet.
Tavish stood and offered her his hand. Elspeth ignored his gesture and rose unaided. She smiled warmly at Mr. Kerr, who went to fetch her cloak. She walked to the door, where he draped it about her shoulders.
Elspeth fastened the clasp at her throat, then walked outside. She did not wait for Tavish, but strode to the lane, where she turned toward the inn.
Tavish caught up to her on her left. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming here.”
“You already said that. You really came here because you thought you could help Mr. Kerr’s brother?”
“I did.”
She kept walking, her pace increasing. “Except Mr. Kerr exposed your other purpose—the sword.” She stopped abruptly and turned to glare at him. “You know I wanted to learn more about the sword.”
“Yes.” His tone was annoyingly calm. “I would have shared what I learned with you.”
Elspeth looked up into his eyes. “Would you? I would like to believe that, but so far, you’ve given me little reason to trust you. Change my mind, or our acquaintance ends right now.”
Chapter Four
Miss Marshall’s dark green eyes gleamed with indignation. Tavish was captivated.
“You’re quite beautiful when you’re angry.”
Her lips parted, and Tavish fell even more under her spell. Then she grunted and turned.
He clasped her arm and shook himself out of his idiocy. “My apologies. I’m not at all used to feeling…drawn to someone.” He didn’t know how else to describe it. No one had ever gotten under his skin the way Miss Marshall had.
“Will you let me explain?”
She pulled her arm from his grasp and pivoted to face him once more. “I told you to change my mind. Do it quickly.”
“The flaming sword—Lann Dhearg—is a dark tool. There’s a reason it was hidden while its twin, Dryrnwyn, was not. Dyrnwyn flames for the worthy. Lann Dhearg feeds on fear and strife. Anyone can wield it in the presence of hatred, of darkness, of despair.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “How do you know all this?”
He exhaled. It was time—past time—to tell her the truth. “Because it belongs to me.”
She gasped, her eyes widening.
He offered her his arm. “Let us walk, please.”
She curled her hand around his sleeve, and they made their way along the slushy ground. The snow had melted somewhat, but the clouds had also thickened once more, indicating it might snow again.
“It belongs to you?”
“I should probably tell you the one name I haven’t yet revealed.” He tensed. “I am the Lord Strathclyde.”
She stopped once more and tried to take her hand from his arm, but he covered it with his and held her fast. “Strathclyde?!”
“Stay with me, please.” He kept walking, pulling her along with him. “Yes, Strathclyde. And to answer what you surely must be thinking, yes, I’m a descendant of Rhydderch Hael. More importantly, I’m a direct descendant of his younger brother, Constantine. Lann Dhearg was his sword. Once he learned how dangerous it could be, that it would flame for anyone and grow even more powerful through hatred and anger, he hid it away. Our family has done so for centuries.”
“That’s why no one has heard of it,” she breathed.
He could hear the fascination in her tone, the curiosity. “And why no one ever will. I foolishly took the damn thing to Culloden.”
“Why would you do that?” The disappointment in her voice matched his own. No, nothing could do that. He was positively livid with himself.
“Because I thought I could control it. I don’t feel angry or afraid when I hold it—because I am supposed to wield it.”
“You are?”
“Anyone from my line—my father, my son.”
This time, she took her hand from his arm so quickly, he wasn’t able to keep hold of her. “You have a son?” She turned and glared up at him.
“No! I meant a future son. I have told you everything—I have no children, no wife, no family at all, save my grandmother.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because I won’t lie to you ever again. About anything.”
She pulled her gaze from his and stared off to the right, her jaw working. He could practically see the anguish in her brain and loathed himself for it. Just as he’d stupidly thought Lann Dhearg would make him invincible in battle, he somehow believed he could keep her from knowing about it. About the sword or about his idiocy?
She glanced toward him. “I don’t know if I should trust you. You deceived me—on more than one occasion. On every occasion.”
“Never again.” He took her hand. “I swear it.”
“You’re a bloody lord. You should have honor to spare.”
Her words stung, as they should. “I try to. I’m afraid I allowed my mistake and the ensuing humiliation I feel because of it to drive my actions.” He took a deep breath as he tried to think of how to say what else needed to be said. “I was also concerned about sharing the details with someone like you.”
“What does that mean, someone like me?”
“A born storyteller. You want to share the story of Lann Dhearg—it’s a completely unknown legend.”
“It isn’t a legend, apparently,” she said with disdain. “It’s history.”
“For my family, but not for everyone else.” He frowned. “This is why I didn’t tell you. You want to share the story.”
“Then why tell me—and David—about Lann Dhearg at all two years ago?”
“Because I was smitten.” Afterward, he’d berated himself for revealing his family’s secret legacy. “I shouldn’t have shared it, but I was trying to impress you.”
She blew out a breath and looked away for a moment before pinning him with an earnest stare. “Yes, I want to tell the story. It proves Dyrnwyn—and perhaps the rest of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain—are real.”
“And then countless numbers will search for it just as they do for Dyrnwyn and the rest of the treasures. As they do for Excalibur. Or the holy grail.” He stepped toward her so that they were close enough to…kiss. “Do you know the lengths men will go to in order to find and own such objects? There is a secret organization full of dangerous men who spend their lives trying to hunt them down.” He stared at her. “Let me ask you something, and please be as honest as possible—I won’t think less of you.” Certainly no less than he thought of his own behavior. “Do you want to tell the story because you think it’s important for people to know, or because it will gain you notoriety for learning it?”
Her eyes widened slightly and her brows rose. She looked away from him, pulling her cloak more tightly around herself as the wind picked up.
“We should get back to the inn,” he said softly.