Page 44 of Blood & Claw

“There has been talk about common folk dabbling in earth magic.” Dale continued to whittle the piece of wood. His hands were long-fingered and strong. “Only druids are permitted to channel it. … but in my travels, I’ve heard whispers of people who break the rules. Has your mentor?”

Ailsa started to sweat. His words were uncanny. There was something in his tone that made her instincts stir. Did he suspect that her mentor carried out illegal jobs?

What does it matter if he does?

The man was a mercenary, not one of the king’s spies.

Nonetheless, his pointed question made her already fast pulse spike. She didn’t like, let alone trust, this man. For all she knew, he was planning to blackmail Kayla once he helped rescue her.

His silence for more silver.

Her chest tightened. Maybe she should have thought more carefully before hiring him. “As you said, the use of earth magic by common folk is forbidden.” she replied, choosing her words carefully now. “Kayla would be stupid to take such a risk.”

His gaze narrowed. “Interesting … but you haven’t answered my question.”

No, she thought. And I won’t.

Her gut told her to keep Kayla’s secret close, and so she would.

Silence fell once more—not companionable but heavy. Eventually, it got to Ailsa. She desperately needed to distract herself. “What are you whittling?”

Dale glanced up. “A cat. Nearly finished.”

“Can I see?”

He hesitated, as if embarrassed, then handed over the small carving.

Ailsa turned it in the firelight. “Impressive,” she murmured—and meant it. As an artist, she knew talent when she saw it. The lines were clean, the muscles well shaped. “Though it doesn’t look like any cat I’ve seen. More like a clag-doo.”

She’d never seen one herself—few people survived encounters with the feline predators—but the massive jaws and heavy ruff were unmistakable from the drawings she’d studied.

Dale snorted. “It’s a cat.” He held out his hand. “Give it here.”

Heat rushed to Ailsa’s cheeks. “I wasn’t criticizing.”

He pulled a face and tucked the figurine away.

Ailsa was about to say something more, to point out ways he could make his carving more cat-like, when she caught a flurry of movement.

The willows rustled behind Dale.

The flash of an iron blade. The blur of black leather.

And then a figure burst from the darkness.

Ailsa recoiled, a cry ripping from her throat.

12: BLOOD IN THE FIRELIGHT

AILSA’S WARNING CAME just in time, although only Dale’s quick reflexes saved his life. He jerked sideways, just as the blade whistled over his shoulder.

Ailsa moved too, scrambling up and whipping out her knife from the back of her boot. Gripping it tightly, she backed up, while Dale’s attacker went for him again.

He was around Dale’s own age, no older than thirty winters. Lean and leather-clad, his dark hair shaved close against his scalp, he moved fast. But, luckily for him, Dale was nimble for such a tall, muscular man.

He rolled to his feet, grasping his whittling knife in one hand and drawing the long-bladed dagger at his hip with the other. Dropping into a fighting stance, he faced off against his adversary.

Ailsa tracked every movement as they began to fight. Her heart thumped like a fist against her breastbone. Where had this man come from?