Free Heir of Danger by Alix Rickloff Page A

upon anyone stupid enough to trust him? Was he a walking lightning rod? Get too close and suffer the consequences?
    In an effort to safeguard their father’s diary, his brother Aidan had almost died in a one-on-one battle with a conjured killer. Jack—another victim of Máelodor’s obsession—saved only through his not-quite-of-this-world good fortune. The merest chance placing Brendan on that particular road that night. The craziest luck turning that blade from any vital organ. Could Jack be so insanely fortunate a second time?
    Could any of them? Or would Brendan carry the burden of their deaths on top of his father’s? On top of Freddie’s? On top of the mountain of sins already weighting him down?
    His eyes flicked once more to Jack’s drink. It had been years since he’d felt such unbearable need.
    Pushing away from the table, he shrugged into his coat. Pulled on his gloves. Gods, he’d forgotten how damned uncomfortable Ireland was.
    “I need you to head to Knockniry. Find Daz Ahern. He’s holding something for me. A ring. He’ll know why I need it. Meet me back in Dublin. At Macklins on Cutpurse Row.”
    “So you still intend on going through with this madscheme? The
Amhas-draoi
seem the kill-first, ask-questions-later type. You show up among them, and they’re liable to separate your head from your shoulders without pausing for breath.”
    “Which is why I’m going directly to Scathach with the Sh’vad Tual. With luck, she’ll at least listen before she decides my fate.” That was his hope anyway. The head of the
Amhas-draoi
was known to be just. She was also known to wrench out innards with a barbed sword but he conveniently put that aspect of her nature out of his mind.
    “What will you do with Miss Fitzgerald?”
    Brendan plowed a hand through his hair. “Hell if I know. She’s never been exactly biddable at the best of times.” He gave a resigned shrug. “No doubt something will occur to me.”
    “I can think of a few things,” was Jack’s cheeky answer. His normal roguish tendencies never far from the surface, even in the most hopeless of situations. “Here. You might need this.” Jack pulled a pouch from his jacket pocket. “I won it off a lieutenant whose head for drink far exceeded his head for cards. Once he wakes from his stupor, he’ll be a poorer but wiser soul.”
    Brendan scooped up the coins. He’d lived better in the past year than in the previous six thanks to Jack’s skills at the card table. “Has anyone ever told you you’re incurable?”
    “My mother. Frequently. I’m sure she attributes my tragic killing to that very trait.”
    “Which brings me to my second errand.”
    “Aye,
mon capitaine
?”
    He’d been trying to do this for weeks. Now was the time. “Once you’ve met me back in Dublin, I want you to go home.”
    “As in
turn up alive
?” He spread his hands. “Ta-da! And claim the stories of my demise were a tad premature? We’ve had this conversation before.”
    “Aye, we have. And until now I’ve allowed you to persuade me that your playing a corpse works to our advantage. But no longer. Let’s call it even. I saved your life last spring. You saved mine this winter. We’re square.”
    The amusement faded from Jack’s eyes. “Máelodor has the diary and the tapestry, Brendan. If he captures you while you carry the stone . . .”
    “I’ll worry about that if and when it happens.”
    He’d grown adept at locking his fear away. He’d been on the run for seven years. The race to survive driving him deeper into the shadows as he fought to stay one step ahead of vengeance from both justice-seeking
Amhas-draoi
and Máelodor’s bounty-driven assassins. If he was successful, that ever-present hand on his shoulder would lift. That nightmare would finally be over. If he failed . . . He forced his mind from that thought. He would not fail.
    “My showing up alive will only fuel questions about you,” Jack said. “They’ll want to know where