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Sion surges to his feet and holds out a hand to pull me up. “Let’s meet with the good man, and you give that a go.”

Chapter 18

The Fire

“Hold up.” I study the earl as he gazes at the moon. I don’t see a soul in turmoil. “Catch me up. What have you said before to try to convince him to let go of the need for recognition?”

“What haven’t I said? I’ve fought with the man. Laid out the pros and cons. Tried to scare the stuffing out of him by painting a grim picture of eternal misery.” Sion waves a dismissive hand at the telescope. “For a stretch of fifty years, I squandered all my time on him alone and there he stands, the stubborn bugger.”

“He’s a dreamer.”

“Eh?”

“A dreamer.” I gently take hold of Sion’s chin and tilt it toward the stars. “A universe of answers waits up there. He’s asking the questions.”

Sion presses his lips together so tightly they nearly disappear. “And I’ve been bullying him to reclaim his virtue.”

“Be gentle with him. The same way you just brought me through the Veil.”

Moonlight catches a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t be expecting me to kiss the man.” His full lips meet mine in a soft peck.

Through puddles and patches of mud, we cross the grass to the base of a gigantic ladder. Sion’s limp makes the slushy ground hard for him to navigate. I mentally calculate. We’re in Victorian times, American Civil War times. After the date he’d been shot.

He tucks the metal piece in a pocket and starts to climb.

My muscles lock before I set foot on the lowest rung. “I can’t.”

“Tuck up your skirt.” He resumes his climb but stops, shoulders drooping.

Tendrils of his disappointment writhe through the air and stab me like knife points. “I’m sorry.”

He speaks through clenched teeth without turning. “Eala, I need you up there with me. If I misstep again, it could cost us a Celtic day. If I start to go rough on him, pinch me.”

The world spins at the mere thought of climbing to the top of the Leviathan. Suddenly, arms lock around me.

Sionnach flings me over his shoulder, and in seconds we’re climbing. “Close your eyes. I won’t drop you.”

Damn, he’s strong. Fear pounds in my chest as I wonder about his climbing stability with the limp. I feel muscles bulge in the arm around me as he goes higher. I cling to him as best I can without hampering his movements while I press my face into the back of his coat between those broad shoulders.

We reach a platform at the top of the stairs, and he sets me on my feet to climb the final few steep steps to the high walkway where the earl stands. I thread my arm through his, knowing I’ll need an anchor once my mind registers the truth of how high we are. The heady sense of dread never comes. Sion’s touch, his nearness, keeps my fear at bay.

The figure sharing the wooden span with us wheels in our direction. The Earl of Rosse stands before us, his head of lumpy curls cocked to one side. “Ho there.”

Sionnach sticks out a hand to the earl. “Sion Loho, sir. We’ve met before.” He tactfully leaves out the number and nature of their encounters.

The baffled earl takes Sion’s hand and then nods to his uniform. “You are not in my employ.”

“No, but I’ve brought a thing for you.” Sion offers the piece of mirror to the earl.

The man recoils as if he’s been shown a rattlesnake. “Who are you to mock me with reminders of my inadequacy?”

Sionnach stiffens. “I’m no bog trotter, man. This is to help you move on.”

Given his snippy tone, I pinch him as he requested and take over. “I promise, that’s not what he’s trying to do, sir,” I say, drawing a startled look from the earl.

Sionnach steps aside with a half-bow and sweeps his hand in my direction. “May I present my companion, Miss Eala Duir, from America.”

“William Parsons at your service, miss.”