Page 36 of Time of the Warlord (Stones of Scotland #5)

A s they traveled back to Sadie’s home, Ciaran struggled to understand anything he saw. It did not help that it all flew past so quickly. Was Sadie truly controlling this thing? It did not seem possible. Even the swiftest horse in the king’s stable only moved at a fraction of this speed. And the music it produced! Thudding and screeching like Ciaran had never heard before. Thankfully, Sadie pressed some buttons until it made the soothing noise of a harp. Strangely, though, as much as Ciaran poked about, he could see no sign of the harp itself. And he had no idea why Sadie kept laughing at him.

All in all, it was rather a relief when the music stopped and the conveyance came to a halt.

“We’re here,” Sadie said. “My parents’ house. I have to tell them what happened, and where Norah is.”

Ciaran almost choked. Her parents ? He was about to meet her parents?

“No, we can’t go in yet!” he said in a panic. “I have no gifts! And I haven’t - I need to -”

He realized that Sadie was laughing at him again.

“Are you, Ciaran, Lord of Arran, and a terrifying warlord, afraid of meeting my parents?” she asked.

Ciaran swallowed hard and attempted to find his dignity.

“This is no small thing,” he said firmly. “I would like them to think well of me.”

Sadie’s smile softened, although he detected a hint of sadness.

“After I tell them everything that’s happened, they’ll have no choice but to think well of you,” she said. “Now, come on.”

Sadie’s parents turned out to live in one house amidst a whole row of other house. Ciaran had never seen dwellings so similar to each other, and he tried not to gape. He would not want Sadie’s parents to think him simple-minded. Only then did it occur to him that he would be unable to understand them. Oh, well. Too late to turn back now.

Sadie opened the door using the most delicate key he had ever seen, then called out a greeting. Ciaran was still gazing around the hallway in amazement when he heard a woman’s voice reply and he snapped to attention.

He would have recognized this woman anywhere. She had the same thick red hair as Sadie and Norah, although hers was streaked with white. Her face was older, certainly, but still very much like her daughters. Ciaran smiled at her before he realized what he was doing, already feeling more relaxed. Sadie introduced him and said a few more words. He could not understand them, but they must have been flattering, for her mother rushed forwards and wrapped Ciaran in a hug. He patted her back a little awkwardly, not sure what to do with this smaller, older version of Sadie.

When the lady at last let go of him, she ushered him through into another room, chattering the whole time. There, Ciaran shook the hand of a tall, slender man who had Sadie’s nose. He couldn’t understand anything that anyone said, but he tried to nod enthusiastically whenever seemed appropriate. Sadie’s mother pressed a warm cup into his hands and he thanked her graciously. She giggled, reminding him even more of Sadie.

He took a sip of the liquid in the cup. It seemed to be some kind of tea with milk, although it was no leaf he knew, and it was an odd brown color. Still, it was nice enough, so he sipped a little more. The conversation still flew over his head, so he focused on the tea, sipping it until it was gone. His sword still hung at his hip, which he suspected was rude - after all, Sadie’s father was not armed. So, he unbuckled it and laid it on the table.

That attracted more attention than he’d expected. Sadie’s parents seemed fascinated by the object, and Ciaran found himself explaining a little about it while Sadie translated. Did people here not have swords? What a strange place this was.

He felt a little more at home when Sadie’s father produced a bottle of what turned out to be mead. They all toasted and drank enthusiastically. Ciaran was relieved to see that some traditions did not change. In fact, despite the language difficulties, he found himself having rather a good time. Eventually, though, he realized that Sadie’s parents were yawning and stretching. When they got up and waved to him, he guessed that they were bidding him a good night.

“What now?” he asked Sadie. “Is there some kind of guest chamber for me?”

Sadie bit her lip and stepped a little closer to him, placing her mead glass down on the table.

“I thought you might want to sleep in my room,” she said. Her eyes were seductive, but he detected a little uncertainty in her tone. She was afraid he would refuse her.

Ciaran groaned.

“Sadie, I would love to,” he said. “But I can’t! Not here, in your father’s house!”

Sadie laughed.

“This is the twenty-first century, Ciaran, and I’m a little too old to worry about my father’s approval.”

But Ciaran shook his head stubbornly.

“I have certain standards,” he insisted, trying not to think of nights beneath the stars, or hasty stolen moments in the bowels of a ship.

Sadie shrugged casually, although he thought he saw a little disappointment.

“Fine, then. You can sleep here. There are some blankets on the-” She screwed up her nose as she fumbled for the right word, and in the end she just gestured at the bed-like thing where her parents had been sitting.

“It looks perfect,” Ciaran said. In truth, it looked softer than any bed he’d ever slept on. “Good night, Sadie.”

“Good night, Ciaran,” she whispered, staring up at him. “I love you.”

She scampered from the room so quickly that Ciaran couldn’t be sure he’d heard her correctly. Should he go after her? He warred with himself.

No, let her go. There would be time enough for conversation in the morning.