Fiction at Courage, my friend

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Winter Rain, part 75

I limp silently down the hallway, behind him—in the opposite direction from which he came.  Back toward the main entrance, unless I’ve gotten completely turned around.  Is he throwing me out?  He has to be throwing me out.

But if he’s letting Brennan stay . . . .

He stops abruptly at a heavy, oaken door—almost back to the hallway we came in by—opens it, and steps through. 

“Close it behind you, please,” he says, his voice trailing off as he disappears inside.  The smell of peat smoke and leather wafts out to me as I struggle to catch up.  Despite myself, I breathe it in, and feel myself almost float back into its warm, comforting softness.

The room is deeply familiar, in that way only a Den can be.  Dark wood; leather furniture; thick, woolen rugs; low lights.  But it is far more than any Den I’ve ever been in.  The ceiling is vaulted, built of grey stone, rising from stone columns around the room to several points above.  It is awesomely imposing, like a cave—like a cathedral.  The red glow from the embers on the hearth plays silently against it, casting flicker and shadow in dancing waves, as Torrin stirs at them with a poker.

And the room screams money, from the beautiful stained-glass lamp on the ornately-carved wooden desk, to the bookshelves along the walls, themselves clearly antiques, and housing what can only be a collection of first editions, some even leather-bound. 

I glance down at my bloodied leg and tattered pants, and stop at the door, afraid to enter—afraid I might drip blood on the hand-woven rug.  Afraid my very presence will somehow sully the place.

But he gave me an order.  Even if he was kind enough to say “please”.

I step in, and push the door closed behind.

“Sit down, Tiergan,” he says, and waves me toward an expensive-looking club chair, just behind him—across from a second.  He places another peat brick on the fire, as I carefully cross the room, then turns to the chair opposite.  I ease myself down into the seat, trying to avoid getting any blood from the bandage on the leather.

“I know you have to throw me out, Sir,” I begin, but he cuts me off with a raise of his hand.

“Tiergan, could you please stop telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with you?  It’s getting really annoying.”

Oh.

“Sorry, Sir,” I reply, and drop my gaze.  Silence fills in around us—but for the soft hiss and crackle of the fire—and the throbbing in my leg starts to count the time.  Throb.  Throb.  Throb.  Throb.

I chance to look up again, and find him studying me.

He motions at me with his chin.  “How bad’s the leg?  The truth, this time.”

I smile, weakly, and exhale, then shake my head.  “It’ll heal.”

“That’s not what I asked, Tiergan.”

“What do you want me to say, Sir?” I plead.  “It was my fault . . . .  It’s my problem.”

“Yes, indeed,” he says, nodding judiciously.

“Yes, indeed.  That’s been a consistent theme with you, today, hasn’t it?  And, I’ve got to say—it’s confusing me.  You clearly know how you should act, here, and you clearly aren’t acting that way.  And now you and Garvey have been hurt.  And your cousin is livid—I’m pretty sure he wants to kill both you and me—though I can’t guess why.  And then there’s Keely—poor girl—she has tried her best to vouch for you to me, but it’s clear even she’s having doubts.

“And now Eoin’s lying to me about you.

I startle at his words.

“Yes, I did notice that.  And I don’t understand it.  Eoin doesn’t have a high opinion of any of our kind, and here he is lying to me to cover for you.  He’s never done that before.

“I know something happened between the two of you—or between him and your cousin.  He was as white as a sheet when he came in to dinner—just after Brennan stormed in.  He tried to shrug it off, but I know what fear smells like on him, and he was terrified.  And, to be clear, Tiergan?  My friends?  Terrified?  Does not make me happy.

“No, you’re all lying to me.  Hell—even Garvey’s lying to me, trying to pretend he isn’t hurt.  And I’ve had enough of it.”

“I’ve had enough of it, Tiergan.  Do you understand me?

“So, now, unless you want to make an enemy of me, Tiergan, start talking.

“And, for your sake, it had better be the truth.”