The Knight of Slaughtaverty

Chapter 35 - Excuse me, what?

"Keen, could ye not be a shitehawk for five minutes?" Billy grumbles, and the scary grin slips from the stranger's lips. In its place, a playful smirk appears.

"Yes, I could," he tells Billy, and he seems to be seriously considering the question. "I wasn't a... shite... hawk... between midnight and 4am this morning."

"Naw, ladd," Billy chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm not convinced that ye stop bein' one when ye're asleep."

"Probably not," the newcomer grins, turning his unsettling eyes on me again. "How do they stand having you in the manor with them?" he asks me, breathing in deeply, his eyes shining seductively. I might be wrong, but I think he is smelling me.

"I'm a vegetarian, but the fragrance of your blood is making me drool."

"Excuse me?" I gasp, shrinking away from his closeness, turning my head to look at Billy for help, but he doesn't appear to be concerned; he is chuckling and shaking his head.

"Yer a what now?" he grunts, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, in comparison to the others, I'm one," the stranger says, straightening up and taking a step back to allow me some room to breathe. His eyes suddenly lose their intensity as if he flipped a switch in his head; smiling benignly, he holds a hand out to me in greeting. "I'm Cianán."

The name rings a bell. I think Moira mentioned him. Yes!

Me fella often drives me off me nut with all the bleedin' shite he gets up to with those plonkers, Billy, Cianán and Ransford Slatherty.

"Pleased to meet you, Keenon," I say, taking his hand and hastily releasing it again when goosebumps break out all over my skin at the contact. I take my glass from the countertop in an effort to appear calm and normal when he gives me an almost sympathetic, knowing grin.

He definitely felt it too.

"You're a S-Slatherty?" I try to confirm based on what Billy said earlier. I don't really need him to respond to that inane question since it is obvious just from looking at him - he has all the classic Slatherty features - but apparently, Cianán has no problem with answering any questions I might have. I don't even need to ask them.

"Yes, I suppose I am a Slatherty. At least according to the family tree... I was certainly registered as one. My mother never married my father, though," he shrugs.

Oh! So he is a half-brother?!

"Yes, I'm a bastard," he chuckles, though the word never even entered my mind. "My mother, bless her heart, couldn't be bothered with honour and love and all that tripe. That was a direct quote," he assures me. "More or less. She simply wanted to give the lord of the manor some much-needed comfort in his time of deep sorrow - also her words. That was very warm-hearted of her, wasn't it?" he scoffs, clearly not thinking her motivation was remotely pure or selfless.

I get the feeling that I shouldn't take anything this man says seriously, but his mocking smirk seems to hold some hidden pain. Perhaps he wasn't welcomed into the Slatherty family.

I hope that is not the case.

"All she wanted was a couple of nights of bliss in the arms of Mr. Stoic. Those were her words, by the way, and let me tell you, I really enjoyed hearing them." His face says he definitely did not. I'm sure Cianán heard many things from his mother that he didn't enjoy hearing. The thought saddens me.

"She certainly didn't plan to have a son that would make her old before she's old. Especially since she intended to give old age the finger by dying young," he grins, seemingly enjoying the knowledge that he at least got back at her a little bit.