Naamah's Kiss
Page 8

"I'm fine," I managed.
She gave me a hurt look. "Ah, now! Would you begrudge me the pleasure?"
"Ahhh….. no?"
"Right you are." Aislinn gave another smart tug on my hands. "Come along, then."
I went with her, casting a helpless glance over my shoulder. Cillian shrugged, equally helpless.
To my eyes, Aislinn's bedchamber was a small, cramped space. The moment she closed the door behind us, I felt stifled and confined. The room had one window and I hovered close to it, breathing fresh air in anxious gulps while she pulled gowns from a chest, holding them up and examining them.
"This ought to suit," she said of a gown of fine-combed green wool. "It will set off your eyes." She glanced up at me. "Are you all right?"
"Aye," I said weakly."'Tis my first time indoors."
Her eyes widened. "Ever?"
I eyed the closed door. "Aye."
Cillian's sister was a quick study. She followed my gaze and hurried to open the door. "Better?"
Something in my chest eased. "Thank you, yes."
"Right, then." She stood in the doorway with her back to me. "I'll stand sentry duty, shall I? You try on that gown."
The gown fit nicely, only a little loose. I smoothed it with both hands, feeling the fineness of the weave, and glanced down at myself to admire the way the fabric clung to my body. Aislinn turned around to regard me with approval.
"Let's do something with your hair, shall we?" Without waiting for my reply, she pointed at a chair. "Sit."
I sat.
When I was little, my mother would comb the tangles from my hair, but it was a painful process and we'd never had a brush. This felt good. I relaxed with pleasure as Aislinn ran the brush through my hair.
She laughed at my expression. "I've a cat that gets that very look when she's being petted."
"Mmm." I noticed that when she smiled, Aislinn had the same dimples that her brother did. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Mayhap the thought showed in my face, because she cleared her throat and put down the brush with alacrity, moving behind me.
"I'll just put it in a simple braid."
It didn't feel simple when it was done, braided and coiled and pinned into place. Aislinn picked up a silvery object and handed it to me.
"See how you like it," she said.
The object was a mirror.
I'd never seen a true reflection of my own face before. I studied it. With my hair coiled neatly, it was easy to see. There was the stamp of my mother's blood in the angle of my cheekbones, the shape of my chin. But it was all different, too. And I did have very green eyes.
"Do you like it?" Aislinn asked.
I touched my hair. "Oh, yes. It's lovely."
"Good." She busied herself with finding a pair of velvet slippers that matched the gown. They were narrow and pinched my toes, but I suffered it, reluctant to deny Cillian's sister the pleasure it gave her. Aislinn clapped her hands together. "Perfect!"
When we returned to the main hall, Cillian gaped at me. "Moirin?"
"One and the same," I agreed.
Unexpectedly, he offered me a courtly bow. "And the very picture of beauty thus adorned. Come, will you see the Academy?"
It was large enough to house over a dozen scholars. The students were just settling in to an early supper in the dining hall—young men and a few women, sons and daughters of nearby estates. I recognized several of the young men from the game in the field. While their regard was still avid and curious, this time it was more circumspect. It occurred to me, trying not to hobble in my too-tight slippers, that attire was another form of concealment.
Cillian showed me the library, the pride of the Academy. Running my fingers over the spines of countless volumes, peering at the enticing scrolls in their cubbyholes, I could almost imagine myself studying here. Then he showed me the quarters where the women lodged.
I shuddered.
It was a long, windowless room with a row of narrow beds in it. Just looking at it made me feel trapped and frantic.
"Ah, no," I said feebly. "I think not."
Cillian pulled me away. "You wouldn't have to stay here if we wed," he said in a cunning tone. "We'd stay in the great hall, you and I."
Somehow, I doubted his chamber was any larger than his sister's. "I'll think on it."
"Do."
And then we returned to the hall of Innisclan for our own supper.
Although it seemed very fine to me at the time, I know now that it was a modest affair with only immediate family in attendance. None of the others I'd encountered atop the ridge long ago were present. Only Lord Tiernan and his wife, Caitlin. Aislinn. Cillian.
Me.
When the first course of leek soup was served, I picked up my bowl without thinking and set my lips to the rim. They stared at me in horror. Lady Caitlin actually blanched.
"Like this," Aislinn said gently, demonstrating with her spoon.
"Oh," I murmured, feeling foolish. I wasn't ignorant, I knew what a spoon was. I had a very nice one carved out of horn somewhere. It was just that we did without when it was easier, which was most of the time.
After that, I watched and learned. To be truthful, there were some implements with which I was unfamiliar. This utensil went in that hand One did not eat until all the table had been served and Lord Tiernan ate the first bite and nodded, signifying all was well. In between bites, one patted one's lips with the crisp white cloth that had been provided. In between courses, one dipped one's fingers in a bowl of warm water, then wiped them on the self-same white cloth.
The conversation was stilted and awkward. Cillian was no help, turning sullen beneath the weight of his parents' apparent disapproval of me. Aislinn did her best, asking me about my studies and which of the books I'd read was my favorite.
At least the food was very, very good. Especially the stuffed goose.
At Lady Caitlin's behest, talk turned to matters of Innisclan as she prompted Lord Tiernan to relate his efforts to cultivate a transplanted D'Angeline grapevine that had been sent as a gift of the King. It seemed it was failing to thrive.
"Mayhap Moirin might have some insight," she suggested with polite malice. "Have you not been reading about D'Angeline culture, my dear? I seem to recall Cillian asking to borrow some volumes a while ago."
"I hardly think—" Lord Tiernan began.
"Only a little," I interrupted him. "But if you'd like me to have a look at it, I may be able to tell you what's wrong."
My offer was met with a surprised silence.
"It's naught to do with D'Angeline culture. Moirin says plants speak to her," Cillian informed them with a gleam in his eye, their discomfort restoring his spirits.
"Really?" Aislinn looked interested. "What do they say?"
"Not much," I admitted. "It's not words, it's just….. impressions. You know the way it feels on a bright spring day after a night's rain when all the world is washed fresh and clean, and you can almost hear the trees stretching their branches and the leaves drinking in the sunlight?" Lady Caitlin looked dour, but the others nodded. "It's like that only stronger."
"Fascinating," Lord Tiernan murmured.
And so nothing would do but that after supper, Lord Tiernan sent for the gardener who served as his would-be vintner and we traipsed out into the field to examine the grapevine. In the warm light of the setting sun, the old stock looked hardy enough, but the new growth was paltry, spindly, pallid tendrils barely clinging to the trellis. I stroked it with my fingertips, trying to hear without ears while the aggrieved gardener demonstrated to Lord Tiernan for what was clearly the hundredth time that the soil was rich and black and moist.
Too moist, the roots whimpered, longing for sandier soil.
I wound a pale tendril around one finger, feeling the urge to coax it to grow. "The earth's too rich," I said instead. "This fellow here wants dirt that doesn't hold the moisture so well." I pointed up the ridge. "Do you plant him somewhere higher where the water can drain, I reckon he'll thrive."
The gardener looked indignant. I shrugged. It wasn't my fault if he didn't know his trade as well as he ought.
"Fascinating," Lord Tiernan repeated, stroking his beard. "I may just try it."
"You can't be serious!" his wife said with asperity.
"Why not?" For the first time, he gave me a smile with a hint of warmth in it. "After all, we've tried everything else. And it seems to me that when one is given advice by a beautiful young lady who talks to plants, one ought to heed it."
That didn't sit well with her. Fortunately, the sun was sinking beneath the horizon. When we returned to the hall, I professed myself exhausted and begged their leave to retire for the night. It was true, I was worn out from the unfamiliar strain of being around strangers. Aislinn graciously showed me to a guest-chamber even smaller than any I'd seen. I took off her borrowed dress and folded it carefully, uncoiled and unbraided my hair with an effort, then curled up in a proper bed with clean-smelling linens and tried to sleep.
I couldn't, not for the life of me.
I'd left my door ajar and I could hear the unfamiliar sounds of human activity—boots scuffing, dishes clattering. I tried shutting the door, but then the trapped feeling closed in on me. After what was surely the better part of two hours, I gave up and resolved to slip out unseen and pass the night outdoors.
It was agonizingly difficult to summon the twilight, something that came as second nature to me at home. Somehow it was all different here in this hall built by men's hands with history carved into every stone.
Mine was a gift meant to be used by wild folk in wild places, and I'd suffered myself to be tamed today.
Now that was a fearful thought.
But I made myself be calm and remember, and at last it came. I stole out of the chamber with a profound sense of relief.
The great hall wasn't empty. There was a sentry drowsing in a chair by the doors—and of course, the doors were barred. I paused, realizing that I'd likely wake him if I left, and wondered if it was worthwhile.
And then I realized that Lord Tiernan and Lady Caitlin were sitting in high-backed chairs before the hearth, speaking in low tones.
About me.
"….. don't care if it's rational or not, I don't like her!" she was saying. "There's something sly and uncanny about that girl." There was a quiet note of despair in her voice. "Will you tell me you don't see it, too?"
I hoped he would. Uncanny, I'd grant her, but sly seemed unfair. Although given the particular circumstances, I'd be hard put to argue it.
"No," Lord Tiernan said slowly. "No, I do. I'll grant that she's not what I'd choose for a daughter-in-law."
"And yet Cillian's utterly besotted!" The note of despair gave way to hushed fury. "Why ever didn't you put a stop to it?"
He sighed. "I hoped the winter would cool his ardor. Two years ago, it seemed his fancy was passing."
"Two years ago, she was still a stripling child," she said darkly. "Now….. oh, gods! What does she want with him?"
"I don't know," Lord Tiernan murmured.
I curled my toes in an agony of indecision. Part of me yearned to flee, part to retreat. And a third considerable part longed to reveal myself and' shout at them that I'd never wanted aught of Cillian but for him to be my friend, and later, lover. It was hardly my fault he was muddling everything up with this talk of marriage.
"Mayhap we could bargain with her," Lady Caitlin mused. "They say the Old Ones like to make bargains, and I suppose she's one of them, whatever else she might be. Do you suppose we might bribe her to leave him alone?"
"With what?" He sounded weary. "They may choose to live like savages, but they're blood royal nonetheless. It's not as though I haven't offered our hospitality over the years. Money?" He shook his head. "They don't lack for it. There's a trust held in keeping for all of the descendants of Alais' line in Bryn Gorrydum, which Fainche knows perfectly well."
I blinked. She did?
"It's Fainche that disappoints me." Now Lord Tiernan sounded bewildered and angry. "Have I not always honored her choices? Why does she send her daughter to bewitch my only son?"
I'd heard enough.
I swept past the drowsing guard and unbarred the great doors, flinging them open, then fled into the warm night.
Behind me, there were cries of alarm.
I ignored them. In the twilight through which I moved, the landscape of Innisclan looked silver-grey and serene. I made my way to the poor, struggling grapevine we'd visited earlier. Now, while there was no one to see, I cupped its tendrils in my hands. Holding an image of dry, arid soil and bright beating sunlight in my mind, I blew softly on it. The tendrils stretched gratefully, reaching for a more secure grip on the trellis.
"Moirin!" Cillian was blundering around the fields, a lantern in one hand. With his other hand, he held up his unbelted breeches. "Moirin! Gods be damned, girl! You sodding little woodsprite! Will you not show yourself?"
When he was almost on me, I did.
"Oh!" He peered at me, then turned and waved the lantern in the direction of unseen pursuers. "It's all right, go back! I've found her!"
I folded my arms. "Sodding little woodsprite?"
"Hush." Cillian set down the lantern and embraced me. Despite everything, it felt good. I couldn't resist running my fingers into his crisp, springing hair. "Too much, was it?"