Dawn Of Desire (7 page)

Oriana set her sole piece of luggage out of the way behind Egan’s trunks and left the confining chamber at a near run. At the end of the wide hall, she swung toward the coiling stairwell, but the passageway was blocked by a tall Druid whose hooded cloak shaded his eyes.

Her chest tightened in fear. Her mother had insisted his kind would be so jealous of her ability to foretell the future that they would plot her death rather than allow her to usurp their power. She had never stood this close to a Druid and, terrified, she tried to escape him.

“Excuse me, please,” she offered with a polite curtsy, her gaze lowered demurely. But rather than step aside to allow her to pass, the Druid moved closer still.

“So,” he breathed out slowly, his voice deep and grating, “Egan has finally found an amusing companion.”

He reached out and cupped Oriana’s chin to lift her face toward the torch burning in the adjacent sconce, and then scrutinized her with a narrowed gaze. His eyes were as dark as his cloak and filled with impatience when he discovered no flaws in either her delicate features or creamy smooth complexion.

“I am Garrick,” he finally murmured, “and like Egan, utterly awed by your beauty.”

It was a mocking taunt rather than a compliment, but Oriana had expected as much. She continued to avert her gaze but promptly brushed his hand aside. Egan had mentioned Druids, but with the same lack of forethought she had shown regarding his stepmother, she had failed to devise an effective strategy to avoid them. Still, she would have disliked this menacing individual regardless of his calling.

When he slanted her a mocking glance, his hood slipped back to reveal thick silver hair that contrasted
sharply with his black brows and lashes. He was handsome in a coldly chiseled way. Indeed, there was not a hint of warmth in him as he continued to block her way with a forbidding frown.

She had no wish to see into his future and absolutely no faith that he could perceive hers. Desperate to elude him, she coiled a finger in a curl at her temple and swayed coyly as though she were incapable of any but the most flirtatious thoughts.

“You flatter me,” she purred seductively, and when he responded with an amused chuckle, she flattened herself against the wall and finally succeeded in slipping past him.

Oriana raised her gown above her ankles and flew down the stairs with a light step, but the echo of Garrick’s discordant laughter pursued her through the steep stairwell. The eerie sound fed her desperation to escape the chill fortress, and even after bursting out into the sunlight, she kept running.

Egan returned to his chamber in the early afternoon. Rather than focus on his own misery, he had prowled the fortress and contemplated the chaos his father’s sudden death had created in their clan. His father had schooled him well and there was no aspect of the duties he had suddenly been forced to assume that he could not manage at least passably well, but he was not eager to shoulder such a heavy burden of responsibility.

He was confident he could keep their enemies at bay, but he would also be expected to handle all manner of arguments within the clans, some serious and others merely tedious. His father had been praised for the fair manner in which he had settled disputes, but Egan knew he lacked Cadell’s patience and keen ear for the details that revealed the truth. Cadell had been wise even in his youth, but Egan feared he was more warrior than sage and would be sorely tempted to settle even trivial arguments with his sword.

“At least I’m wise enough to recognize my limitations,” he muttered as he approached his chamber. He was also clever enough to realize just how useful a maiden who could divine the future would surely be. Because her counsel would prove so enormously valuable, he forced a pleasant smile before rapping lightly at his door.

When Oriana failed to offer a polite summons, he regarded the effort to feign a good mood as wasted and shoved the door open. “This is my own chamber,” he announced proudly. “If I can remember to knock, you should deign to respond.”

He turned in a slow circle to confront the continually perplexing young woman, then felt exceedingly foolish when he discovered he was alone. A swift glance revealed no trace of his guest, but lacking a change of clothes, he could not imagine where she might have strayed, unless— “No!” he shouted, and suddenly certain Oriana had made good on her threat to borrow his clothing and again lose herself in the forest, he ran from his chamber and down the circular staircase at a pace even swifter than hers had been.

After the terrible encounter in the fortress, Oriana had sought a comforting view of the sea and had lingered for hours perched upon a moss-cushioned bluff below the castle. Manannan was the god of the sea, and she wondered if perhaps he had led her there. The Otherworld could be entered not merely through lakes, but also though mists, although she had felt no magic in yesterday’s forbidding fog.

“Did you call me here, Manannan?” she cried into the salty breeze. Are the Druids merely a necessary risk as I near the sea and my destiny? she pondered. She had always expected her husband to appear in an emerald forest as her father had, but perhaps Lugh had other plans for her.

“I do wish you’d hurry,” she said aloud, not voicing her true fears.

She and her mother had not mixed with the common folk, so there had been scant need for frequent admonitions to guard her virtue, woman’s greatest treasure. Indeed, she had understood the demand for purity in a bride without her mother having to belabor the issue, for no god would claim a wife who had known earthly passion.

For that reason, Egan posed a damning threat—not merely to her virtue, but to the future she had been raised to claim. She hugged her knees tightly and tried to imagine the magnificent god who would surely soon come for her. She had seen nineteen summers rather than the seventeen Egan had guessed, and was already past the age when most young women were safely wed. Time mattered little to the gods, but she hoped her future husband would not tarry much longer and then refuse her in favor of a younger lass.

“I lack your faith, Mother,” she admitted softly. Instead of the god she had been raised to expect, it was a handsome mortal who fired her longings. Her tears blurred the soothing view of the sea. When she first heard Egan calling her name, she blamed the sound on her imagination until he drew alarmingly near.

She rose then and wiped the moisture from her lashes to hide her sorrow. Turning shy, she smoothed the soft folds of her borrowed tunic over her gown. She wished she could confide how badly Garrick had frightened her, but fearing Egan would use that very fear against her, she posed an innocent greeting. “You have some need of me, my lord?”

Egan had torn into the stable ready to ride Raven bareback to overtake her, but when he had found Brute still in his stall, he had taken the time to inquire if any of the guardsmen has seen his lady. Calling her such had nearly choked him, but he had swiftly learned that she was nearby.

“How dare you leave the fortress without my permission? Indeed, how dare you even leave my chamber?”

He was furiously angry and gesturing so wildly that Oriana feared he might strike her purely by accident. She took a prudent step backward before issuing a hushed reply, “How foolish of me; I failed to realize I was your prisoner.”

The cheeky wench was mocking him, which Egan was positive he had warned her not to do. He had expected her to stay put, but it was clear to him now that she would never do the expected, unless, of course, it suited her. He raked her with an accusing glance, and, finally noting her beautiful garments, felt a sudden jolt of recognition.

He turned toward the sea to shut out the image but it stubbornly lingered on the edge of his memory and gradually cleared. Years ago he had been there, on that same exact spot with the beautiful woman who had owned the lovely blue-violet gown. Her golden-red hair had also been tousled by the breeze coming off the sea, but her gaze had been loving rather than coldly defiant.

“That’s my mother’s gown,” he spit out between clenched teeth.

Oriana was badly disappointed that he had not hotly denied that she was his prisoner and hoped it was not merely a ploy to distract her. Because he had already been angry before he had noticed her clothing, she graciously accepted his change of subject rather than push him into a blind fury.

“I warned Myrna that you’d be offended, but she swore you’d not recognize your mother’s things. Obviously she was mistaken. I will change at once.” She raised the softly flowing gown above the toes of her own scuffed slippers to make her way up to the fortress, but Egan reached out to stop her.

“Who are you?” he asked hoarsely.

The anger had left his expression, but in Oriana’s view, narrow-eyed suspicion was no improvement. His fingers tightened on her arm, but she remained relaxed.
“You know more than anyone else. I am Oriana, daughter of Lugh.”

“But your mother’s people, you truly know nothing of them?” he persisted.

“My mother had many suitors, so her family must have been powerful and wealthy. She was also good and kind, so her people must have set a fine example. Knowing that, what does their name or clan matter?”

It mattered greatly to Egan, but he knew he was a fool without hearing the whispered condemnation, and he hurriedly released her to yank his tunic off over his head. He bent to unlace his boots and flung the first one aside.

Refusing to fear the absolute worst, Oriana stood her ground. “What are you doing?” she asked, and quickly ducked the second flying boot.

“There’s time for a swim before the mists descend. Would you care to join me?” He stood and loosened his leather belt, but his harsh expression wasn’t inviting.

Offended that he would take such blatant liberties in front of her, Oriana fully intended to turn her back on him and return to his stifling chamber, where she sincerely doubted she would find the garments he had promised. Unfortunately, her feet refused to carry her away, and she swayed slightly as he hooked his thumbs in his waistband.

His skin was a pale bronze, and his body so handsomely muscled she could not bear to turn away. If the gods had sent Egan to tempt her, she feared she was rapidly failing their test. She had never been weak, had always been steadfast in the belief in her destiny. She had never met Egan’s equal, however, and she suddenly feared he must have inquired about her people for a reason.

He was a king, after all, a man who must wed to create or strengthen an alliance with an equally powerful family, and she was a wanderer dressed in a dead woman’s clothes. It was a sobering thought, but still she could not leave him.

In her travels, she had glimpsed a small boy or two running naked, so she understood how males were created. She was nonchalant as Egan stripped off his trousers, then realized there was a great difference between little boys and grown men. Her glance circled the dark curls framing the heavy weight of his manhood before trailing up the hard plane of his belly to his face.

A compliment seemed to be in order, and she supplied the first that came to mind. “It seems you have good reason to be such a proud man, Egan.”

That she could be so boldly admiring and yet insultingly flippant astonished him. His first impulse was to push her down on the ground and take her right there. He didn’t care if every guard in the fortress was hanging over the wall to watch.

He had never wanted another woman as he did this sharp-tongued prophetess who haunted his every thought. Oh, how he wanted her! He wanted her hot and angry and coiled around him like a snake. He wanted her to writhe, scream, and claw his back.

That only last night he had sworn she was the last woman he would never want struck him as ludicrous now, but as he began to grow hard, he turned toward the path while he still had the strength to leave. Egan was ashamed to want her so badly, and yet he longed to make her a willing captive, not a prisoner who would refuse to issue the warnings he desperately needed to hear. He cursed all the way down the rocky trail to the sea, but the frigid water chilled only his body and left the fire in his soul undimmed.

Oriana was uncertain just what had transpired between them, but she was deeply grateful Egan had pursued his interest in swimming rather than her. She knew he would be a strong swimmer, but she did not trust Manannan not to have a little sport with him.

That possibility terrified her even more than Garrick’s horrid laugh, and she watched from the bluff to make
certain he returned safely to dry land. Then, ashamed she had not had the good sense to flee when he had first removed his tunic, she hurried back to the fortress, where the evening promised to provide exquisite terrors of its own.

Ula clenched her fists and shrieked, “Make her disappear this very night!”

Garrick nodded as though he were in complete agreement, then crossed his arms and slid his hands into his flowing sleeves. “While I could spirit the wench out of the fortress, I doubt the effort would prove worthwhile, my lady. She’s nothing more than a comely peasant. Egan will swiftly tire of her.”

Ula grabbed a small ceramic pot filled with perfumed oil and hurled it across her chamber, where it burst against the stone wall in a fragrant, dripping splatter. “No mere peasant would have dared to threaten me. The slut’s dangerous, and like a tenacious weed, must be ripped from our soil.”

As Garrick stepped soundlessly toward the hearth, his elongated shadow brushed across the chamber’s high ceiling in an eerie dance. The Druid was careful not to stray too close to the leaping flames, and while he enjoyed watching the shifting colors, he dipped his head to feign a contemplative mood. Unwilling to engage in senseless debate, he allowed Ula to spew her vicious insults until she at last fell into an exhausted silence. He then turned to face her, his expression filled with sympathetic concern.

“Rather than protest so violently, my lady, you would be wise to encourage Egan’s infatuation with the girl. After all, as long as Egan is so conveniently distracted, Kieran will be able to amass support unopposed. He may well be named king of the Dál Cais before Egan even suspects there might be a challenge.”

“Aye, I understand,” she said, still fuming. “As always, your counsel proves invaluable, and I’ll endeavor to turn the willful chit’s presence to our own advantage. But how shall I tolerate dining with her this evening? Perhaps simply ignoring her would be best.”

Garrick bowed deeply from the waist. “It will be the perfect strategy, my lady. She will grow increasingly uncomfortable, beg to retire early, and Egan will pursue her with the speed of a rutting stag.”

Highly amused by that ludicrous image, Ula raised her tiny hands to muffle riotous peals of laughter, and Garrick departed wearing a satisfied smile of his own.

The new sleeveless tunics and gowns Oriana found draped upon Egan’s bed were fashioned of as superb a woolen fabric as those borrowed from Egan’s mother. She raised the splendid cloth to her cheek and snuggled it gently. The garments had been sewn with delicate, nearly invisible stitches, making them a joy to behold. They were lovely and would surely be a perfect fit.

They were cut from cloth of a muted grayish brown. Oriana sat down and folded her new clothes across her lap. Clearly Egan’s orders had been followed with respect to fine fabrics. That the color was more suited to a man’s trousers than a woman’s gown was surely of no consequence, and yet she suspected the cheerless hue had been purposely chosen to dim rather than complement her vibrant coloring.

She wondered if Ula had hoped she would be so insulted by the drab garments that she would remain ensconced in Egan’s chamber rather than join the others for the evening meal. If so, the haughty woman would be
sadly disappointed, because there was an advantage to owning garments whose color easily melted into the shadows, and Oriana knew it well.

Still, after wearing Adelaine’s colorful blue-violet gown, she could not help but wish for something equally pretty. Vanity was inexcusable, of course, and it was doubly foolish when in her travels bright colors would draw attention and be all too easily remembered.

Her shoulders slipped into a dejected slump as she wondered how long Egan would remember her. After the shocking scene out on the bluff, it would certainly be impossible to forget him. No, she chided herself, had she never seen him in anything less revealing than a Druid’s voluminous cloak, she would always remember him.

The unsuitability of that indelible memory left her drained of hope and feeling utterly lost. She found it impossible to summon the enthusiasm to dress for the evening and remained clad in Adelaine’s gown. Not relishing another of their apparently endless confrontations, she hoped when Egan finally did appear, he would be too preoccupied to comment on her wardrobe.

After ripping off his clothes in front of Oriana, Egan had spent the remainder of the afternoon cursing himself as twice the fool the disembodied voice had called him. What could have possessed him to behave in such an insufferably arrogant manner? Oriana’s presence had become a deep and painful torture, but he knew he should have behaved with more courtesy and far more dignity than he had exhibited that day.

When the onset of Mount Royal’s damp fog forced him to return to his chamber, he drew a deep breath before pausing to knock. Oriana promptly invited him to enter, but when he found her absently fondling garments whose color was more suitable for a goat herd than a fine lady, he lost his temper anew.

“I’ll not have you wearing those ugly gowns. Not today, not ever. Instead you’ll dress in my mother’s gowns
until some more flattering garments are finally fashioned for you.”

Oriana sighed wistfully. “While somber, there’s nothing wrong with these gowns.” She continued to caress them fondly. “Brown is an excellent choice for travel, and that’s all I do.”

Despite her insistent objection, Egan’s decision was firmly made, and he pointed out a more obvious problem. “When you have no permanent home, how is a god to take you for a wife? Will you lead him on a merry chase through the forest as you did me?”

Oriana attempted to recall if they’d ever had what could be described as an amicable conversation, but sadly, no such example came to mind. “You ought not to blame me for your trouble when I had no idea you were giving pursuit; but surely a god will find me more easily,” she replied, but her tone lacked conviction.

“Aye, I suppose.” Egan went to close the door he had left standing ajar, but assuring their privacy made offering an apology no less difficult. That Oriana continually provoked him was her fault rather than his, but he cleared his throat and tried not to sound gruff.

“You are a lady and gently raised,” he began, trying to ease his way. “I should not have shed my garments in your presence. It was not the act of a champion, and I’ve given my word to be yours.”

He appeared to be sincerely contrite. Oriana was completely taken aback, but she dared not admit she had been more incredulous than insulted. He was such an audacious man. From the moment he had forced his way into her tent, he had proven impossible to guide in any pleasing direction. No, indeed, he simply issued demands and expected obedience as though he were already king. To her everlasting shame, she still found him appealing.

“You were angry not to find me here,” she reminded him.

“Aye, that is true, but I had no right to that anger when
anyone would prefer a view of the sea to this bleak chamber. Go wherever you please, but you may not leave me just yet.”

“Not while I am still useful,” Oriana amended. She watched a swift return of his earlier anger shade his glance and after silently cursing her own obstinate nature, spoke quietly to deflect his often bitter wit.

“I’m concerned about something Myrna told me. She claimed to be the last here who loved your mother. Were you aware the others have no memory of her?”

Egan had been about to shout he would be the one to decide just who and what was useful, and caught off guard, he folded his hands behind his back. After glancing down at the floor, he rearranged the carpet of rushes with his toe and wished Oriana were half as compliant.

“I’ve given the matter no thought whatsoever. I’m a grown man with no need for either a mother or nurse.”

Oriana fought to remain calm, but Egan was often so dreadfully shortsighted it was extremely difficult to display the necessary patience. “Every king depends upon allies, and if you’re to rule the Dál Cais successfully, then you’ll need the backing of your mother’s people.”

Annoyed with her logic, Egan strode toward the hearth. A log had been propped across the firedogs in preparation for the evening, and he gave it a rough kick to roll it over the glowing embers. “My mother’s kin are a proud family, but weakened by losses in battle. Consequently, they look to me for protection. It matters little; I depend upon no one.”

No one but me, Oriana thought to herself, and she wondered if her most valuable service might not be in making Egan see the error in his solitary ways. Once that feat was accomplished, if it were even possible, she would feel free to leave him. A sharp burst of pain greeted the prospect of that sorry triumph, and she bit her lip to stay the threat of tears.

Dipping her head, she smoothed her fingertips over the seductively soft new garments and longed for Egan’s
heat. She would have to leave him one day, and although painful, now was the best time to begin pulling away.

“No matter how small,” she murmured, “a warm alcove meant for a servant will do, but I must have my own chamber.”

“No!” Egan thundered back at her. “I’m not nearly that remorseful over this afternoon. I promise not to sleep naked as I did last night, but you’ll remain here with me.

“As for those hideous gowns, save them for the travel you’re so eager to begin and dress tonight for me.” He crossed to the neatly stacked trunks and opened a small chest at the top. “Here, you need more than a single gold bracelet, my lady.”

Oriana ducked as he flung a gold torque in her direction, but the magnificent coiled collar still landed in her lap. She had never seen anything nearly as beautiful, but she was loath to touch it. It was an ornament designed for a queen, while she preferred weaving flowers into crowns.

“Oh, Egan, I can’t wear this.”

“You can and will. I want everyone to believe I’m so besotted with you that I’ll be deaf to their lies. That will be easy enough, but can you possibly feign some slight interest in me?”

Her heart beating wildly in her breast, Oriana scarcely dared look up at him. He was so close, she could have reached out to caress his thigh, but thus inspired, grabbed up the torque instead.

“Is pretend to be equally smitten what you really mean?” she asked.

“Aye, smitten will do. Can you give me that?”

Oriana traced the gentle curve of the golden torque. With every fortune she told, she gave a subtle performance, but none was really required with him. She licked her lips thoughtfully. “I have already promised not to embarrass you in front of your kin. I will regard whatever devotion I might show as an extension of that vow.”

Though that was not as straightforward a consent as Egan would have preferred, he decided he had finally won one of their arguments and departed to allow her the privacy in which to dress for a meal he doubted either would taste.

Oriana clung to Egan’s arm as they entered the great hall, but it was fright rather than feigned affection that prompted her to draw close. A massive stone fireplace dominated the far end of the long rectangular room, and the evening meal was being served on low tables surrounded by cushions of furs. There was only a small gathering tonight rather than the hundreds the room could accommodate for a feast, but Oriana felt more dread than curiosity about what the evening would bring.

“You’re shaking,” Egan whispered. He patted her hand tenderly. “You’ll not be cold seated close to the fire.”

Allowing him to believe she was merely chilled rather than nearly paralyzed with fear, Oriana glided along by his side. She had donned Adelaine’s amethyst gown and tunic, but had waited for Egan to assist her with the golden torque. A simple twist was all that had been required to secure the magnificent necklace, but it rested upon her collarbones with the weight of a captive’s chains.

She held her head high, and with her long hair streaming over her shoulders, moved with forced grace toward the group already seated near the fire. A young bard strumming a lyre began a new tune as she and Egan approached, but it was more discordant than welcoming.

A dark-eyed young man with a rakish smile rose to greet them. Tall and handsome, he could have been Egan’s twin except for the difference in their eyes. “Come, Egan,” he encouraged, “draw close. I wish to meet your lady.”

Rather than comply, Egan chose places as far from his
half brother and stepmother as the narrow table permitted. He saw to Oriana’s comfort before responding to his brother’s greeting. “Kieran is an impetuous sort, but I have no doubt that you’ll forgive him, Oriana.”

What Oriana could not forgive, however, was Egan’s continual description of his younger brother in such uncomplimentary terms. Since they resembled each other, and surely their father, so closely, it seemed unlikely that there would be much of the despicable Ula in the young man.

“When Kieran reminds me so much of you, my darling,” Oriana responded in a honeyed purr, “I shall be able to forgive him anything.” She bowed her head demurely and fluttered her thick lashes as she peered up at Kieran.

Believing Oriana had completely misunderstood how she was to play her part, Egan sank down beside her and drew her into a possessive hug. He buried his face in her hair and whispered in her ear. “You must flirt with me, not him!”

Leaning into him, Oriana rested her hands lightly on his arm and giggled softly. “You mustn’t say such naughty things here. What will your dear brother think of us?”

Surprised Oriana would be so bold, Kieran glanced down at his mother’s narrowed gaze, and understood precisely why she disliked her. The flame-haired beauty was so intent upon Egan that she had not even acknowledged Ula’s presence, which he considered rude in the extreme. He gestured toward her now.

“My mother and I wish to extend a warm welcome.”

Egan released Oriana and scolded his brother, “That is my honor, not yours, and we’ll all find more enjoyment in the meal if you keep your misguided thoughts to yourself.”

Rather than return to his seat, a deeply insulted Kieran moved toward the fire, but not before Oriana had glimpsed the rage darkening his expression. She doubted
Egan ever spoke a civil word to his half brother and she felt sorry for both men.

“You did not care for my seamstress’s finest work?” Ula observed pointedly.