Naamah's Kiss (7 page)

"Which he respects. But if he is to allow me to continue my visits, he wishes to see Moirin with his own eyes."

My mother was very still. "Where?"

"He would welcome you to Innisclan." He pointed at the book I held. "After all, you are kin. Will you not come? You've done him the honor before."

She shivered a little. "Once, for a great occasion. But I do not relish being within stone walls."

"We live in a cave," I commented.

Her eyes flashed. "Walls carved by nature's hand are not the same as those built by men's hands. Are you so eager to learn the difference?"

"No," I murmured, subdued.

"And yet I am not eager to have Tiernan's people come here, trampling around with their great booted feet and disturbing the woods." she mused to herself. Cillian shuffled his feet self-consciously. For a boy of thirteen, they were rather large. She ignored him and studied me with discomforting intensity. "Does it mean so much to you, Moirin mine?"

Although the weight of her gaze made me feel like shuffling myself, I pondered her question and answered with one of my own. "You said we had naught to fear from the Dalriada. Do I shame you in some way that you do not wish Lord Tiernan to see me?"

"Stone and sea, no! Of course not."

"Then why do we not meet him halfway?" I was proud of my solution.

She was, too. She gave a reluctant nod. "Well reasoned. Cillian mac Tiernan, tell your father that Moirin and I will meet him at a place of his choose, halfway between Innisclan and here."

"Aye, my lady!" He was off like a hare.

My mother sighed. "That lad was doomed the minute he laid eyes on you."

I wasn't sure if I was intrigued or offended. "Why ever so?"

She gave me a wry look. "'Tis the way of the world, and men and women in it; aye, and lads and lasses, too. Pray you've a good many years before you learn it."

Not yet , the bright lady whispered. Not for many years .

The memory made me shudder.

"I shall," I promised.

Three days later, we rode out to meet the Lord of the Dalriada.

I'd never ridden a horse before. 'Twas Cillian who brought her, a dapple-grey mare, leading her behind his stalwart pony and tethering them both before entering the brambles along the verge of our woods. I'd seen horses, of course, on our journey to Clunderry, but never at close range. The mare was grazing when we emerged from the thicket. She raised her head and gazed at us with lustrous eyes, munching on grass.

"How lovely!" I cried.

Cillian rummaged in his pockets. "I brought you a bit of dried"

I had slipped into the twilight without thinking. "Hello," I said softly. She bowed her head and let me cup her muzzle, giving a grunting whicker in reply. Her coat shimmered in my vision. I blew into her nostrils. "Hello."

"Moirin?"

"Oh!" I let slip the twilight. "I'm sorry."

He handed me a wizened apple. "I thought you might be frightened of her. Here, hold your palm open."

I fed her the apple. Her lips tickled. "Why would I be frightened?"

"It was a foolish notion," he admitted. "Lady Fainche, do you know how to ride?"

My mother was stroking the mare's shoulder. The mare turned her head to lip my mother's hair. "I expect I'll manage. Your uncle Declan taught me long ago."

Cillian stared. "He did?"

"Mmm. A kindness shown to a distant cousin. You do know we all share a common ancestor in the great Lady Grainne of the Dalriada?" She mounted easily and settled her skirts around her. "Over to yon boulder, my heart," she said to me, guiding the mare with her knees. "You can mount up behind me."

In the exhilaration of the ride, I nearly forgot the purpose of our journey. We veered west, then rode south along a high stony ridge overlooking the sea. I clung to my mother's waist to keep myself from sliding around on the mare's wide back, my skirts hiked up to my knees, bare legs dangling. The wind was off the sea, cool and salt-smelling.

At first we just walked, but once Cillian saw that my mother could indeed ride and I didn't appear likely to fall off, he nudged his pony to a trot from time to time. My mother kept pace with him easily, though she let the knotted reins lie slack around the mare's neck.

"You've a knack for this," Cillian said curiously to her. "Have you ever kept horses of your own?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Whatever for?" she asked in turn. "What use is a horse in the woods ?"

He shrugged. "You could go places."

"So I can on my own two feet without a great maw to feed." My mother leaned over to pat the mare's shoulder. "'Tis not our way to keep animals captive. I reckon they like it no more than I would."

Privately, I thought it would be quite wonderful to have a horse of my ownor mayhap a pony, since my legs were beginning to ache from straddling the mare's girth. And I wouldn't keep it captive, either. It would live free in the meadows and come when I called it, obeying me out of love. We could roam the world and explore it together, free as birds.

I'd never considered such a notion before. It was a new thought.

It gave me a strange feelinglike the fluttering feeling, only higher. A feeling that made me happy and sad all at once. It made me uncomfortable. I pushed the feeling and the thought away together.

And then I saw them and forgot about it.

There were six of them waiting for us on the cliffs above the sea three men and three women, all astride fine horses. The man in front I took to be Lord Tiernan. From what I could see over my mother's shoulder, she was right, Cillian had a look of him, although his father was older and bearded. Sunlight glinted on a gold tore around his neck. All of them wore fine, brightly colored clothing. I glanced down at my shapeless, much-mended brown dress. It was very practical and faded to just the right hue for moving unseen in the woods, but for the first time, I wondered if I ought to have accepted Cillian's offer of clothing and not asked for sausages instead.

Although they had been very good sausages.

"Father!" Cillian said breathlessly. "I've brought them."

The man inclined his head. "Fainche."

"My lord Tiernan." My mother dismounted deftly, sliding one leg over the mare's neck. She helped me down. "This is Moirin, my daughter."

I stood gazing up at them. They sat gazing down at me. Cillian rattled off their names. Far below us, the grey sea crashed on rocks. At last, Lord Tiernan's gaze shifted to my mother. "That child was never sired by one of Alban blood."

"Nor did I claim she was," my mother agreed.

"Who?"

She shrugged. "Since when do the Dalriada concern themselves with the lineage of the Maghuin Dhonn?"

His mouth quirked. "Others might. Or do the wild kin of Alais' line forget whose blood runs in their veins?"

"We do not."

"Poor mite!" one of the women whispered audibly. "Living like a savage."

"What do you expect?" another murmured.

I glanced at my mother's face and saw her eyes take on an ominous glitter. I was angry on her behalf and gave the woman who'd spoken first a glare of my own. She flinched and made a warding gesture.

"Peace." Lord Tiernan held up his hand, silencing them. "Why not bring the child to be raised at Innisclan, Fainche?" he asked in a reasonable tone. "At least during the winter months. Surely it would be an easier living, and if she's an appetite for learning, it would be indulged."

She shook her head. "When Moirin is older, she may choose her own path. For now, she stays with me, and our place is in the wild."

He sighed. "Dagda Mor, you're a stubborn woman." His gaze shifted back to me. "What do you will, child?"

I curled my bare toes on the stony ridge. "For Cillian to visit."

Lord Tiernan's expression softened. "So little? All right, then. If the lad wills it, I see no harm in it." He hesitated. "Fainche"

My mother raised her brows coolly. "Aye, my lord?"

Whatever he was going to ask, it withered in the face of her implacable stance. "Stubborn woman," Lord Tiernan repeated. His grey gaze lingered on me. "I reckon the truth will come out in time." He gave his son a brisk nod. "Cillian, so be it. I'll expect you home by supper."

Cillian grinned. "Aye, Father!"

So it was decided.

In the years that followed, Cillian came without fail whenever he could. Not so often in the winter when the snow and cold made travel difficult, but he taught me enough before the first snowfall that I was able to read on my own, and as he had promised, he brought books borrowed from the Academy's considerable library. They were tales of Alban history, Alban heroes. During the long winter nights, I read them aloud to my mother by the light of the little fire that warmed our cave when we couldn't use the wind-scoured hearth, both of us huddled under furs and blankets.

During the day, it was different. Cold as it was, I liked the woods in winter. It was quiet, so quiet! Almost all the world slept. There was only the murmur of pine trees, boughs pillowed white with snow, and the occasional bright crackle of holly. Animals were scarce. One could feel oneself alone in all the world beneath the vast sky, breathing plumes of frost into the bright air. No magic, only being.

At such times, I could not imagine wanting aught else.

But at night there were tales, and I hungered for more.

Spring came, and Cillian came more often. He'd grown over the winter, turning lanky and rawboned.

"Look at you," he teased me. "You're no bigger than a frog!"

"I am!" I said indignantly.

"Hardly!"

My mother watched us indulgently.

It wasn't until early summer of that year that Cillian spoke of my parentage. Ever since our meeting with Lord Tiernan, I'd feared he'd broach the subject, but he'd waited, cunning as a hunter in his own way. We'd been roaming in the woods and were lying on our backs in the sunny meadow, head to head, in comfortable companionship.

"So." Cillian flicked a spray of bluebells with one finger. "Do you know who your father is?"

I sighed.

He rolled onto his belly. " Do you?"

I veiled my eyes with my lashes and squinted at the sun. "Not exactly."

"Moirin."

"What do they say?" I asked.

"Will you not look at me?" Cillian's voice was plaintive. I turned over and met his gaze, so close our noses nearly touched. "Little frog." He brushed a dusting of pollen from my hair. "What are you frightened of?"

"I don't know," I said honestly.

"D'Angeline." His voice was steady. "That's what they say, since you're asking after it."

"He was," I murmured.

"Who?"

I shook my head. "A priest. I don't know."

Cillian sat upright. "Well, then, there's a start. A priest, eh? A priest of what ?"

In my mind, the bright lady smiled gently upon me, warming my heart and setting my stomach to fluttering. "I don't know."

"Do you want to know?"

I did and I didn't. "Mayhap."

"All right." Cillian eyed me speculatively. "There are texts in the library on the history and culture of Terre d'Ange. None, I fear, translated into Alban. But I've begun studying D'Angeline and Caerdicci in preparation for entering the Academy. I could try to translate for you if you wished to learn more."

I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"They're not writ in your tongue nor one you would recognize," he said patiently. "I could try to teach you as I learn it."

"Teach me?"

"To speak your father's tongue."

"How so?" I was still baffled. "Are people not the same everywhere? Why should my father's tongue differ from my own?"

"It does," Cillian assured me.

"Stone and sea!" I blew out my breath, exasperated by the very notion of it. "What a piece of confusion. Why would people do such a thing?"

He shrugged. "Would you learn?"

"Aye," I said slowly. "I would."