The Mage's Daughter (25 page)

She looked at him in surprise. “Is that written down somewhere?”

“I just made it up.”

“You're an idiot.”

His mouth worked for a moment or two, then he hung his head and laughed. “I'm not,” he said, looking at her from under his absurdly long eyelashes. “I'm trying to save my sanity. I vow, Morgan, if I start kissing you, it's entirely possible I won't be able to stop. I would prefer to be in a place where someone else's spells were keeping us safe so when I wasn't able to stop kissing you, at least I wouldn't be responsible for seeing us dead thanks to my preoccupation with other things.” He paused. “Put simply.”

She removed a particularly long piece of straw from where it stood out from his tunic like the blade of a sword. “And if you were Miach the farmer instead of…well, that other business of yours? What then?”

“If I were Miach the simple farmer and you Morgan the simple village gel, we would have been wed an hour after I first clapped eyes on you and we would be right now taking advantage of this luxurious hayloft to do far more than just kiss.”

She looked at him, then realized what he meant. “Oh,” she managed, with an alarming amount of breathlessness. “I see.”

“So you do. Unfortunately, we are who we are and I'm still trying to keep my wits about me. So, despite all the other things I would prefer to be doing, I must allow that sleep is what we need most.” He smiled at her. “Come with me?”

Morgan couldn't muster up anything inconsequential to say. All she wanted to do was stick her fingers in her ears and see if she could clean them out.

Had he said
wed
?

She sat down next to him on that very fine blanket, then squeaked as he pulled her back to lie beside him. He turned on his side, propped his head up on his hand, and smiled at her. Then a frown creased his brow. She reached up to smooth it away before she thought better of it, then curled her fingers into her palm and put her hand back down at her side where it couldn't do anything else untoward.

“Morgan, what is it?”

She swallowed, hard. “Did you say 'wed'?”

“Well, of course
wed
. What else?”

She took a deep breath. “I didn't think…I mean, I wasn't sure…”

He smiled, looking slightly pained. “Morgan, why else would I woo you, if not to wed you? Why else would I have Mehar's betrothal ring digging a hole in my ankle if not to give it to you at the appropriate time?”

“Oh,” she said, quietly. “I see.”

“Of course, there are a few things standing in our way,” he admitted. “Putting the realm to rights. Convincing you to say me aye. Securing the appropriate permission from elven grandfathers.”

Morgan swallowed, rather unsuccessfully, actually. “Elven grandfathers?”

“You have one, my love, and he will be quite opinionated about you when he learns you're alive.”

“I wish you were but a simple farmer,” she whispered. “I wish I was nothing but a witless village wench. It would be so much easier.”

“You don't really wish that,” he said, “do you?”

“At this moment? Aye. In all the other moments?” She paused, then shook her head. “Nay. I wouldn't change you, not even for that. Nor me, I suppose. A bit of peace would be nice, though, wouldn't it?”

“We'll have it, eventually. And we'll steal what bits of it we can on the way. For now, you should sleep whilst you may. We'll be hard-pressed to find much more of that on our road, I imagine. I'll go keep watch.”

He kissed her cheek, then sat up and crawled over to sit on the edge of the hayloft.

She watched him for quite some time, contemplating the turns her life had taken that she never would have expected. The last time she'd been in Hearn's hayloft with Miach, she hadn't known who he was or what he was capable of—and she hadn't known the same about herself. He'd been a farmer and she a shieldmaiden.

But now he was the archmage of Neroche and she a witless tavern wench after all, for all she seemed able to do was seek out ways to keep her arms around him. And when she didn't have her arms around him, she was begrudging herself the separation and wondering how soon she might yet again put her arms around him.

Pitiful.

She tried to sleep, truly she did. It was impossible. There was too much light and Miach was too close to her to resist. She finally gave in, crawled over on her knees, and sat down behind him. She hesitated, then put her arms around his waist and put her cheek against his back.

He put his hands over hers, but said nothing.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, finally.

“About when I first loved you,” he said.

She blinked, hard. “Is that so,” she managed. “Not the realm?”

“I thought enough about the realm whilst we flew. I'm permitting myself a few minutes of more pleasant reflection.”

“Hmmm,” she managed. She chewed on her words for quite a long time. “So,” she said, finally, “when was that happy occasion you were thinking on?”

“The first time I saw you,” he said. “You were standing at the edge of a clearing near an inn just outside Istaur. I thought I'd never seen anyone so perilously beautiful.” He laced his fingers with hers. “Then that next day, when you woke and looked at me as if you would have liked to kill me—well”—he laughed a bit—“then I knew I was in trouble.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You're brave.”

“And you are easy to love,” he said. He squeezed her hands briefly. “I became more besotted with every day that passed, not that you would have noticed.”

“Oh,” she said softly, “I wondered.”

“Well, I should have told you what I felt, but I couldn't until I told you who I was and by the time I was ready to tell you who I was, it was too late and I feared you would never forgive me.”

“I forgave you.”

“A monumental occasion for which I am very grateful,” he said honestly. “Now, what of you? When did you first love me?”

“Chagailt,” she said without hesitation, then she froze. It took her quite a while to catch her breath. “I suppose I can't deny it any longer, can I?”

He squeezed her hand. “I won't press you,” he said, though he sounded rather hoarse.

She rested her cheek against his back. “Actually, I think it might have been before that. You were so kind to me—especially when I didn't deserve it. You held my hand, you distracted me with tales, you watched me whilst I slept. At Chagailt, we were in the library and you lay in front of the fire and looked up at me as if you thought I was worth your notice. I'd never had a man look at me as you did—and you do—as if he…”

“Loved you?”

“Aye,” she said quietly. “And by the time we reached Tor Neroche, I wanted very much for you to mean something with those looks.”

He shifted so he could face her. “Did you?”

She nodded, then she looked down at her hands. “I knew that I was not fine enough for such a place, but I told myself that didn't matter because you were but a farmer yourself.”

He winced. “Oh, Morgan—”

She shook her head. “'Tis in the past, but when I discovered your true identity, what distressed me the most was to think you wanted me—as you guessed at Lismòr—simply to wield the Sword of Angesand, not that you wanted simply me. I had convinced myself by the time I reached Gobhann that I had rid myself of any feelings for you. Then I saw you in the courtyard and it was…” She smiled. “It was like rain after a drought. I think it was then that I knew, deep down, that I couldn't go on without you. That is why I left Gobhann, in spite of what I knew I would face. Because I couldn't imagine my life without you in it.”

He looked at her gravely for a moment or two, then he leaned forward and kissed her.

Morgan almost fell off the loft.

It wasn't that she hadn't been kissed before. Nicholas had kissed her several times in a fatherly way on the cheek, or on the top of her head. This was something entirely different.

Miach's lips were whisper soft against hers, but he might as well have stabbed a dagger into her heart for as much as his lips against hers surprised her. He lifted his head, looked at her with stormy eyes, then slid his hand under her hair, pulled her closer to him, and kissed her again.

Just long enough to make her realize it had been a very bad idea indeed.

“Oh,” she managed as he lifted his head to look at her. “This isn't good.”

“I told you so.”

“Aye, well, you were right,” she said crossly. “That doesn't solve the problem, does it?”

He smiled at her. “I daresay we should stop whilst we can.”

“Do you think so?”

He took a deep breath, then pulled her closer. “Of course not.”

He bent his head and kissed her for quite some time. By the time he stopped, she thought she might manage to fall off the edge of the loft all on her own.

“Well?” he asked.

“Words fail me.”

He laughed and kissed her quickly. “I understand, believe me.” His smile faded. “I want you to wed me, Morgan. I must ask Sìle first, then I'll ask you. But that is what I want.”

“I suppose I'll think about what I'll say,” she managed, feeling rather flushed.

His eyes widened briefly, then he laughed. “You do that.”

She reached out and touched his face. “Perhaps you should shore up your strength against that day. Go sleep.”

“I don't think I can after that.”

She found it impossible not to smile, just a bit. “I don't think I can either, but you at least should try.” She rose unsteadily to her feet, then went to stretch out on the blanket. She leaned up on her elbow and patted the place next to her. “Sleep,” she said firmly. “I'll keep watch.”

He hesitated, then came to lie down next to her. He drew her arm over his waist. “For an hour, but no more. We dare not stay long here.”

“You're more worried than you let on.”

“I am,” he agreed with a sigh. “It concerns me that we were found so easily on Melksham. It worries me to stop here and possibly draw something inside Hearn's gates, though I have spent a great deal of energy making certain we are hidden.” He paused for quite some time. “I worry that I might not be able to protect you. I would fly you to Tòrr Dòrainn right now on my back, but I'm too damned tired. That and I fear that somehow my magic might be sensed in spite of how I've tried to hide it. It concerns me that we might be drawing those creatures to us without using any magic at all. What I want is for us to disappear for a few days so I can find answers.”

“How can I help you?”

“It is enough that you are here with me,” he said quietly. “I can see to the rest.”

“I can guard you, at least,” she said. “If something comes, I'll wake you.” She looked into his very red, very pale eyes. “And the horses will alert us to anything untoward, don't you think?”

He sighed. “They would. And Hearn has his own breed of magic. I imagine we'll be safe enough. But we must leave before sunset. We'll be to Tòrr Dòrainn by sunset tomorrow if we fly hard.”

“Please let us eat here before we go,” Morgan groaned. “I don't think I can eat anything raw.”

Miach laughed. “I'll remember that.”

She looked at him by the light filtering in through a high window and found that she was unwholesomely glad to be where she was. She could have been sitting in an austere, cheerless chamber in Gobhann. Instead, she was in a hayloft kings had despaired of ever sleeping in and she was with a man who said he loved her.

It was so much more than she had ever expected, standing there in Gobhann, watching him from the shadows.

She found he was smiling at her. “What is it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I'm begrudging myself sleep.”

“But why?”

“Because you're here to look at.”

“I can move—”

He pulled her down and wrapped his arms around her. “I'll manage to sleep somehow. Why don't you bore me with something you learned about all those adventurous elves. I'm sure that will put me right to sleep.”

She smiled. “I sense a distinct lack of respect in you.”

“We'll keep that to ourselves. Besides, I'm teasing. Who did you read about?”

“Tachartas of Tòrr Dòrainn,” she said, settling her head more comfortably on his shoulder. “Do you know him?”

“I know
of
him, but not any particulars. Enlighten me.”

She did, until she felt his breathing deepen. He twitched a time or two, then slept deeply. Morgan waited several more minutes, then carefully disentangled herself from his arms and sat up. She simply watched him for quite some time.