Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [96]
"Imriel." She tilted her head. "What happened there at the spring?”
"I'm not sure." I touched her cheek. "Somewhat strange. A trick of sorts, mayhap. I don't want to ruin Eamonn's homecoming. I'll tell you about it when we're alone tonight, and you can give me your thoughts. All right?”
Dorelei nodded. "Of course.”
No one else had noticed aught amiss. The mood was cheerful. At Eamonn's request, I played my flute after we'd all dined. As the sun sank below the horizon, I played the familiar songs we'd sung on our journey, finding I'd grown proficient at them. Dredging my memory, I essayed a lively, skirling tune I'd heard aboard the Aeolia, the ship that had borne me home to Terre d'Ange after the siege of Lucca.
It seemed fitting, and I don't think I acquitted myself too badly. I couldn't remember the words that Captain Oppius' sailors had sung, but it didn't matter. It was a merry tune, designed to set hands to clapping and feet to stamping.
The sound of our merriment drowned out the drumming of approaching hoofbeats. It wasn't until we heard shouts from the sentries that we realized we weren't alone. Joscelin was on his feet in a heartbeat, sword drawn, and Eamonn and I right behind him. Brigitta drew a wicked-looking dagger, and Dorelei retrieved her hunting bow. Only Phèdre remained calm and seated, cocking her head to listen to the exchange of hails.
"Friends, it seems," she observed.
It was a party of a dozen or so riders, their figures vague in the twilight. One of them detached from the rest, riding toward us. Eamonn squinted. "Mairead?" he called, then raised his voice to a bellow. "Mairead!”
There was a wordless whoop in reply. Horse and rider charged into our midst, scattering all of us. I caught an impression of a woman's face, a wild mane of ruddy-gold hair, firelight gleaming on the horse's flanks as it planted a rear hoof dangerously near our campfire.
"Eamonn!" The rider dismounted with careless aplomb, flinging both arms around his neck and kissing him. "You're home!”
"Mairead, girl!" Eamonn hugged her as though he meant to crack her ribs. "What are you doing here?”
The riderless horse was turning in excited circles, adding to the mayhem. Brigitta was scowling, fingering the hilt of her dagger. I caught the horse's reins and led it safely to one side. "Don't worry," I said to Brigitta. "I've a strong suspicion that's not an old lover.”
Her scowl eased. "Sister?”
I nodded at the pair of them, tall and loud and exuberant. "What do you think?”
Indeed, so it proved. After the initial exchange of greetings, Eamonn called us over to introduce us to Mairead, the elder of his two younger sisters. She was tall and rangy, with an open, friendly face that bore a smattering of golden freckles and a grin to match Eamonn's.
I liked her immediately; I daresay all of us did. Even Brigitta smiled when Mairead embraced her with uninhibited warmth. "You're the one!" Mairead exclaimed. "Oh, sister! You've no idea how long we've been waiting to meet you!”
"One half a year, I think," Brigitta said, careful and precise.
"Is it only that long?" Mairead's brow wrinkled. "Oh, well, since Eamonn's letter arrived, I suppose. It seems like longer. We've been so worried, waiting and hoping all these months. And he left years before it." She thumped her brother's shoulder. "You were gone so long! I want to hear all about it. I want to hear all about Terre d'Ange and Tiberium and Skaldia…Skaldia! And all these people, your foster-family …oh, Dagda Mor, they're right out of the stories! And Lady Dorelei, you're very welcome among us …Eamonn, what are they all doing here? Oh, Mother's going to be so pleased. Well, I think, anyway.”
Brigitta looked bemused, having lost the thread of her words long ago.
"Slow down." Eamonn laughed. "There's time. And it's hard for Brigitta to understand when you gabble.”
Mairead thumped him again in indignation. "I don't gabble!”
"You do," he informed her.
"You do," she retorted. "You always did. Talk, talk, talk!”
After some bickering and discussion, Eamonn went with