Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [24]
"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