Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [26]
I swept past the drowsing guard and unbarred the great doors, flinging them open, then fled into the warm night.
Behind me, there were cries of alarm.
I ignored them. In the twilight through which I moved, the landscape of Innisclan looked silver-grey and serene. I made my way to the poor, struggling grapevine we'd visited earlier. Now, while there was no one to see, I cupped its tendrils in my hands. Holding an image of dry, arid soil and bright beating sunlight in my mind, I blew softly on it. The tendrils stretched gratefully, reaching for a more secure grip on the trellis.
"Moirin!" Cillian was blundering around the fields, a lantern in one hand. With his other hand, he held up his unbelted breeches. "Moirin! Gods be damned, girl! You sodding little woodsprite! Will you not show yourself?"
When he was almost on me, I did.
"Oh!" He peered at me, then turned and waved the lantern in the direction of unseen pursuers. "It's all right, go back! I've found her!"
I folded my arms. "Sodding little woodsprite?"
"Hush." Cillian set down the lantern and embraced me. Despite everything, it felt good. I couldn't resist running my fingers into his crisp, springing hair. "Too much, was it?"
"Your mother detests me," I informed him. "And your father agrees that I'm sly and uncanny, and he considers my mother a disappointment. Oh, and apparently there are further truths she's not yet seen fit to divulge to me."
He ran his thumb over my lower lip. "Aislinn liked you."
"Did she?"
"Aye." Cillian smiled in the starlight. "She said you need to remember that if there's a spoon on the table, it's meant to be used, and that it's not terribly appropriate to look at people's sisters as though you wonder if they might taste good—a sentiment with which I'm in particular agreement. But she liked you."
I felt somewhat mollified. "I liked her, too."
He kissed me. "Give us a chance?"
"I'll try."
* * *
CHAPTER NINE
I tried. For a year, I tried to think of myself as Cillian's potential wife.
The worst part of it was that I did love him. Being with Cillian was the simplest thing on earth, familiar and uncomplicated. I loved the way our bodies came together. I loved to look at him in the aftermath of love. His disheveled auburn hair. His limbs and torso, pale and sinewy and freckled. Mine, golden and supple. We could talk for hours entwined that way.
But I didn't want to marry him.
"Why?" my mother asked in her direct way.
I shrugged. "Why did you never wed Oengus?"
She shrugged.
"My father?" I guessed.
"Nooo." She drew the word out. "That was…" She sketched a vague gesture. "A gift?"
"So?" I pressed.
"It wasn't the right time," she said firmly. "Oengus, I mean."
"Nor is this," I said. "And his father… I think Lord Tiernan might come around in time. But Lady Caitlin despises me. And I simply don't think I'm ready to be any man's wife."
"That's fair."
"Cillian doesn't think so."
"Moirin, my heart…" My mother sighed. "I told you long ago, that lad was doomed from the minute he laid eyes on you. He wants you, all of you, all to himself. If you're not willing to give it and accept the same from him, you'd do him a kindness to cut him loose, for he'll never be happy with less."
The thought alarmed me. "And lose him altogether?"
"Likely."
"No." I shook my head. "No, I don't want that."
I tried a different approach with Cillian. I was nearing sixteen and my woman's courses had yet to begin. I knew it troubled my mother, for I was a woman grown in all other ways, and it had begun to worry me, too. When I told Cillian I feared I might be barren, it had the dubious advantage of being true.
He was quiet for a long time. "I should have noticed. But women seldom speak of these things with menfolk."
"They do among the Maghuin Dhonn," I said, remembering Oengus and my mother discussing it.
"Still." Cillian gathered himself with an effort. "It doesn't matter," he said, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself. "I'm not my father's heir. It doesn't."
"It does," I murmured. "You should wed someone who'll be