Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [52]
"Rosemary," I repeated, inhaling deeply to memorize the scent and taste.
The woman gave me an odd look. According to Captain Renniel, D'Angelines took great pride and pleasure in all the finer things in life. Why they should find it strange that someone would visibly savor one of them, I couldn't imagine. At least I was managing to acquit myself well eating with a fork and knife.
After dining, I retired to my rented chamber.
I lasted half the night. I'd spent the entire day confined in the stagecoach. Even with the window, it had been oppressive. Reasoning that it was unfair that I be expected to. change all at once, I cloaked myself in twilight and stole out of the inn.
In the stable, the coach-horses were drowsing, rear legs cocked, heads low and nodding. I let go the twilight and stood for a moment, breathing in their warm odor and the scent of hay, feeling more at peace.
Something stirred behind me.
I whirled. In a pile of straw, the driver sat up, naked from the waist upward. He had a blanket beneath him and straw in his tousled black curls. Through a chink in the wall, moonlight silvered his face. It was soft and vulnerable with sleep, unable to hide his feelings. And all of a sudden, desire was a presence in the stable with us—uninvited, yet not wholly unexpected.
"You," he whispered.
"Me," I agreed.
I went to him without thinking. If I'd thought, I'd have hesitated. There was Cillian's death and guilt.
Better not to think.
Cillian was dead, and the stagecoach driver was alive. His lips were warm, not cold. I lay down in the straw and stretched my length against him, running my hands over his ribcage. He rolled me over and kissed me more deeply.
Stone and sea, it felt good.
I was alive too—young and alive. It was different. He was different. A different taste, a different scent. And yet it was the same and familiar. The mix of languor and the urgency, the rising tide of desire. I helped the driver remove my green woolen dress, yearning to feel his warm bare skin against mine. When he lowered his head to my breast to suckle, I cupped his head and tangled my fingers in his hair, encouraging him. When his knee nudged between my thighs, I parted them willingly for him.
"Elua!" His hips rose and fell. "I can't stop!"
"Don't," I murmured.
For a long time, he didn't. When he did, I was content. I lay with his weight atop me, stroking his curls. With an effort, he lifted his head, dark eyes glinting. "I could be dismissed from my post for this."
"I won't tell if you don't." I touched his face. "What's your name?"
"Theo."
One of the horses whickered and snorted in its stall, rustling then settling back into sleep. A black cat crouched through a sliver of moonlight, stalking unseen prey. It paused to lift its head and stare at us, green eyes luminous and eerie.
"Kin of yours?" Theo inquired.
I laughed. "Not that I know of."
"It was a jest." He looked at me with frank curiosity. "Lady… who are you? What are you?"
I yawned. "Not much of a lady for a start. This isn't the sort of thing one's supposed to do, is it? Bed one's coach-driver in a stable?"
Theo smiled. "Not in a stable, no. Is it a secret?"
"No." The thong on which my mother's signet ring was strung had gotten tangled around my neck. I sat up and untwisted it, then shook straw out of my hair. "I'm Moirin." I thought about how Caroline had addressed me. It seemed right. "Moirin of the Maghuin Dhonn."
"Oh!" He stared.
"It's all right," I said wryly. "I'll not be changing into a bear—or a cat. Nor putting any manner of curse or enchantment on you. I was lonely and I couldn't sleep, that's all. I didn't even think to find you here, just the horses."
"The horses like you," Theo said uncertainly, reassuring