Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [67]
"As you wish." Raphael inclined his head. "But not yet. I'd rather you gave that rib at least a week to heal."
"A week?" I said in dismay.
He laughed. "Given my druthers, I'd say four, mayhap six. Can you grant me a mere week? If you can, I'll promise you a consultation on the morrow with Benoit Vallon of Atelier Favrielle right here at home. In a week's time, he ought to be able to whip together at least one ensemble befitting you."
My spirits rose. "Truly?"
"Do you consent to my terms?" Raphael countered. "A week's time to rest and recover?" I nodded. "Then yes, truly."
After dinner, he escorted me back to my guest-chamber and bade me good night. He kissed me, but it was a gentle kiss.
"I do feel much better," I said without a hint of subtlety.
Raphael shook his head, looking amused. "You won't if you don't take your ease as I ordered." He kissed me again, then turned me around and gave me a tiny shove. "Go on to bed with you."
I glanced over my shoulder. "And in a week's time?"
"We'll see," he promised, and closed the door.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I fell asleep thinking about Raphael de Mereliot. When I woke up, the first thing I thought about was Raphael de Mereliot.
Stone and sea, I wanted him! And it was a kind of wanting unlike any I'd known before, deeper and harder, an ache I felt in the very marrow of my bones. I remembered my mother saying Cillian was doomed the minute he laid eyes on me. Suddenly, I understood it. I was doomed the minute Raphael laid his hands on me, infusing my battered body with that glorious golden warmth.
And if I hadn't been, that first kiss had sealed it.
My diadh-anam agreed. And yet when I thought about the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, all I could see was the sorrow and regret in Her eyes.
"Why?" I murmured aloud, sitting on the balcony. "It's because he loves another, isn't it? And not just any other, but the Queen of Terre d'Ange, who just happens to also be an adept of the Night Court."
There was no reply.
I sighed and rested my brow on the rail of the balcony, gazing at the garden below. The happy plants were sparkling with dew. Raphael de Mereliot, the Queen's lover. Mayhap, my destiny. Why couldn't it have been someone simple and uncomplicated like Theo the coach-driver? I'd spent the whole of my life in a small patch of forest. I suspected a lifetime of learning to catch fish with my bare hands, skin rabbits, and gather burdock root hadn't exactly prepared me for the intrigues of the D'Angeline Court.
There was a knock at the door. "Moirin?"
Already, even muffled, his voice was familiar. "Aye!" I called, rising from my chair. "Come in."
Raphael entered, another man in tow. The newcomer was tall and lanky, but he moved with loose-limbed elegance. When he saw me, he stopped short and narrowed his eyes. "So this is what you're hiding, eh?"
"Hiding?" Raphael's tone was nonchalant. "That's an interesting term, Messire Vallon." He winked at me. "May I present my lady Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn, a descendant of Alais de la Courcel?"
The tall man paled. "Do you jest?"
Raphael smiled. "Not in the least. Moirin, this is Messire Benoit Vallon of Atelier Favrielle."
"Well met, messire," I said politely. He merely nodded in reply, steepled his fingers, and pressed them to his lips, studying me.
"So?" Raphael clapped him on the shoulder. "Will you take the commission?"
"Her majesty would be furious with us," Benoit Vallon said absently.
"Her majesty is already furious with you for refusing her," Raphael informed him. "And with me. Will you take the commission?"
He didn't look away from me. "Yes. Yes, of course."
"Excellent." Raphael smiled at me, grey eyes sparkling like sunlight on the sea. "Then I'll leave you to it, shall I?"
The couturier flapped a hand at him. "By all means, go."
As soon as Raphael had withdrawn, Benoit Vallon prowled around me in a circle, looking without touching. I turned my head and craned my neck, trying