Morrigan's Cross
Page 70
“Well, it’s just not. So forget it. And the one who brought us together is also female, so you’re way outnumbered. And I have more ammo, but this ridiculous conversation is giving me a headache.”
“You should rest. We’ll talk more of this tomorrow.”
“I’m not going to rest, and we’re not going to talk about this tomorrow.”
His single light? he thought. Sometimes she was a beam searing straight into his eyes. “You are a contrary and exasperating woman.”
“Yes.” Now she smiled, and once more held out her hands. “Sit down here, would you? You’re worried about me, and for me. I understand that, appreciate that.”
“If you would do this thing for me.” He lifted her hands to his lips. “It would ease my mind. Make me a better leader.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She drew her hands away to poke him gently in the chest. “Very good. Women aren’t the only ones with wiles.”
“Not wile, but truth.”
“Ask me for something else, and I’ll try to give it to you. But I can’t give you this, Hoyt. I worry for you, too, and about you. For all of us. And I question what we can do, what we’re capable of. And I wonder why in all the world—the worlds—we’re the ones who have to do this thing. But none of that changes anything. We are the ones. And we’ve lost a very good man already.”
“If I lose you... Glenna, there’s a void in me at the very thought of it.”
Sometimes, she knew, the woman had to be stronger. “There are so many worlds, and so many ways. I don’t think we could ever lose each other now. What I have now is more than I’ve ever had before. I think it makes us better than we were. Maybe that’s part of why we’re here. To find each other.”
She leaned into him, sighed when his arms encircled her. “Stay with me. Come lie with me. Love me.”
“You need to heal.”
“Yes.” She drew him down with her, touched her lips to his. “I do.”
He hoped he had the tenderness in him that she needed. He wanted to give her that, the magic of it.
“Slowly then.” He brushed kisses over her cheek. “Quietly.”
He used just his lips, skimming kisses over her mouth, her face, her throat. Warm and soothing. He brushed away the thin gown she wore to trace those easy kisses over her br**sts, over her bruises. In comfort and with care.
Soft as birds’ wings, lips and fingertips to ease her mind and her body, and to stir them.
And when their eyes met, he knew more than he’d ever known. Held more than he’d ever owned.
He lifted her up onto a pillow of air and silver light, making magic their bed. Around the room, the candles came to life with a sound like a sigh. And the light they shed was like melted gold.
“It’s beautiful.” She took his hands as they floated, closed her eyes on the sumptuous joy of it. “This is beautiful.”
“I would give you all I have, and still it wouldn’t be enough.”
“You’re wrong. It’s everything.”
More than pleasure, more than passion. Did he know what he made of her when he touched her like this? Nothing they faced, no terror or pain, no death or damnation could overcome this. The light inside her was like a beacon, and it would never be dark again.
Here was life at its sweetest and most generous. The taste of him was a balm to her soul even as his touch roused desires. Steeped in him, she lifted her arms, turned up her palms. Rose petals, white as snow, streamed down like rain.
She smiled when he slipped into her, when they moved together, silky and slow. Light and air, scent and sensation surrounded the rise and fall of bodies and hearts.
Once more their fingers meshed, once more their lips met. And as they drifted together, love healed them both.
In the kitchen, Moira puzzled over a can of soup. No one had eaten, and she was determined to make some sort of meal should Glenna awake. She’d managed the tea, but she’d been shown how to conquer that.
She’d only watched King open one of the cylinders with the little machine that made the nasty noise. She’d tried and failed three times to make it work, and was seriously considering getting her sword and hacking the cylinder open.
She had a little kitchen magic—precious little, she admitted. Glancing around to be sure she was alone, she pulled what she had together, and visualized the can open.
It shimmied a bit on the counter, but remained stubbornly whole.
“All right, one more time then.”
She bent down, studied the opener that was attached to the underside of the cupboard. With the proper tools she could take it apart, find out how it worked. She loved taking things apart. But if she had the proper tools, she could just open the bloody cylinder in the first place.
She straightened, shook her hair back, rolled her shoulders. Muttering to herself, she tried once again to do the deed. This time, when the machine whirled, the can revolved. She clasped her hands together in delight, then bent close again to watch it work.
It was so clever, she thought. So much here was clever. She wondered if she’d ever be allowed to drive the van. King had said he’d teach her how it was done.
Her lips trembled at the thought of it, of him, and she pressed them hard together. She prayed his death had been quick, and his suffering brief. In the morning, she would put up a stone for him in the graveyard she and Larkin had seen when they’d been walking.
And when she returned to Geall, she would erect another, and ask the harper to write a song for him.
She emptied the contents into a pot and set it on the burner, turning it on as Glenna had showed her.
They needed to eat. Grief and hunger would make them weak, and weakness would make them easier prey. Bread, she decided. They would have some bread. It would be a simple meal, but filling.
She turned toward the pantry, then stumbled back when she saw Cian in the doorway. He leaned against the wall, the nearly empty whiskey bottle dangling from his fingers.
“Midnight snack?” His teeth showed white with his smile. “I’ve a fondness for them myself.”
“No one’s eaten. I thought we should.”
“Always thinking, aren’t you, little queen? Mind’s always going.”
He was drunk, she could see that. Too much whiskey had dulled his eyes and thickened his voice. But she could also see the pain. “You should sit before you fall over.”
“You should rest. We’ll talk more of this tomorrow.”
“I’m not going to rest, and we’re not going to talk about this tomorrow.”
His single light? he thought. Sometimes she was a beam searing straight into his eyes. “You are a contrary and exasperating woman.”
“Yes.” Now she smiled, and once more held out her hands. “Sit down here, would you? You’re worried about me, and for me. I understand that, appreciate that.”
“If you would do this thing for me.” He lifted her hands to his lips. “It would ease my mind. Make me a better leader.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She drew her hands away to poke him gently in the chest. “Very good. Women aren’t the only ones with wiles.”
“Not wile, but truth.”
“Ask me for something else, and I’ll try to give it to you. But I can’t give you this, Hoyt. I worry for you, too, and about you. For all of us. And I question what we can do, what we’re capable of. And I wonder why in all the world—the worlds—we’re the ones who have to do this thing. But none of that changes anything. We are the ones. And we’ve lost a very good man already.”
“If I lose you... Glenna, there’s a void in me at the very thought of it.”
Sometimes, she knew, the woman had to be stronger. “There are so many worlds, and so many ways. I don’t think we could ever lose each other now. What I have now is more than I’ve ever had before. I think it makes us better than we were. Maybe that’s part of why we’re here. To find each other.”
She leaned into him, sighed when his arms encircled her. “Stay with me. Come lie with me. Love me.”
“You need to heal.”
“Yes.” She drew him down with her, touched her lips to his. “I do.”
He hoped he had the tenderness in him that she needed. He wanted to give her that, the magic of it.
“Slowly then.” He brushed kisses over her cheek. “Quietly.”
He used just his lips, skimming kisses over her mouth, her face, her throat. Warm and soothing. He brushed away the thin gown she wore to trace those easy kisses over her br**sts, over her bruises. In comfort and with care.
Soft as birds’ wings, lips and fingertips to ease her mind and her body, and to stir them.
And when their eyes met, he knew more than he’d ever known. Held more than he’d ever owned.
He lifted her up onto a pillow of air and silver light, making magic their bed. Around the room, the candles came to life with a sound like a sigh. And the light they shed was like melted gold.
“It’s beautiful.” She took his hands as they floated, closed her eyes on the sumptuous joy of it. “This is beautiful.”
“I would give you all I have, and still it wouldn’t be enough.”
“You’re wrong. It’s everything.”
More than pleasure, more than passion. Did he know what he made of her when he touched her like this? Nothing they faced, no terror or pain, no death or damnation could overcome this. The light inside her was like a beacon, and it would never be dark again.
Here was life at its sweetest and most generous. The taste of him was a balm to her soul even as his touch roused desires. Steeped in him, she lifted her arms, turned up her palms. Rose petals, white as snow, streamed down like rain.
She smiled when he slipped into her, when they moved together, silky and slow. Light and air, scent and sensation surrounded the rise and fall of bodies and hearts.
Once more their fingers meshed, once more their lips met. And as they drifted together, love healed them both.
In the kitchen, Moira puzzled over a can of soup. No one had eaten, and she was determined to make some sort of meal should Glenna awake. She’d managed the tea, but she’d been shown how to conquer that.
She’d only watched King open one of the cylinders with the little machine that made the nasty noise. She’d tried and failed three times to make it work, and was seriously considering getting her sword and hacking the cylinder open.
She had a little kitchen magic—precious little, she admitted. Glancing around to be sure she was alone, she pulled what she had together, and visualized the can open.
It shimmied a bit on the counter, but remained stubbornly whole.
“All right, one more time then.”
She bent down, studied the opener that was attached to the underside of the cupboard. With the proper tools she could take it apart, find out how it worked. She loved taking things apart. But if she had the proper tools, she could just open the bloody cylinder in the first place.
She straightened, shook her hair back, rolled her shoulders. Muttering to herself, she tried once again to do the deed. This time, when the machine whirled, the can revolved. She clasped her hands together in delight, then bent close again to watch it work.
It was so clever, she thought. So much here was clever. She wondered if she’d ever be allowed to drive the van. King had said he’d teach her how it was done.
Her lips trembled at the thought of it, of him, and she pressed them hard together. She prayed his death had been quick, and his suffering brief. In the morning, she would put up a stone for him in the graveyard she and Larkin had seen when they’d been walking.
And when she returned to Geall, she would erect another, and ask the harper to write a song for him.
She emptied the contents into a pot and set it on the burner, turning it on as Glenna had showed her.
They needed to eat. Grief and hunger would make them weak, and weakness would make them easier prey. Bread, she decided. They would have some bread. It would be a simple meal, but filling.
She turned toward the pantry, then stumbled back when she saw Cian in the doorway. He leaned against the wall, the nearly empty whiskey bottle dangling from his fingers.
“Midnight snack?” His teeth showed white with his smile. “I’ve a fondness for them myself.”
“No one’s eaten. I thought we should.”
“Always thinking, aren’t you, little queen? Mind’s always going.”
He was drunk, she could see that. Too much whiskey had dulled his eyes and thickened his voice. But she could also see the pain. “You should sit before you fall over.”
