Naamah's Kiss

Page 17

"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 himself that I couldn't be all that dangerous.
"I like horses." I yawned again. "And I nearly think I could sleep now. Do you mind if I stay?"
"A bear-witch." He wasn't ready to let it go yet. "With D'Angeline blood?"
"Aye." I shrugged into my dress. "Do you mind? I won't even ask to share your blanket. I've one in my pack."
He thought about it, a slow smile spreading over his face. "A bear-witch and me. No. I don't mind."
I fetched my blanket. "Good."
In the morning, I woke to find Theo splashing at the horse trough, scrubbing himself with a rag and a bit of soap. He gave me a shy, wondering smile and offered to share his soap, as well as journeycake and cheese from his own satchel.
"Or I could buy you a meal at the inn," I suggested. "I ate a capon with the most delicious herb there last night. Rosemary. Do you know it?"
He laughed. "Yes, of course. All right, then."
The morning's meal was just as delicious, eggs whipped and baked in a manner Theo told me was called an omelette. There was goats' cheese melted into it and it was scattered with another shredded herb unfamiliar to me. I sniffed at it when the platter was set before me.
"Basil," the serving woman said in response to my inquiring glance.
"Basil," I echoed. She shook her head and walked away.
"I take it the—" Theo lowered his voice. "The Maghuin Dhonn aren't much for cooking."
"Oh, my mother's a right skilled cook," I assured him. "It's only that these are herbs that don't grow wild in Alba—or at least not where we lived."
He looked askance at me. "You lived in the wild?"
"Aye," I said wistfully. "But I'm learning." I took a bite of my omelette. The melted cheese was pungent and so hot it almost scalded my tongue and the basil was unfamiliar and delightful. "This helps."
As we dined, I could see Theo grow more at ease in my company, deciding by daylight that mayhap a bear-witch wasn't entirely as fearsome and mysterious as legend would have it—or at least not one so easily pleased by a simple dish of cooked eggs. I felt strange after what had passed between us last night, but not as guilty as I might have thought. Life called to life. Somewhere, the bright lady smiled. Theo seemed a decent enough fellow, and his black hair and dark eyes reminded me of home and family in a nice way. By the time we returned to the post station, I thought mayhap the remainder of the journey might be more tolerable than I'd reckoned.
I was wrong.
There were two new passengers joining us, D'Angeline ladies of middle years. They were overdressed, overcoiffed, and over-perfumed, chattering together in voluble tones. My heart sank when I saw them.
"Oh, my!" One of them lifted a magnifying glass on a stick to her eyes and peered at me through it. "Wherever are you from, my dear?"
"Alba," I murmured.
"She must be a half-breed" the other whispered in the overly audible tones of the hard of hearing.
The first tut-tutted. "Such a pretty thing! So exotic." She fiddled with a lock of my hair and sniffed. "But you simply must do something with your hair, my dear."
I glanced around for Theo, but he was making adjustments to the harness and avoiding my gaze. I sighed. "Aye, my lady," I agreed. "No doubt I must."
In short order we were bundled into the coach.
The ladies—widowed sisters come from visiting a third sister and her family, introduced themselves as Florette d'Aubert and Lydia Postel—insisted on drawing the curtains to cut the wind's chill. They settled into the seat facing me, their stiff, voluminous skirts spreading to crowd the space between us. The scent of their perfume permeated the coach.
"Now." Florette smoothed her skirts. "Moirin, is it?"
"Aye, my lady." I'd given my name as Moirin mac Fainche, reckoning it wiser not to mention the Maghuin Dhonn to these two.
She lifted one finger in admonishment. "Don't say aye, dear. Only vulgar common people say aye."
"Yes, my lady," I said obediently.
"I can't make out what she's saying!" Lydia complained in a harsh whisper. "Her accent is atrocious!"
I cleared my throat and mimicked Florette's tone. "Yes, my lady!"
"Much better." Florette d'Aubert folded her hands in her lap. "Now." she said firmly. "Tell us all about yourself, dear. Who are your people? How did you come to be born in Alba? How did you come to Terre d'Ange? Where are you bound? Have you kin in the City of Elua?"
I shrugged.
"Don't shrug, child!" she said sharply. "It's rude."
"Forgive me," I said in my best polite voice.
Lydia Postel cocked her head. "Eh?"
"Forgive me!" I repeated more loudly. "I'm a stranger here and untutored in your ways. Mayhap you and your sister would do me the kindness of telling me about your lives that I might learn from you."
They did.
By the time we paused at midday to water the horses, I'd learned all there was to know and more about the lives of Florette d'Aubert and Lydia Postel. I'd learned that the former had grave misgivings about the manner in which their sister was raising her children, while the latter was a staunch advocate of the old tradition that gave the father the upper hand, though both were childless themselves. I'd learned that Florette's husband had concealed a wagering habit from her and left her with debts she quite resented. And I'd learned that they were perishing of curiosity to hear what the latest gossip was in the City of Elua, where the doings of the Royal Court were paramount.
It seemed King Daniel de la Courcel had remarried after his first wife had died, leaving him with a sole son and heir. The merits of his new bride were a matter of contention.
"Jehanne," Lydia muttered.
"Jehanne," Florette agreed. "The men of House Courcel do not choose wisely when they remarry."
The new Queen, they informed me, was young, frivolous, and fickle. She cared nothing for politics, only for parties. She conducted notorious affairs under her long-suffering husband's nose, ruthlessly promoting her favorites at Court.
"What did his majesty expect?" Florette sniffed. "Marrying an adept of the Night Court!"
"I thought it was a sacred calling," I said, puzzled. "Am I mistaken?"
"No, no." She pursed her lips. "Of course there's great honor to be found in Naamah's Service. But it's a question of propriety, dear. If there's a measure of truth to the old tales, even Phedre no Delaunay never sought to rise above her station."
"If the old tales are true, I imagine she was too busy saving the world," I offered diplomatically.
They ignored my comment and carried on with a gleeful litany of the Queen's sins. I thought personally that Jehanne de la Courcel sounded rather fun and a good deal more interesting than anyone either of these two had met, but I kept the thought to myself and concentrated on not throwing myself out of the stagecoach.
Much to my dismay, the ladies insisted that I accompany them to dine that evening when we halted at the next waypost. They tried to insist that we share a room to conserve our funds, but at that I drew the line.
"I come from a line of very solitary folk," I said firmly and jingled the purse tied around my waist. "Besides, I'm not lacking for coin."
Florette tut-tutted at me. "Put that away, child! Never say such a thing in a public place. It's dangerous—and vulgar, too." She peered at me through her magnifying glass. "A solitary folk? Who did you say your people were again?"
"Oh, no one you would know." I didn't fancy being the subject of their gossip. "Since you and your sister were kind enough to invite me, will you permit me to purchase your supper?"
She hesitated. "Well….."
"Of course we will," Lydia said loudly.
They were also kind enough to order several jugs of the inn's best red wine at my expense and lingered long over their cups after extracting the most recent gossip out of the City from the serving girl. It seemed Queen Jehanne remained estranged from her most favorite courtier, Raphael de Mereliot, with whom she had quarrelled some weeks ago. He'd sent her a letter begging forgiveness and sweetened his apology with a bracelet—a pave of canary diamonds, according to rumor. The next day, one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting was sporting it on her wrist.
"Imagine the gall!" Florette marveled.
"Eh?" I blinked. "I thought you disapproved of her affairs."
"Well, yes, but….." She laid a hand on my arm. "You're very young, dear. And, how shall I say it?" She patted my arm. "Unsophisticated. There are discreet and tasteful ways to conduct such matters."
"Why?" I asked. "Elua and his Companions didn't seem to concern themselves thusly."
Lydia hiccupped. "Blessed Elua cared naught for crowns or thrones," she intoned.
Florette gave her a sharp look. "Are you intoxicated?" she hissed. "Oh, Elua have mercy, you are!"
"I'm not," her sister replied with dignity, listing a little in her seat.
I helped Florette d'Aubert maneuver Lydia up the stairs to the chamber they shared, then bade them good night and beat a hasty retreat to my bedchamber. I waited until I heard the sound of snoring through the thin walls before I summoned the twilight and stole out of the inn.
Lamplight spilled through the chinks in the wall of the stable. Inside, I found Theo reading. There was a small jug of wine and two cups beside him.
He lifted his head and smiled at me. "Seeking refuge, are you?"