Valley of Silence
Page 38
F or love, Moira thought as she sat to make another list of names. For love as much as duty. The women would go, and fight for Geall. But it was the husbands and lovers, the families inside of Geall that made them reach for the sword.
Who did she fight for? Who was there for her to turn to the night before a battle, to reach for that warmth, for that reason to fight?
The days ticked away, and Samhain loomed like a bloodied ax over her head. And here she sat, alone as she sat alone every night. Would she reach for a book again, or another map, another list? Or would she wander the room again, the gardens and courtyards, wishing for...
Him, she thought. Wishing he would put his hands on her again and make her feel so full, so alive, so bright. Wishing he’d share with her what she’d seen in him the night he’d played music and had stirred her heart as truly as he’d stirred her blood.
She’d fought and she’d bled, would fight and bleed again. She would ride into battle as queen, with the sword of gods in her hand. But here she sat in her quiet room, wishing like a blushing maid for the touch and the heat of the only one who’d ever made her pulse quicken.
Surely that was foolish and wasteful. And, it was an insult to women everywhere.
She rose to pace as she considered it. Aye, it was insulting, and small-minded. She sat and wished for the same reasons she’d held back sending the women on the march. Because it was traditional for the man to come to the woman. It was traditional for the man to protect and defend.
Things had changed, hadn’t they?
Hadn’t she spent weeks in a world and time where women, like Glenna and Blair, held their own—and more—at every turn?
So, if she wanted Cian’s hands on her, she’d see that he put them there, and that would be that.
She started to sweep out of the room, remembered her appearance. She could do better. If she was about to embark on seducing a vampire, she’d have to go well armed.
She stripped off her dress. She might have wished for a bath—or oh, the wonderfully hot shower of Ireland—but she made do washing from the basin of scented water.
She creamed her skin, imagined Cian’s long fingers skimming over it. Heat was already balling in her belly and throbbing along nerves as she chose her best nightrobe. Brushing her hair she had a moment to wish she’d asked Glenna to teach her how to do a simple glamour. Though it seemed to her that her cheeks were becomingly flushed, her eyes held a glint. She bit her lips until they hurt, but thought they’d pinked and plumped nicely.
She stood back from the long glass, studied herself carefully from every angle. She hoped she looked desirable.
Taking a candle she left the room with the sheer determination she wouldn’t return to it a virgin.
I n his room, Cian pored over maps. He was the only one of the circle who’d been denied a look at the battlefield, either in reality or dreams. He was going to correct that.
Time was a problem. Five days’ march, well, he could ride it in two, perhaps less. But that meant he’d need a safe place to camp during the daylight.
One of the bases the others had secured would do. Once he’d taken his survey, he could simply relocate in one of those bases until Samhain.
Get out of the bloody castle, and away from its all-too-tempting queen.
There’d be objections—that was annoying. But they could hardly lock him in a dungeon and make him stay put. They’d be leaving themselves in another week or so. He’d just ride point.
He could ride out with the troops in the morning, if the sun stayed back. Or simply wait for sundown.
Sitting back he sipped blood he’d laced with whiskey—his own version of a sleep-inducing cocktail. He could just go now, couldn’t he? No arguments from his brother or the others if he just rode off.
He’d have to leave a note, he supposed. Odd to have people who’d actually be concerned for his welfare, and somewhat pleasant though it added certain responsibilities.
He’d just pack and go, he decided, pushing the drink aside. No muss, no fuss. And he wouldn’t have to see her again until they caught up to him.
He picked up the band of beaded leather he’d failed to give back, toyed with it. If he left tonight, he wouldn’t have to see her, or smell her, or imagine what it would be like to have her under him in the dark.
He had a bloody good imagination.
He got to his feet to decide what gear would be most useful for the journey, and frowned at the knock on his door.
Likely Hoyt, he decided. Well, he just wouldn’t mention his plans, and thereby avoid a long, irritating debate on the matter. He considered not answering at all, but silence and a locked door wouldn’t stop his brother the sorcerer.
He knew it was Moira the moment his hand touched the latch. And he cursed. He opened the door, intending to send her on her way quickly so he could be on his.
She wore white, thin, flowing white, with something filmy over it that was nearly the same gray as her eyes. She smelled like spring—young and full of promise.
Need coiled inside him like snakes.
“Do you never sleep?” he demanded.
“Do you?” She swept by him, the move surprising him enough that he didn’t block it.
“Well, come right in, make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” She said it politely, as if his words hadn’t dripped with sarcasm. Then she set down her candle and turned to the the fire he hadn’t bothered to light.
“Let’s see if I can do this. I practiced until my ears all but bled. Don’t speak. You’ll distract me.”
She held out a hand toward the fire. Focused, imagined. Pushed. A single weak flame flickered, so she narrowed her eyes and pushed harder.
“There!” There was absolute delight in her voice when the turf caught.
“Now I’m surrounded by bloody magicians.”
Both her hair and her robes fanned out as she turned. “It’s a good skill, and I intend to learn more.”
“You won’t find a tutor in sorcery here.”
“No.” She brushed back her hair. “But I think in other things.” Walking back to the door, she locked it, then turned to him. “I want you to take me to bed.”
He blinked as otherwise he might have goggled. “What?”
“There’s not a thing wrong with your hearing, so you heard me well enough. I want to lie with you. I thought I might try being coy or seductive, but then it seemed to me you’d have more respect for plain speaking.”
Who did she fight for? Who was there for her to turn to the night before a battle, to reach for that warmth, for that reason to fight?
The days ticked away, and Samhain loomed like a bloodied ax over her head. And here she sat, alone as she sat alone every night. Would she reach for a book again, or another map, another list? Or would she wander the room again, the gardens and courtyards, wishing for...
Him, she thought. Wishing he would put his hands on her again and make her feel so full, so alive, so bright. Wishing he’d share with her what she’d seen in him the night he’d played music and had stirred her heart as truly as he’d stirred her blood.
She’d fought and she’d bled, would fight and bleed again. She would ride into battle as queen, with the sword of gods in her hand. But here she sat in her quiet room, wishing like a blushing maid for the touch and the heat of the only one who’d ever made her pulse quicken.
Surely that was foolish and wasteful. And, it was an insult to women everywhere.
She rose to pace as she considered it. Aye, it was insulting, and small-minded. She sat and wished for the same reasons she’d held back sending the women on the march. Because it was traditional for the man to come to the woman. It was traditional for the man to protect and defend.
Things had changed, hadn’t they?
Hadn’t she spent weeks in a world and time where women, like Glenna and Blair, held their own—and more—at every turn?
So, if she wanted Cian’s hands on her, she’d see that he put them there, and that would be that.
She started to sweep out of the room, remembered her appearance. She could do better. If she was about to embark on seducing a vampire, she’d have to go well armed.
She stripped off her dress. She might have wished for a bath—or oh, the wonderfully hot shower of Ireland—but she made do washing from the basin of scented water.
She creamed her skin, imagined Cian’s long fingers skimming over it. Heat was already balling in her belly and throbbing along nerves as she chose her best nightrobe. Brushing her hair she had a moment to wish she’d asked Glenna to teach her how to do a simple glamour. Though it seemed to her that her cheeks were becomingly flushed, her eyes held a glint. She bit her lips until they hurt, but thought they’d pinked and plumped nicely.
She stood back from the long glass, studied herself carefully from every angle. She hoped she looked desirable.
Taking a candle she left the room with the sheer determination she wouldn’t return to it a virgin.
I n his room, Cian pored over maps. He was the only one of the circle who’d been denied a look at the battlefield, either in reality or dreams. He was going to correct that.
Time was a problem. Five days’ march, well, he could ride it in two, perhaps less. But that meant he’d need a safe place to camp during the daylight.
One of the bases the others had secured would do. Once he’d taken his survey, he could simply relocate in one of those bases until Samhain.
Get out of the bloody castle, and away from its all-too-tempting queen.
There’d be objections—that was annoying. But they could hardly lock him in a dungeon and make him stay put. They’d be leaving themselves in another week or so. He’d just ride point.
He could ride out with the troops in the morning, if the sun stayed back. Or simply wait for sundown.
Sitting back he sipped blood he’d laced with whiskey—his own version of a sleep-inducing cocktail. He could just go now, couldn’t he? No arguments from his brother or the others if he just rode off.
He’d have to leave a note, he supposed. Odd to have people who’d actually be concerned for his welfare, and somewhat pleasant though it added certain responsibilities.
He’d just pack and go, he decided, pushing the drink aside. No muss, no fuss. And he wouldn’t have to see her again until they caught up to him.
He picked up the band of beaded leather he’d failed to give back, toyed with it. If he left tonight, he wouldn’t have to see her, or smell her, or imagine what it would be like to have her under him in the dark.
He had a bloody good imagination.
He got to his feet to decide what gear would be most useful for the journey, and frowned at the knock on his door.
Likely Hoyt, he decided. Well, he just wouldn’t mention his plans, and thereby avoid a long, irritating debate on the matter. He considered not answering at all, but silence and a locked door wouldn’t stop his brother the sorcerer.
He knew it was Moira the moment his hand touched the latch. And he cursed. He opened the door, intending to send her on her way quickly so he could be on his.
She wore white, thin, flowing white, with something filmy over it that was nearly the same gray as her eyes. She smelled like spring—young and full of promise.
Need coiled inside him like snakes.
“Do you never sleep?” he demanded.
“Do you?” She swept by him, the move surprising him enough that he didn’t block it.
“Well, come right in, make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” She said it politely, as if his words hadn’t dripped with sarcasm. Then she set down her candle and turned to the the fire he hadn’t bothered to light.
“Let’s see if I can do this. I practiced until my ears all but bled. Don’t speak. You’ll distract me.”
She held out a hand toward the fire. Focused, imagined. Pushed. A single weak flame flickered, so she narrowed her eyes and pushed harder.
“There!” There was absolute delight in her voice when the turf caught.
“Now I’m surrounded by bloody magicians.”
Both her hair and her robes fanned out as she turned. “It’s a good skill, and I intend to learn more.”
“You won’t find a tutor in sorcery here.”
“No.” She brushed back her hair. “But I think in other things.” Walking back to the door, she locked it, then turned to him. “I want you to take me to bed.”
He blinked as otherwise he might have goggled. “What?”
“There’s not a thing wrong with your hearing, so you heard me well enough. I want to lie with you. I thought I might try being coy or seductive, but then it seemed to me you’d have more respect for plain speaking.”
