Spellweaver (44 page)

She nodded uneasily. “I daresay you’re right. I hate to think of what might be swimming in the soup tonight.”

Ruith looked at her, her cognac-colored hair highlighted by the flickering flames of the lights he’d made, then down at her hands, hands that could so deftly work with cloth she’d woven herself. She was, he could say with all honesty, the same sort of woman his mother had been. Fierce, courageous, profoundly stubborn. He wondered, absently, as he watched her, if he would ever convince her that what she thought she lacked didn’t matter a whit to him. He had magic enough for the both of them when it came to safety and security. They could soldier along quite happily through everyday life without the benefit—or annoyance—of kettles walking off when they weren’t supposed to or fires starting themselves without permission. He quite liked starting his own fires and cooking his own meals.

Though at the moment, he had to admit that he was rather more grateful for his magic than he had been before.

“I should have held to my vow never to let you out of my arms again,” he said grimly. “I’m sorry I did.”

“You were trying to save my reputation, though I’m not sure why we care here.” She let out a deep, shuddering breath. “I am no threat to the queen, though I daresay she would like to have you as a husband for one of her girls.”

Ruith had his own ideas on what sort of threat Sarah posed, but he kept them to himself. “Too late,” he said cheerfully. “I am already promised.”

“To whom?” she asked with a snort.

“To someone who has set for me impossible tasks to surmount before she’ll look at me twice.” He shuddered delicately. “The thought of dancing with those harpies below—”

She smiled. “Unkind.”

“Accurate,” he corrected, “but I will force myself to dance with each of those gels downstairs, so that I might appease you and the queen at the same time. Then we will quite happily march off into the gloom sooner rather than later where you will look for spells and I for the final lass to fulfill my tally. And then, my lady, you will have exhausted your excuses and have nothing to hide behind except perhaps an intense dislike of your would-be lover.”

She sat up, pushing him out of her way as she did so. “That won’t do, so I suppose I’ll need to invent something else.”

“Don’t,” he said reaching for her hand. “Please don’t.”

She looked at him quickly. “You choose the damndest times to speak of romance.”

“You’re a difficult case. I must take the opportunities as they present themselves.” He kissed her hand quickly, then rose. “I’ll leave you to think on that whilst you dress.”

She hesitated. “I don’t think I can wear that gown over there. I’m not proud, well, not overly, but there is something sewn into the seams that ... hurts.”

Ruith supposed he should have looked just to see what that something was, but he didn’t have the stomach to. It was one thing to make Sarah miserable; it was another to endanger her, a guest in the hall. He spelled the gown into oblivion, then created another, along with shoes to match and a wrap to ward off the chill.

“I’ll wait for you without,” he said, holding out his hand to help her to her feet.

She nodded, looking quite a bit worse for the wear, but determined. He left her holding on to the footpost of the very lovely bed he’d made for her, then walked out into the passageway, pulling the door shut behind him. He leaned back against it, though, so he would hear if anything untoward happened inside.

It seemed only a handful of moments had passed before Sarah opened the door. He turned, then caught his breath.

He wasn’t much of a designer of ladies’ gowns, that he would freely admit, but he could remember a pair of them his mother had worn. Sarah was wearing one of those, an emerald thing that dripped with crystals from various appropriate parts of itself. Toes of lovely crystal-encrusted shoes peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown. He opened his hand and a necklace of diamonds lay there with another smaller circlet to go around her wrist. She looked up suddenly, her eyes full of tears.

“I didn’t realize your imagination extended to sartorial endeavors.”

He smiled faintly. “My mother had a gown that looked like that.”

“I’m sure she was exquisite in it.”

“She was,” he agreed, “and so are you.” He motioned for her to turn around, then asked her to hold up her hair so he could fasten the necklace for her. He slipped the bracelet over her wrist after she’d turned back to face him, then shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “I may only manage four of the six.”

She smiled hesitantly. “You’re daft.”

“That isn’t the word I would use, but I won’t argue.” He heard someone calling his name loudly from down the passageway. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, then held out his arm for Sarah. “Shall we go?”

She put her hand on his arm, then paused. “Thank you, Ruith,” she said quietly. “The gown is beautiful.”

“It is a poor covering for the true gem, but it will have to do.” He tucked her hand under his arm, then nodded down the passageway. “Let’s go have this over with. I suppose we would do well to insist on a food taster.”

“I think I can manage well enough for us.”

“Can you?”

“You may want to add your own bit of whatever it is you could add to improve the flavor,” she said, “but I think I could see if there was anything vile in it to start with.” She looked up at him. “Will you think about that spell later? The one I tried?”

He nodded. “I may have to borrow your lexicon. I’m not as familiar with the Cothromaichian tongue as I likely should be. Nor with what useless fluff passes for magic there.”

“You’re such an elitist,” she said with a smile.

“Born and bred, my love,” he said, trying to mirror her light tone. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint my grandfather, the most elite of them all.”

“Would he approve of the lassies downstairs, do you think?”

Ruith snorted before he could stop himself. “Absolutely not,” he said before he realized that Sarah was asking more than just that. He looked at her. “My grandfather is a difficult sort—”

“Who will expect you to wed a princess,” she finished for him. “Which is as it should be.”

“He’ll expect me to wed someone I love,” Ruith corrected. “As will Sgath, who, if you’ll know the truth, spent most of the time we were at Lake Cladach telling me to wed you before you realized what you would be saddling yourself with.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Surely not.”

“He’s saving that piece of ground he showed you, that little clearing on the shore, just for you. And I’m telling you that against my better judgement because he said he didn’t much care if I came along to build you a house there or not. It’s yours if you want it, simply because he saw into your soul and was pleased with what lay there.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes swimming with tears. “Do you
want
me blubbering into my poisoned soup?”

“Nay, you should most certainly not, else you’ll leave me doing the same thing.” He took her face in his hands, then kissed both her cheeks before she could plow her fist into his nose. “Supper first, then . . .”

She nodded and pulled away, then carefully dabbed the tears from her cheeks. “I’m fine.”

He tucked her hand under his arm again and walked with her down to the great hall. He put on his best courtly manners, then spent soup and the main course making certain that the spells that occasionally fell from the ceiling
appeared
to cover Sarah, but didn’t. And just to further distract the queen, he rose soon after dessert and begged her for the pleasure of a dance with her eldest daughter.

The girl was beautiful, he would give her that, and she certainly danced well enough. Her conversation, however, was limited to questions about the luxuries to be found at Seanagarra and how soon he planned to wed so she—er, so his very fortunate bride might enjoy them.

The next two princesses he danced with were less interested in his treasures surely stored in his grandfather’s vaults than they were in him personally, but he wasn’t any more swayed by that than he had been by their eldest sister’s curiosity.

He had a small sip of wine back at the supper table, then made Sarah a low bow. “If you would?”

If the servant behind her pulled her chair out a bit too quickly or the queen glared at her a bit more than necessary, she simply ignored it. She walked around the back of the table, then put her hand into his.

He was rather relieved they had taken the trouble to brush up on his dancing at Léige, no matter how much improvising they would now need to do. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised by how easily Sarah had memorized the steps. Franciscus had, as she had said more than once, made certain that her education was far greater than anything her mother could have offered her.

Franciscus, the father of Athair who had been slain—allegedly—by Morag of An-uallach, leaving behind a wee gel whose name Uachdaran’s bard hadn’t been willing to divulge?

Ruith was beginning to think he might be able to supply that name, if pressed.

“You dance very well,” Sarah said, interrupting his thoughts.

“As do you.”

“Which is all your doing,” she said with a smile. “With, I will admit, a bit of aid from Franciscus.”

“He has a surprising number of skills you wouldn’t think an alemaster should have,” he remarked politely.

“I seem to manage to surround myself with men who have secrets.”

“I wouldn’t keep the secret of where my heart would wander if you weren’t so insistent on formalities that have nothing to do with what I would rather be doing, which is spending the evening dancing with you.”

“You’re not calling my requirement ridiculous any longer.”

“’Tis past ridiculous, Sarah,” he said with a snort, then he laughed a little. “Forgive me. We should be politely formal and dignified. I’ll give you my unvarnished opinion of the undertaking you’ve bound me to later, when I can speak plainly.”

“I did agree to dance with you, you realize.”

“You’re taking pity on me.”

She smiled. “I might be.”

He smiled in return and decided he could complain about the remainder of his tally later, when he didn’t have the pleasure of Sarah and a fairly decent complement of musicians nearby.

The dance was all too short—and by design, no doubt—but he made up for that by dancing with Sarah between Morag’s daughters. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to provoke the queen, but he couldn’t help but wonder what she might reveal if pressed.

Wine and fruit were provided as refreshment during a respite and Ruith happily indulged in both after making certain they weren’t poisoned. He was also quite happy to sit between Sarah and Morag lest the latter find herself clumsy enough to spill something in Sarah’s direction.

“It is always a pleasure to see your grandfather Sìle on the Council,” Morag said smoothly. “When he deigns to come, of course.”

Ruith shrugged. “He makes no apologies for his behavior, Your Majesty. I suppose that is the prerogative of a king or queen, isn’t it?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “When one wears a crown, Your Highness, one finds that alliances on and off the Council are taken lightly at the peril of one’s realm.”

“Surely not yours,” Ruith said, pretending not to notice the threat. “An-uallach is a bit like silk over steel, isn’t it? Subtle, yet unbreakable.”

Morag shrugged lightly. “I do what I can with what I have. There is always more that could be done, of course.”

Ruith imagined there was, and he was fairly certain he knew precisely where Morag thought she could lay her hands on a bit more power to do just that.

He supposed he also knew what she’d done in the past to attempt the same thing.

“The acquisition of more power doesn’t come without a price, though, does it?” he asked, with a thoughtful frown. “Either in the stretching of monarchial magic, or the necessity of forging alliances one might not necessarily want to make.” He looked at her innocently. “Or perhaps I don’t know enough of the world to judge.”

“You are young,” Morag agreed, “and obviously know little of our concerns here in the north given that we don’t fall within Tòrr Dòrainn’s rather insignificant borders.”

Ruith only sipped his wine politely and waited. He couldn’t see Sarah out of the corner of his eye, though he could feel her anxiety. He turned toward Morag to give Sarah more of his back to hide behind. “Surely you suffer no danger from your neighbors,” he said, “not with your power to keep your people safe.”

“I don’t think you know what danger is, lad,” she said tartly. “I’m forever waiting for those fairies and whatnot from the mountains to flutter down and vex me. Worse still is Seannair of Cothromaiche and that rot he spreads all over his land.”

“Indeed,” Ruith murmured.

“He could sit upon the Council of Kings,” she continued with a sneer, “if he weren’t so concerned with keeping to himself and shunning the outside world. Then again, perhaps he fears ’tis too lofty a place for him and an appearance there might show his lack of power.”

Ruith nodded, though he had heard a far different tale. He couldn’t say he knew much of Soilléir’s family, but he knew Soilléir’s great-grandfather Seannair didn’t sit upon the Council not because he feared it, but because he thought it silly. If he owned a crown, he had most likely forgotten where he’d stashed it. Ruith smiled to himself. He should have told Soilléir that along with
Sarait, you will not associate any longer with that young rogue full of dangerous magic,
Sìle had generally added,
who likely inherited all of it from his great-grandsire, who couldn’t find his blasted crown if he sat upon it and it poked him in the arse!

His grandfather, Ruith would admit, could venture into the earthy description now and again if it suited him.

And the thing Ruith would have pointed out to Morag now but thought discretion suggested that he not was that if Seannair took his seat on the Council, it would be the one Morag currently occupied with such grace.