The Well of Shades (84 page)

“Feeler? I dropped Sorry.”

“I’ll fetch her,” said Faolan, rising to his feet with a certain difficulty. “She did this on purpose, you realize, Squirrel, just so we’d have a new verse to put
in the song. Eile, perhaps you should take Saraid indoors. Don’t wait for me.” He limped off toward the gate.

Bridei raised his voice. “In the morning we will meet and consider this; a night of wonders and of horrors, too much to take in quickly. The gods have been kind. I thank them from my heart.” Tuala had come down to his side, her large eyes clear and steadfast in the uneven light of the
torches. Above the wall the moon appeared, framed by light clouds. It was a sliver, new and fragile, a harbinger of hope. “We will retire now,” Bridei said. “Take Broichan’s good advice and think long on this before making it the subject of idle talk. Ask yourselves if you would rather watch a little girl fall to her death than accept difference in this community. The gods have spared two precious
children tonight. Whatever the immediate causes of their loss and their recovery, we should give thanks to the Shining One and to the Flamekeeper, and indeed to Bone Mother, guardian of the final gate, that both Derelei and Saraid have been restored to us. Good night, my friends.”

Breda was gone already, led away by her cousin with Dorica on her other side. Walking up toward the garden between
Tuala and the rather alarming Broichan, Eile said, “Thank you, my lady. I don’t know how you did that, but you saved Saraid’s life. I can never repay that. I let Derelei go out of the fortress; I betrayed your trust…”

“Shh,” Tuala said. “You can tell us the whole story tomorrow. I’m sure it’s not your fault. Derelei had a mission to fulfill; he was only waiting for his moment. He’d have slipped
away eventually whoever had charge of him. And all’s well; he’s found his grandfather and brought him home.”

“I thought you were in another form; that you would not return openly.” Eile was hesitant, not sure if she should speak of this, but full of questions. By her side, Saraid walked steadily, but her earlier excitement was gone; her hand clung tight.

“I did not intend to do so. It became
necessary the moment I saw Saraid topple from the wall. To transform her, I had to be in my own form. Once she was secure it was too late to change back; I’d been seen. Besides, it wouldn’t have been safe.”

“Why not?” asked Bridei, who was walking on the druid’s other side.

“Cats and birds don’t mix,” said Tuala.

E
ILE AND
F
AOLAN
could not bear to let Saraid out of
their sight. They tucked her up in the middle of the big bed and lay down one on either side. Faolan sang the Sorry song and Eile told the story of the house on the hill. They reminded Saraid how brave she’d been, and how lucky she’d been to fly like a bird, and that Derry would be there to play with her in the morning. Then they kissed her good night and she fell asleep.

“Faolan?” said Eile.

“Mm?”

“You can sleep under the covers tonight. I don’t want you catching cold.”

“You mustn’t feel obliged—”

“I don’t. I offer because I want to.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“For sharing my blankets?”

“For the blankets, and for letting me be a man with family responsibilities. For everything, Eile.”

“You, too. You were so brave tonight. Telling your story, and then rushing up there to try to save
her, even though your leg was hurting so much… I wish Breda wasn’t still here at White Hill. I can’t believe she would do such wicked things. Who would want to harm a child?”

“Shh. Don’t think of that now. Remember what you told me: Bridei will see justice done. I don’t imagine Breda will ever face charges here in Fortriu. That would be too damaging to Bridei’s relationship with her cousin. I
think Bridei will have a stern word with her, and then Keother will convey her swiftly and quietly back to the Light Isles. It’s an ignominious end to his efforts to strengthen his alliance with Fortriu.”

There was a little silence. Then Eile said, “You know, this makes me understand why the folk of White Hill, Garth and Elda, for instance, are prepared to live all together within these walls;
to give up the privilege of having their own cottage, their own piece of land. I suppose this allows them to keep their children safer.”

“But,” Faolan ventured, “you would not want to do that, I imagine? To reduce the house on the hill to a thing that exists only in tales and in dreams? The cat, the chickens, the little dog?”

“Dog? What dog?” She raised herself on one elbow to look at him across
the sleeping form of Saraid.

“I did wonder,” he said, “if there might be a dog, provided the cat would tolerate it. When I was a boy in Fiddler’s Crossing we always had a dog.”

Eile had laid her head back on the pillow. When she spoke, he heard incipient tears in her voice. “It’s too hard, isn’t it? How can you do your job if we don’t live at court? How can we bear to have you away so much of
the time?”

“Shh,” Faolan said. “We’re both too tired to work this out now. But we will. If I’m to be a father, I want to do it properly. If I’m to be a husband, I want to be the best one I can be. Do I still have to wait until a certain event takes place before I ask you?”

Her voice was small. “No, Faolan. You don’t need to ask at all. I can’t imagine any other ending to the story now. Didn’t
the king call it a stirring tale of love? You know my answer must be yes, for me and for Saraid. Never mind the house on the hill. We can let that go, as long as we have you.”

“Such power,” he whispered. “At a snap of your fingers you can make a grown man weep. And you’re such a little thing,
mo cridhe.”

“Sleep now,” said Eile. “Rest that knee. As for the certain event you mentioned, I expect
that will happen soon enough. But not tonight. I feel as if I’ve been pummeled and pounded and shaken, like a garment washed in a mountain stream. Every bit of me’s tired. Shall we hold hands while we fall asleep?”

F
AOLAN WOKE EARLY
, well before dawn. He did not open his eyes, for that was to lose the dream, the loveliest of dreams in which he felt the whisper of her
long hair against his skin, and the warmth of her next to him, and the gentle, tantalizing movement of her hands as she explored his body, stroking here, brushing there, until he felt desire pulsing through him. The chamber was warm; she was sitting beside him on the bed, her slender form clad only in a fine lawn nightrobe. Blind still, he reached to touch; his hand brushed her breast, small, high,
perfectly round, and the tip hardened under his fingers.

“You can open your eyes,” Eile murmured.

He did, and it was real. She had remade the fire; set out the jug and goblets. Through the open doorway he
could see Saraid asleep in the other room, under the green blanket, a candle on the little table surrounding her with flickering shadows.

“I moved her,” Eile whispered. “She was so tired she
didn’t even stir.” Then she lay down next to him, her head on his shoulder, her fiery hair soft against his lips, her hand still working its irresistible magic, making his breath come quickly, bringing his manhood to sudden, urgent readiness.

Slowly
, he ordered himself.
Slowly, carefully. Don’t get this wrong.
“Say no,” he whispered, “if there’s anything… anything at all…” And he began to touch,
with fingers, with lips and tongue, remembering all the while how dear she was to him, and although desire made it difficult, love made it easy. Eile helped him. He had not expected she would play her own part, caressing his body as if it were a whole new world to explore. He had not expected she would untie his shirt and trousers, helping him to shed them, so they could lie heart to heart. He
cupped her buttocks with his hands, pressing her close; she did not tense or flinch away, but relaxed against him, her own breath coming faster. He kissed her, using his tongue, tasting her, and with his hands he rolled her body against his, this way, that way. Perhaps not such a good idea; he wanted her so fiercely it was a physical pain.

Eile was still wearing her nightrobe. Its delicate fabric
lay between them, a last flimsy barrier.

“Will you take this off?” he asked, his lips against her shoulder.

Eile’s cheeks flushed. “I know it sounds silly, but I feel shy,” she said. “As if I were doing this for the first time. Like a wedding night.”

“It is a wedding night,
mo cridhe,”
Faolan said. “Our first time; yours and mine. I just hope I can match up to the required standard. It’s a
long time since I last—”

She kissed him, letting him know without words that
she had no doubt at all he would fulfill this mission perfectly. She sat up a moment; took hold of the nightrobe’s hem and drew the garment over her head, discarding it. He watched her, loving the perfect smallness of her body, the lily-pale skin, the gentle curves, the neat triangle between her legs, the same enticing
red as the long hair that fell across her shoulders and down over her rose-tipped breasts.

“You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. “And that from a man who’s done more than his share of traveling. I’ll wait. Tell me when. Or, if you want, we can just…” Just what? Lie here together while desire drove him out of his mind? Gods, he wanted her.

“Now,” Eile said, moving to lie
over him, her legs parted, her hands on his shoulders. “Do it now.”

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t breathe. He felt how open she was, moist and ready.
Let this be real. Let this not be the dream.

“Of course I’m sure.” She touched his cheek, a gesture of tenderness and trust, and then they moved together, and whether it was he who entered her, or she who received him, all at once their bodies were
locked tight, and they were breathing hard and moving in a dance of passion and wonder, and Faolan knew it was going to be all right. It was the good dream that had been the truth, not the other one after all. He tried not to thrust too hard, not to release himself too soon; he held back, using his hands to help her, murmuring words of reassurance, listening to her breathing, hoping she would tell
him if, suddenly, she was afraid. He took himself to the brink; knew that if he must wait much longer the battle would be lost, for he had desired her long, and even a man of iron-strong discipline has his breaking point. Then Eile’s body tensed, and she made a little sound, an astonished sound of pleasure, and after it she gave a sigh, and an instant later his control was utterly lost, and he
felt his seed pump deep inside her as the moment of fulfillment drove out all thought.

He lay spent, wordless. She curled against him, her head on his shoulder, her hair a soft shawl over his chest. He felt her breathing gradually slow. After a little she pulled up the blankets to cover the two of them. Then came her voice, a tentative murmur. “Was it all right?”

“You ask
me
that? It was wonderful,
Eile. I have no words to describe it. I don’t know if I dare ask you the same question.”

She was silent long enough to set him worrying that he had misinterpreted the signs and sounds. Then she said, “It was… it was completely different. Not at all like… there were so many things I didn’t know about. I can’t believe…”

“Give me a simple answer, dear one. My mind is not capable of much right now.”

“Faolan, it was… lovely. You were lovely. It makes me wonder why I was so afraid. Only… I think it did take all that time, you and me, the journey, the things we shared, good and bad… Without that, this couldn’t have been what it was. With you, I wasn’t afraid at all. That’s what love does.”

He held her closer. “You never quite said it. About love.”

“I don’t need to, do I? You must know how
much I love you, Faolan. More than the moon and stars; more than flowers and trees and all the beautiful things on earth. You must have seen it.”

“A man likes to hear it, all the same.”

“Then I’ll keep on saying it. I’ll say it when we’re old and wrinkly and Saraid’s a grown-up woman with children of her own. Faolan?”

“Mm?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“You didn’t eat your
supper. Shall I go and see if there’s anyone up yet? Procure some supplies?”