By the Light of the Moon (33 page)

“You should get ready … ” Maeve said quietly after Iris and Brock had left them. Moira’s head was spinning and she looked helplessly from Maeve to Owain and back.

“We have to leave tonight?” she asked, swallowing.

“Tonight … this place has attracted enough attention. And we shouldn’t give Brody … Brock any reason to feel like he can go back on his word.” Maeve breathed in deeply and then gave them a careful smile.

“I have to speak to Iris … I’ll give you some privacy. Don’t bring more than you can carry.”

• • •

Moira watched the woman — in her head, she couldn’t call her mother, not even in theory quite yet — leave the room. She exhaled audibly through her open mouth and then sank down on her bed.

“I … I can’t believe … any of this,” she admitted softly, forehead in a deep frown. “I’m so … so so sorry, Owain. I … I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered, shaking his head and squatting down in front of her. He placed his hands gently on her knees and smiled up at her. She was pale and sweet, but he had seen her strength and her stubborn side, too. He loved the way her hair was spread untamed all around her porcelain face.

“It’s all right,” he went on. “Look at me, Momo.”

His roughened fingertips touched her chin with the same gentle brush she remembered from a time before everything had sunk into chaos. The name evoked a similar feeling in her; warm and sweet and perfect. Her eyes met his easily and he smiled.

“You have nothing - nothing - to apologize for. Do you hear me? Nothing. I’m the one who … ” He tried to say it but even repeating how abominably he had behaved to her seemed to invoke it again. Moira, too, shook her head, and smiled a little wider.

“No apologies then,” she whispered. “From either of us.”

It didn’t seem like it could be that simple but when he smiled at her and leaned in to brush his lips over hers, it seemed settled and easy. He would leave with her, they would go together; wasn’t that the dream? Wasn’t that the unattainable she had never even dared to hope for?

“What are we going to do?” she asked sniffing and trying to put her mind to rest even if she couldn’t quite stop smiling at the idea of leaving with him; leaving and being free. Her fingers touched his hair, ran through it and over his sensitive scalp.

“We’ll … find out,” he promised, but then looked down. She recognized the worry line on his forehead and carefully, smoothed her thumb over it and leaned forward to kiss it softly.

“Momo, I … I have nothing to offer you. Nothing. I own the clothes on my back. I have no family, no home, no pack to offer you. But I’m strong, I can find work, we … ” he shook his head. Exhaling through his nose, he allowed himself to lean his forehead against her lips again and submit to the soft petting of her fingertips.

It made her smile. Her Owain. Gently, she found the soft place behind his ear, caressing and rubbing it until he uttered a tiny whine of pleasure and looked up at her half amused, half embarrassed. His wolf liked being petted, and so did he.

“I don’t need people,” she promised, leaning her forehead against his. “I just want to be with you. I want to be free with you … ”

Owain didn’t sigh. He knew it was more difficult than that. Most people weren’t as vocal about it as Brock had been, but a relationship between humans and Blaidyn — especially a male Blaidyn and a human woman — was generally regarded with distaste. It fell worse on the woman but he didn’t have the heart to warn her, to let any doubt or shadow fall on the moment they shared. To him, she was perfect, warm and sweet and caring. He had never seen himself as the marrying type, the one to raise a family or find that woman who made him want to spend the rest of his life adoring her and doting on her. Yet here they were, planning a rushed future together.

He kissed her again, deep and desperate. How long had it been since he had pulled her dress over her shoulders and laid her back on that very bed she was sitting on? It felt like an eternity; but they didn’t have time. Not then.

Breathing a little harder, he pulled away from her, cupped her cheek and took her hand, squeezing it gently. She had beautiful hands, like milk and peaches, hands that had never held a heavy tool, had never born blisters and calluses by performing hard labor in the kitchen or the laundry trove. As much as his own kind disliked such distinctions of class that divided people into those who worked and those who didn’t, he still suddenly felt a pang of heartache at the knowledge that her hands would change. He would change them in taking her away from her life.

It didn’t matter that the Fae wanted them both gone, nor that Moira wanted to go. All Owain could see was how all of it, suddenly and mysteriously, had fulfilled his wildest dreams. He was able to take her away with him — but it would change her. Her fingers and her face would change and it would forever feel like something he had done to her, like dragging a heavenly creature down from the creamy clouds into the mud of men.

“You are worrying again,” Moira whispered when he had rubbed his thumb over her palm a few times and the lines had appeared back on his forehead. He was so handsome to her, she wanted to touch him all the time, until her fingers remembered every curve and every line of his face and could feel him out among a thousand men.

“Only a little,” he answered and smiled up at her. “We should pack. Why don’t you start and I’ll see if I can’t find another pack in the soldier’s quarters?”

Moira nodded, trying to remind herself that she was strong, too, that she was the daughter of a woman who turned traitor to her own kind, just to keep her safe. It didn’t sound right yet; nothing sounded right or believable.

It also didn’t help that she was the little sister of a woman who looked like her grandmother and who was braver than her. A sister who had offered to stay at the Bramble Keep in order to let her, Moira, go free. Owain smiled at her with his beautiful sad smile and bent down to kiss her forehead.

“Everything will be all right,” he promised and Moira believed him. What choice did she have? They would be together.

It was like a dream, however confusing and scary the circumstances, however uncomfortable she felt with leaving the Keep — and her parents — in Brock’s hands. Had he really given Lady Cecile a baby? Would they forget her fast?

She looked down at her feet and then forced herself to move. She slipped out of her dress which seemed much too fine for travelling and which had suffered under Brock’s treatment of her. Owain’s blood was on her sleeve and she swallowed hard when she saw it, quickly casting the dress away before she could take a deep, calming breath.

She did not have much in the way of ordinary clothes. Most of her dresses were simple wool and she likely wouldn’t stick out in a village, but they weren’t travelling gear. Still, she took them to her bed and folded them. Next, she found gloves and a hat, undergarments and a second pair of shoes. She had little in the way of money — she never really needed it — but what she had, she took with her. It felt like theft now that she knew they weren’t really related. But then after long hesitation, she swept most of her jewelry into a leather purse, too; presents and trinkets left by suitors or given to her by her father.

The family heirlooms remained untouched; Lord Rochmond’s mother’s necklace with her picture carved in ivory into the amulet, the Rochmond crest signet ring, a pair of earrings once worn by an ancestor, the thin, filigree tiara her father had made her wear when receiving formal guests. With its branches and leaves, it represented their crest and their house. Not hers anymore, Moira reminded herself, as her fingers traced the tiny golden leaves.

She hadn’t realized that there had been a sense of pride in being a Rochmond. Most of her life, she knew she had been ungrateful and wished herself far away and free of the responsibilities and the life it brought with it. Standing here now, however, knowing she had never, not for a single day, truly been her father’s daughter, made her throat feel thick and painful.

He hadn’t been a bad father. Of course, he’d had his own responsibilities and the fief to consider, but she knew that he had loved her. Strange as she was and little as he had understood her, she knew he had loved her. Now, she would leave without a word, like a thief in the night and she would never see him again. She swallowed hard and quickly tore a piece of paper out of her letterbox and scribbled a quick few words before she hid it with the remaining family jewels.

She didn’t know if it was an action Brock would try to forbid and she chose not to ask for permission just in case. Still, her hands shook and her face was flushed and hot. Quickly, she tried to turn her attention back to packing but she felt confused and a little helpless as she picked up her lyre. It went on the pile of things to take with her even though she fully expected Owain to talk her out of it.

Finally, she stood by the window and watched the snow, the small area where the light of her room illuminated a few flakes in the darkness. It was beautiful and sad.

Suddenly, the door opened again. Moira turned around, somehow she had known it wasn’t Owain, but she couldn’t yet tell how it happened. Her mother stood there, looking radiant and strange.
Her mother
.

“Owain … went to find me a pack,” she explained, feeling a little foolish in her wool dress. She had tried to wear the warmest undergarments she could find but she knew that they would have to buy new traveling clothes soon. Her mother didn’t seem to notice however, as her glance swept over the small heap of things her daughter had put together.

“We have to leave while it’s still snowing,” she reminded Moira quietly. “Makes it harder to follow. You’ll come with me, Owain will have to find his own way out.”

“But … ” Moira started until her mother interrupted.

“He is strong, fast and silent; he won’t have any trouble. Don’t worry.”

Moira didn’t like it, but she didn’t comment. Just cast another glance around the room. When her eyes landed on her hairbrush, she picked that up as well, placing it on her dresses.

“I could put it in a braid for you … ” Maeve said quietly. Moira looked up at her and swallowed hard. Finally, she shook her head when she realized that her whole body started to freeze at the idea of the stranger touching her hair.

“It’s all right, thank you, I … can do it.” She tried to smile but quickly looked away. She would also never see Bess again and that hit her almost as hard as her father; maybe a little more so. Bess had always been the closest thing she had to a friend, the closest thing she had to a sibling. And now she was leaving her behind.

Swallowing again, her fingers found her arms but while her mother watched her, Moira could stop her fingernails from connecting with her skin. Instead, she moved to the little table where Bess kept her hair accessories and quickly tied her hair into the tight bun she liked to sleep in. Her face was still red when she returned her eyes to the beautiful Fae in her room and didn’t quite know what to say.

“So … you spoke to … um … Iris?” she finally asked.

Nodding, Maeve took a deep breath. She didn’t look happy and Moira wanted very much to disappear then and there. It was her fault; somehow, somewhere, it all felt like her fault.

“Why … ” but she couldn’t form the question. Instead, she turned away and looked out at the window again. It was still snowing; that, at least, was something to calm her.

“She is tired of hiding,” Maeve answered anyway. Moira couldn’t hear her move but she was beginning to get used to the idea that only humans made a lot of noise with everything they did.

“She has nowhere else to go, and … I suppose I wasn’t always a good mother to her either. She thinks she might be safer here, with only one man to look out for.”

Moira turned around again. She wanted to say something comforting but her mouth wouldn’t open. Nor could her mind phrase anything that might be helpful at all. She tried to phrase the word “mother” in her mind over and over again as though that would make her less of a stranger, but it didn’t work. It made it worse when the word felt so utterly wrong and disconnected to the person standing in front of her. Moira thought she wanted to get to know her, or thought that was what she was supposed to want; but for the moment, Maeve was a stranger who had come to her rescue.

“Why did you and … why did you want me to marry Fairester?” Moira asked then. It wasn’t supportive or helpful and she wished Owain would come back so that they could start packing — and so that the low level feeling of dread that someone might catch him or stick him back into his cell would dissipate.

Maeve looked back at her for a long moment before she turned to inspect her room, the expensive draperies and the soft bed. All the little reminders of wealth, a small mirror encrusted with jewels, a painting framed in gold leaf. It was so human, so very, very human.

“There was a little of the blood in his family,” she said finally, turning back to her daughter. “Not much, and as we suspect certainly not enough in him but … we thought you might be safer there, should you ever show it in any way.” Her voice petered out and she ran her hands through her red hair, even redder than Moira’s own.

“I was trying to protect you. I never thought you would show it so strongly. I still don’t know how it was possible. It isn’t supposed to be without going through the entirety of the rituals.” She exhaled again, looking up at her daughter, her frame, and her exhausted-looking eyes. There was something Fae about her, but the sickly look, the ghostly pallor; all of it was so human, almost more so than Iris had ever been.

“Brock said … I would have to go back for them, that it would hurt … ” Moira tried, not sure what to believe or who to trust. But asking questions seemed to be her only way to find out anything at all.

“They do,” Maeve answered calmly. “Iris went through them, and she wasn’t the same afterwards. She’d sparkled once, not the glow, of course, but … there was life and joy in her when she was a baby. Afterwards … ” Maeve shook her head and shrugged. Her tongue sneaked out and wetted her lips in a very human gesture she wasn’t even aware of anymore after so many years Lakeside.