Taminy (54 page)

“My
lady!”

In
the lee of Mertuile’s sheltering haunch, she turned and found herself face to
face with Daimhin Feich.

“My
lady, are you all right?” His eyes were over-bright and his flesh ashy, though
color burned in his cheeks.

“What
happened?” she asked. “Why did you-?”

Cwen
Toireasa was between them then, grasping her shoulders. “Someone shot at us
from the inner curtain. A bowman. Are you all right, Taminy? He didn’t-” Her
eyes fell to Taminy’s skirts, widening in her blanched face.

Following
them, Taminy saw at once the cause of her fright. A crossbow bolt was lodged in
the heavy fabric over her right thigh, its murderous barb shot clean through
and out again like a giant’s sewing needle.

Daimhin
Feich gave a strangled cough. “Cyne’s grace, Taminy! You were near hit.”

He
took her arm again, shepherding her up onto the broad stone verandah that
adjoined this side of the garden. There he seated her on a padded bench,
dropping down beside her, his eyes drowning her in anguish.

Taminy
glanced over his shoulder at Toireasa. She could not have read the other woman’s
face, but the feelings behind it darted this way and that around a central core
of steely conviction. “I’m going to speak to the Captain of the Guard,” she
said. “I want to know how this could happen.”

Bending
to remove the bolt from Taminy’s skirt, Daimhin Feich barely seemed to note the
Cwen’s departure. Taminy gazed down on his dark, gleaming hair and found
herself courting the most peculiar array of emotions. As if he sensed her
regard, the Cyne’s Durweard raised his head and caught her in his eyes,
dizzying her. Her heart pounded against sudden restriction and heat rose in her
cheeks.

She
did not comprehend what she felt, could not say, “This is good,” or “This is
bad.” She could only stare at the man, mute and perplexed.

He
took her hand, fanning the blaze in her cheeks, making her skin creep
pleasantly. “Taminy,” he said, his voice a whisper. “Dear Taminy, how close I
came to losing you. If that bolt had found its mark-” He bent his head,
pressing lips to the back of the hand he possessed, then turning it to kiss the
palm.

Choruses
sang in Taminy’s ears, chill-hot dancers pirouetted up her spine, while a
sensation that was not quite pain awoke in the place from which Healing flowed.
She thought of a sharp-clawed bird stretching its wings within her, pressing at
the confines of her body. Something was being born within her, and she knew it
to be desire. She did not thrust it away, but touched the new sensation,
explored it, turned it over in her soul. Her left hand, still her own, moved to
rest on Daimhin Feich’s glossy hair. It was thick and she twined her fingers in
it, feeling heat from the flesh beneath, feeling her own heat rise.

Was
this the beginning of love?

He
raised his head again, his eyes bright and exultant.
They Weave
, she thought.
They
Weave webs about me. Webs like hot silk
. She wanted to wear that garment, wanted
to wrap it about her and feel it glide warmly against her skin.

As
if he read her thoughts, he brought his lips up to brush hers in the merest,
teasing whisper. He withdrew slightly to look at her then, to let his pale eyes
Weave out more web. Satisfied with what he saw in her face, he raised his hands
to her hair and pulled her gently to a second kiss.

The
fiery bird within Taminy’s body dug in its talons and beat at the confines of
her womb. Liquid fire flooded her. She trembled and, feeling her tremble,
Daimhin pressed his kiss home, tangling his hands in her hair, driving the
breath from her lungs.

A
sound from down the verandah caused him to free her and move away, hastily
adjusting the folds of his tunic below its wide leather belt. He glanced up at
her from beneath dark lashes.

“Forgive
me, lady,” he said, but there was no regret in his eyes. He turned as a pair of
guards hurried toward them, looking fierce and efficient.

He
took them aside to confer in hushed tones while Taminy stared at the crossbow
bolt that lay at her feet. She picked it up and turned it in her hands, puzzled
by what it told her. Gradually, her trembling eased and was replaced by the
memory of why she was the target of such a thing.

“The
guards regret that the man who fired that fell from the curtain and was killed.”
Daimhin stood looking down at her, his lips curled wryly. “Most likely it was
some religious fanatic-”

She
shook her head, stopping him. “The man who fired this was paid to do it. There
was no passion driving him.”

Daimhin
Feich’s brows scaled his forehead. “A paid assassin? How do you know?”

“I
can tell much in a touch,” she said.
Except
yours. I can tell nothing from your touch except that it burns me and makes me
want to worship the fire.

He
smiled at her and held out a hand. “You must change those ruined clothes, my
lady. Let me escort you to your chambers.”

She
did let him. He was visibly disappointed to find Desary Hillwild there, but
Taminy was glad. Glad to slip out of his silken webs, glad to silence the
clamor of her body. But when the door of the chamber closed she was assailed
all over again by Desary’s impassioned anxiety.

“I
should have been there, Mistress!” the Hillwild girl protested. “Whatever was I
thinking?”

Taminy
managed a smile. “That your father might like to see you?”

Desary
shook her head, sending a cascade of dark hair over her shoulders. “I should
have been with you, Taminy. I won’t leave your side again, I promise.”

Taminy
was grateful for that, but Desary’s promise was put almost immediately to the
test. Called to an audience with Cwen Toireasa in her ground-floor salon, the
two girls were intercepted by Daimhin Feich who insisted that Desary go on
ahead while he spoke privately with her mistress.

“I
spoke to the Cyne,” he told her as they strolled slowly through the broad
corridors toward the castle’s seaward side. He did not touch her, but moved
along only a breath away.

She
felt static rise between them and prayed she might stay grounded this time.

“He
is mightily distressed and bids me tell you we will find whoever hired the
assassin and punish him before the eyes of Creiddylad. The Cyne is very fond of
you, Taminy. Though not, I think, as fond as I am.”

She
glanced up to catch his smile. It flooded her with heat. She looked away.

“Wait,
lady!”

He
turned her to him, hands firm on her shoulders. From the tail of her eye she
saw Desary pause far ahead of them. The girl didn’t turn, but merely stood,
waiting. She gave her gaze back up to him and he seized it.

“Your
manner tells me you are uncertain of me. I apologize, again, for my behavior
earlier—I would apologize a thousand times if it would soothe you. But I must
tell you—yes, I must tell you—that I am driven only by my attraction to you, an
attraction I am at a loss to fight or fathom.” He raised a hand to tilt her
chin upward and studied her face, stroking her lower lip with his thumb. “Tell
me I needn’t fight, Taminy. Tell me that the fires within you are as fierce as
the ones that light my soul. Do I see that same attraction in your eyes or do I
only wish to see it?” He shook his head, anguish in every feature. “No, I’ll
not be a coward in this. Let me bare this soul to you, Taminy-a-Cuinn. Let me
tell you I am driven by love.”

She
quivered under his touch—waiting, breathless, for the stroke of his lips. She
had a sudden desire to press herself against him, to know what it felt like to
meet him body to body, to be clasped in his arms.

He
lowered his head, but did not embrace her. “By the God of all things, I would
die to show you love’s ways. I would die of sheer joy if we could live, side by
side, submerged in each other till the end of time. But ...” He dropped his
hands to his sides and stepped away, leaving her to sway like a mast stripped
of supporting lines.

Dear God, the wind is so strong here.

He
gazed at her from too far away. “But, this ... situation ...Everything is so
uncertain. Caraid-land is being torn apart by the forces that control our
lives. Colfre struggles to hold it together, but I feel the fabric being rent.
You feel it, too.”

I
am being rent.

“The
Assembly is wracked with indecision, the Osraed have been discredited and
Caraid-land reels in search of spiritual direction. With Osraed Bevol gone,
with no heir to the position of Apex, how can they find it?”

There
was a tiny explosion of light in Taminy’s head. “But that’s why I ...That’s why
I’m here. For direction.”

He
grasped her hands in his. “Yes. I know that. You belong to this people. Believe
me, Taminy, their eyes are on you every moment. They pray for your glance, for
your smile. They wait for you to give them direction. I fear only that-” He
lowered his eyes.

“Only
what?”

“That
the direction you choose will carry you away from me, along a different path. I
must stay with my Cyne. No matter what, Taminy, I must be at Colfre’s side to
guide and protect him. But I would rather, with all of my heart, be at yours.”
He narrowed the gap between them again, standing mere fingers’ breadth away. “Only
you know which it will be. Only you can decide whether we are together or
apart.”

Taminy
all but held her breath while frissons of awareness scattered over her,
tingling on her skin. She looked up at him, struggling to read him. Why is it
so difficult? Does love block the Touch? She had never known that to happen
before, and she had only this much knowledge of desire.

“How
can I decide?”

He
shook his head. “I can’t ask it.”

“Tell
me, please, sir.”

He
looked anguished again. “No, no! Speak my name.”

“Daimhin,”
she said.

“Ah.”
He groaned as if the sound burdened him.

“Tell
me.”

“The
Osraed can no longer guide Caraid-land; only Colfre can. He has been visited by
dreams—aislinn which tell him he is the one the country must look to for
leadership. Now, he is forced to share that burden with lesser vehicles—the
Assembly, partisan as it is, and the weak and corrupt Osraed. But if their
responsibilities and duties were laid upon him alone, if he were Osric—Cyne by
Divine Right. He could take the reins of government in strong hands—hands
guided by the Spirit and the Meri. Colfre believes only you can bestow that
station on him.”

“He
believes I am Osmaer?”

“Yes,
he does.”

“And
you, what do you believe, Daimhin Feich?”

“I
believe I love you.”

“And
if I endorse Colfre as Osric?”

“Then
you would be spiritual allies, conjointly caring for the souls of Caraid-land.
The infighting of the Houses, the greedy plunder of the Eiric, the fanaticism
of the Cleirachs, the corruption of the Osraed—all set to naught. By you and
Colfre.”

“And
you would be at my side?”

“Forever.”

A
movement in the tail of her eye reminded Taminy that another had made that
promise and now kept it, if from a distance. “Others have also made that
pledge. Can I trust you to keep yours?”

“You
wound me in asking,” he said and kissed the palm of her left hand. He let go of
it rather suddenly, and stepped back from her, eyes searching.

She
smiled at him. “The Cwen will wonder why I am less than obedient in answering
her summons.” She started to walk again toward the waiting Desary.

“She
does not summon you, lady,” Daimhin told her. “She requests your presence.”

He
left them at the door to Toireasa’s salon, not by choice, but because the Cwen’s
Maid refused to admit him, insisting that her mistress was “indisposed.” The
real reason for the Cwen’s reticence met them as soon as they entered the room.
It was Skeet who greeted them, Skeet who informed them soberly that he couldn’t
tell them where Osraed Bevol was or what had happened to him.

“Then,
is he dead?” Taminy asked, breathless. “Have they killed him?”

“I
can’t answer you that, Mistress,” Skeet said.

“Then
there is no spiritual heir to the Apex. The Osraed will have to elect. And that
will take time.”
Time in which
Caraid-land will wallow without direction, for at this moment, I have none.

“Oh,
but there is an Apex already appointed, mistress,” Skeet told her, his eyes
glinting oddly. “Osraed Bevol left his testament with me.”

Taminy
felt amazement all the way to the core of her soul. All the while she had been
assaulted with the distractions of Mertuile, Bevol had kept his eyes wide open,
had known danger surrounded them, and had taken precautions.

“While
I slept,” she murmured and felt as if, drowning, she had just pulled her head
clear of the water.

“What,
Mistress?” Desary asked her. “What did you say?”

“I
said I’ve been asleep, Desary. I pray God I am at last awake.” She turned back
to Skeet. “Who is it, Skeet? Who is the new Apex? We must summon him.”

Skeet
smiled. “Why Osraed Wyth, of course, mistress. And I’ve already seen to his
summoning.”

This is the hour of dawn.
The light of the Sun is not yet at the height of its power. When the Sun has
ascended to its midday station, its flames will blaze so hot that they will
excite even the crawling things under the earth. Though they cannot perceive
the Light, yet they will be set in frantic motion by the heat.

— from the Testament of Osraed Bevol

“Osric?” Iobert Claeg spoke the word as if he’d never
heard it before. “And what in the Name of the Spirit shall we want with an
Osric? There’s never been such a thing in the history of Caraid-land.”

“Ah,
not so,” Colfre corrected him. “Malcuim the Uniter was Osric before Ochan
gathered up the Osraed and established that sacred institution at Halig-liath.
There was no official Assembly then either, if you recall. Merely a rabble of
House and village representatives who fought over land rights and whether or
not to give their young men into Malcuim’s army.”