Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05

by A Pride of Princes (v1. 0)

  She cast a scowl at the unconscious men. "But 'tis my fault as much as anything else; I should not have come down alone. I know better, as my father is one for telling me. And now he can tell me again." She shrugged and smiled a rueful smile. "For all I hate to say it, he may have the right of it. All Alaric needs is leverage, and I nearly gave it to him." And then she stopped short, as if she had said too much to men who could not understand, and cast a bright glance at Corin. "Why does a Cheysuli come to Erinn?"

  "Business with her lord."

  Straight red brows jerked upward. She was not subtle in her thoughts, but he found it rather engaging. "With Liam, then? Well, 'twill have to wait. He's on the other side of the island tending to disputes." She jerked her head upward to indicate the fortress. "Will you come up, then? Tis where I'm bound." She looked at Boyne and grinned. "You as well, captain. 'Tis grateful I am for your service, and you're both due reward. What would you say to a meal in the Aerie, and a purse of gold apiece?"

  "In the castle?" Boyne stared. "Lass, lass, ye shouldn't be promising things ye can't deliver."

  "But I can," she said calmly. She glanced at Corin briefly, saw his expression, and her bright eyes twinkled.

  "But then I'm thinking you might understand."

  He grinned. "Aye, lady, I do. And I think Boyne will, also, although you will steal his tongue. I have heard him speak, of you; I think he worships someone other than the gods."

  She grimaced wryly and indicated her mussed appearance. "Not for much longer, I fear." One of the Atvians groaned and shifted on the cobbles. She scowled. "Let us tarry no longer. We'll be leaving the rats in the gutter . . . they'll crawl home to their master and suffer for their failure."

  "Lass—" Boyne stopped her as she swung away, ready to march out of the narrow wynd. "Lass—the castle?"

  "The castle," she agreed. "D'ye think you're not fit for it?" And as he nodded, she laughed and took his arm, turning him toward the cliffs. "Not fit to face the eagle when you've saved one of his fledglings?" She paused. "Except the eagle is not in the Aerie, nor any of the others. I shall have to do."

  "Boyne." Corin fell into step as Kiri trotted beside him. "Have you not told me what the Princess Aileen looks like?"

  The captain grinned as he slackened his pace to the girl's. "Aye, lad, many times. 'Tis only from a distance I've seen her, mind you, but 'twas enough." He grinned and tucked her slender arm into his elbow. "Red-haired she is, like this lass here, and I've heard her eyes are green as Erinn's turf."

  "Turf," the girl echoed morosely, twisting her mobile mouth into something akin to an offended wince, although the laughter in her eyes belied the truth of it. "Ye might at least compare them to emeralds, man, not turf."

  "Your eyes are the emeralds, lass," Boyne said gallantly.

  At that she burst out laughing and stopped him in his tracks. "Ye great-hearted, blathering fool, can ye not hear what this Cheysuli is trying to say? I am Aileen, man . . . I am the Princess of Erinn . . . turf-green eyes and all."

  Boyne gaped. "You're not."

  "I am," she said solemnly, but her bright eyes were alight with humor. "And when I invite you to take supper with me and accept a purse of gold, you will do as I say."

  "Oh, lass—I mean, lady—"

  "Fie on that blather," she said cheerfully. "Come up with me, captain, and let me thank you for your courage."

  Grinning at Boyne's discomfort, Corin possessed himself of silence. But he wondered what Brennan would say when he met his Eririnish bride.

  Three

  Although Aileen struck Corin as an unaffected, uninhibited girl, she was also a princess and well understood the responsibilities of rank. Once within the towering walls of Liam's fortress, Corin and Boyne were shown to guest chambers to refresh themselves before the meal. It took neither of them long—Corin bathed and put on fresh leathers, Boyne bathed and put on his well-worn flamboyant silks because he had nothing else—and then they were escorted into a private hall made ready for the evening meal.

  Corin was impressed. Both his father and Deirdre had said Liam was not a man much concerned with show, preferring simplicity over elaboration, and Kilore itself reflected the tastes of simple men. But in a short amount of time Aileen had ordered her guests treated with the utmost respect and hospitality, the meal and hall prepared, and her servants had quickly complied.

  A figured white cloth covered the wide table. Iron gimbles filled with candles hung from massive roof timbers, providing a wash of illumination that glittered off glass and silver. Covered platters looked like silver tur-tles steaming. Servants neatly attired in Liam's green livery waited quietly, indicating that Corin and Boyne were to be seated. And then Aileen came in.

  Gone was the fisher girl in homespun wool and knee boots, with unruly red hair an unbound mass of tangles.

  In her place was the Princess of Erinn, gowned and garbed appropriately. And yet she maintained a simplicity in dress and manner, for there were no jewels or haughty ways, merely a simple green gown, a slender fillet of gold threaded through shining hair now free of snarls, and a wide, impish smile.

  Corin rose with alacrity, although Boyne's matching response was so abrupt it overset his chair. One of the servants hastened to right it as Boyne, unheeding, gaped at Aileen.

  "Lass," he rumbled, "oh, lass—"

  Aileen's brows rose expectantly as he stumbled to a stop; when he appeared incapable of continuing, she laughed and bade them both be seated,

  Good manners, Kiri approved.

  Corin put a hand down as he sat and passed it through the vixen's ruff. As always, the touch soothed him. Do you judge her in Brennan's place?

  I merely comment. Kiri settled her rump on the floor next to Corin's chair and curled tail fastidiously around black paws.

  "We'll be dining first," Aileen told them, "and then I'll be asking all the things I want to know."

  The meal was superb, particularly after weeks of ship's stores, which were intended for longevity and ease of storing rather than for flavor. Corin's table manners reasserted themselves after the long voyage, but Boyne suffered from inexperience. He quaffed wine freely, consumed incredible amounts of rare beef, partridge, eel, oysters, and a variety of fish. Corin and Aileen, with more refined appetites, finished long before the captain, and exchanged amused grins as Boyne continued his culinary attack.

  At last he shoved his platter away and belched contentedly. "Aye, lass—lady—'twas a meal fit for a lord. My belly is in the way of being grateful."

  " Twas only the beginning of showing you my own gratitude." Aileen motioned the servants to begin clearing as she rose. "If you'll come with me now, I'll be showing you the rest."

  She led them to an antechamber well-warmed by a huge brick fireplace. Plush pelts covered the stone floor and tapestries cut the chill from thick walls. There were chairs, small tables, two wooden cabinets carved in Erinnish knotwork patterns. Altogether the chamber formed a homey, comfortable place, reminding Corin of Deirdre's solar.

  Aileen motioned them to sit, then withdrew something from one of the cabinets. As she turned, Corin saw two leather pouches in her hands. Her expression was solemn as she faced them, but her green eyes were alight. "I know neither of you did me the service out of greed or ambition," she said, "and you weren't hoping for reward, either—not from a fisher girl all wrapped in dirty blankets—but I’ll be giving you a token of my gratitude regardless. And I'll not be hearing modest refusals from you, either—would ye say them to my father?" She looked each of them in the eye, forbidding them to answer, and handed out the pouches. "You'll be staying the night as my guests."

  Boyne stared down at the pouch, dwarfed in the palm of his huge hand. He chewed at his lip, scowling blackly, then sighed and tucked the pouch away with the air of resignation. Aileen, watching his struggle, smiled and went to him.

  "And as a measure of more personal thanks, a kiss."

  On tiptoe she still had to urge him to bend, and kissed him squarely o
n the cheek when he acquiesced. Boyne turned scarlet.

  Aileen laughed and stepped away. "Off with ye, captain, I'm no blind fool; you've been at sea a long time, and no doubt you'd rather be spending the night with a lady. Well, 'tis a host's responsibility to provide hospitality, woman or no; I think you'll be pleased with the girl."

  Boyne's color deepened. "Lass—"

  "In my father's place, I am host," Aileen said cheerfully. "I know my duties, captain."

  In the face of her matter-of-fact announcement, Boyne was clearly unable to answer. And so he backed toward the door, bowed awkwardly, and went out at once, bagged coin clinking against one massive thigh.

  Aileen laughed, eyes blazing amusement, and turned to Corin.

  "Did you really send him a woman?" he asked, wondering what she intended for him.

  Her laughter was arrested. "Aye," she said in surprise. "D'ye think I am a liar?"

  "No, no, but—" Suddenly uncomfortable, he shrugged. "It—seems odd to think of a woman sending a man a girl to share his bed."

  " Tis not a habit of mine," she answered cheerfully. "But I spoke the truth: there are customs of hospitality, regardless of sex, and that is one. I could send him back to the waterfront, but I thought a night in the Aerie might be worth a drink or two in the taverns." She shrugged disarmingly. "My father is a lusty, plain-speaking man, and so is my brother. I know a man's needs, and so I tend to Boyne's." Her mobile mouth moved into a crooked smile. "Besides, 'twas Moira's desire to bed him. She told me so as I bathed."

  Corin laughed aloud. "Then what of me, lady? Do you tend my needs also?"

  She eyed him thoughtfully, then flung a gesture toward a chair. "Sit, sit; Boyne was easy to predict, but you are harder to know. And I have never met a Cheysuli."

  She poured wine as he sat down, handed him a heavy goblet and settled herself in a chair opposite his own.

  The fire and candlelight was kind to her coloring and features, enriching the former and enhancing the latter; Deirdre also wore Erinnish green frequently, but now that he saw the color on Aileen, Corin felt Deirdre's choice less suitable.

  He set the pouch of gold on the table and made a gesture indicating polite refusal. "Your words were well-spoken and I admire their intent, but I cannot accept your reward."

  She arched a single eyebrow. "Too proud, then? Or is it that Erinnish gold means less to you than those bracelets on your arms?"

  Absently Corin touched one of the heavy lir-bands.

  "No, nor am I too proud, though you may think otherwise," He shrugged slightly. "Let us say it is—unnecessary."

  "Why?" she asked bluntly.

  Corin smiled. "Your father and brother are not the only plainspoken eagles in the Aerie."

  Aileen laughed and swung a foot. "No, no, I have my share of a forthright tongue as well. 'Twas the price of living with my father." Her eyes did not waver from his. "Why is it unnecessary?"

  "Because for a kinsman to do less is unconscionable. For him to do it for reward is unspeakable."

  The foot stopped swinging. "Kinsman."

  "Corin," he said, "as I have told you. "But it is Corin of Homana ... I am the Mujhar's son."

  "Niall's son!"

  "Aye."

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. And then shook her head. "But we're not kin. Through my aunt we would be, but Niall and Deirdre are not wed." Her expression was cool. "He holds to Gisella, does he not?"

  "He holds to the laws of Homana," Corin told her calmly. "You honor the customs of hospitality, Aileen . . . he honors the laws of the land he rules."

  She sipped wine, then shrugged and thumped the goblet down on the table. "So, you've come to see my father. Official business? Or personal?"

  Her eyes were watchful, no matter how casual her tone. He opened his mouth to tell her the business concerned her betrothal to Brennan—and found he could not. "It is for me to speak with your father."

  Aileen's smile was slow, but no less eloquent. "I am his daughter."

  "I have been charged with this message—for the Lord of Erinn—by the Mujhar himself." He thought the evasion was answer enough, and not so far from the truth.

  She considered it, tilting her head slightly. Candlelight blazed off the gold fillet and the glory of her hair. And then she shrugged slightly, dismissing the topic entirely.

  "Well, 'twill have to wait regardless. My father is, as I have said, on the other side of the island. He could be home tomorrow; he might come home in a month."

  Corin thought of Keely, "Sean is not here?"

  Aileen shook her had. "Sean has a new ship, the Princess of Homana." She sighed and swung her foot again. "Men and ships—who can say how long he will be gone? Tis her maiden voyage . . . but he should be back by spring." Her eyes were steady. "In time to have Liam write the Mujhar about the betrothal between son and daughter."

  Corin drank hastily to cover the rigid expression on his face. He could not very well tell Aileen his sister wanted no part of her brother; it would be rude as well as an insult. Plainspeaking she might be, and Liam, but in negotiations between the royal houses such bluntness was deemed unwise.

  "She is lovely, your fox," Aileen said, looking at Kin curled on the bear pelt beneath Corin's feet. "And so quiet; I'd be thinking she'd prefer the out of doors to castles."

  He smiled. "She does. So do most Cheysuli; it is the lir-shape in us. But a warrior adapts, and so does a lir."

  Aileen bent forward to take a closer look. "We know of Cheysuli, of course, but little of your animals. My father says Niall had none when he was a guest here so long ago."

  "Guest?" Corin grinned. "You bend the truth, Aileen. My father was held hostage against Alaric of Atvia."

  She laughed ruefully. "Aye, aye, hostage then, but will you be telling me he lost by it? In the end he got his Atvian wife, but he got my aunt as well. And a bastard daughter."

  He inclined his head to indicate concession. "Maeve and Deirdre thrive. Bastard or no, she is his favorite child."

  Aileen's brows rose. "You are not?"

  "Hardly." Corin felt the familiar bitterness rising. "Maeve is Deirdre come again; my father adores his Erinnish meijha, and the daughter as well. As for me, I come last in his regard."

  "Why?" Aileen frowned. "Why do you rank your brothers and sisters? Does he not love you all equally?"

  "There is little to love in me." Corin blocked out her face with the goblet, drinking deeply. "Equally? No." He shrugged, "There is Brennan, who is the heir to Homana and therefore the most important of us all."

  Though he tried, for her sake, to mask the resentment in his tone when he spoke of Brennan, he heard its echo regardless. Quickly, he went on. "There is Maeve, dutiful daughter of his beloved meijha. And Hart, who is as good-natured as he is irresponsible, and impossible to dislike." He smiled. "And Keely, impetuous, passionate Keely, who tests his patience with her wild ways, and yet pleases him with her spirit. As for me," Corin shrugged, "I am, perhaps, my own worst enemy . . . but I cannot help it.” He looked at her over the rim of his goblet, seeing himself through her eyes, and found he did not like it. But he did not look away. "There are times I hate myself, and therefore I make it easy for others to hate me."

  Aileen looked straight back at him. "Then 'tis up to you to change it."

  He waited for the upsurge of anger or resentment. It was a solution others had suggested many times, and each time it had made him blacker of temper than ever.

  But before Aileen, he found himself regretting his contrary moodiness for the first time. And sincerely desiring to change it.

  He smiled ruefully. "I have said more to you than anyone save Keely, and half the time she supports me instead of suggesting I change my behavior."

  "It does a person no good to abet his insecurities," Aileen said flatly. "My brother is the proudest, most honorable man you could ever meet, and yet he's hot-tempered and hasty as well, and equally plainspoken. If I stood by him when he is wrong, nodding and 'ayeing' and buttressing his
flank, I'd be doing him a greater injustice than Sean his victim." Her tone was one of understanding courtesy, and yet there was also an inflexible note of determination. "I'd make of him a tyrant, believing in only himself without granting others the right to disagreement or other forms of self-expression . . . and 'tis a poor man that makes."

  Corin laughed sourly. "My father has said as much, and Brennan as well. . . but it makes more sense coming from you."

  " 'Tis usually the way of it." Aileen shrugged. " Tis why 'tis important to listen to your kin. Let them show you what you are and what you do, so you give others no opportunity." She paused a moment, watching him. "And then you won't be having to sit there across from me, wishing there was a hole you might crawl into."

  He grinned and rubbed at an eye, "Gods, but you are good for me. Brennan is fortunate—" And he broke off, realizing that yet again his brother would take precedence over him. And this time, this time particularly, he resented it badly. More than ever before.

  But you have known all along she was intended for your rujholli, Kiri told him. For all the days of your life.

  Rigidly, he stared at Aileen. And then he set the goblet down unsteadily and rose. "If you will excuse me ... it was a long voyage, and I would like to retire."

  Aileen stood quickly and awkwardly, bewildered by his sudden withdrawal. "Oh, aye—of course.” She frowned. "Corin—"

  "I am weary, Aileen," he said curtly, and saw the color blaze in her face.

  Her eyes glittered with an acknowledgment of his rudeness. "Then go," she said coolly. "The servants will show you to your chambers."

  With Kiri, Corin left.

  He was a child again, in his dream, overlooked because of his age. Around him the women gossiped, cluck-ing over the latest of Harfs habitual pranks or Keely's willfulness; praising Maeve's sweet temper and Brennan's maturity. But they said nothing of him, nothing of Corin at all.

  In his dream he heard their praises, and Brennan—Brennan—Brennan.