The Mage's Daughter

by Lynn Kurland

  She swallowed, hard. “Did you say ’wed’?”

  “Well, of course wed. What else?”

  She took a deep breath. “I didn’t think…I mean, I wasn’t sure…”

  He smiled, looking slightly pained. “Morgan, why else would I woo you, if not to wed you? Why else would I have Mehar’s betrothal ring digging a hole in my ankle if not to give it to you at the appropriate time?”

  “Oh,” she said, quietly. “I see.”

  “Of course, there are a few things standing in our way,” he admitted. “Putting the realm to rights. Convincing you to say me aye. Securing the appropriate permission from elven grandfathers.”

  Morgan swallowed, rather unsuccessfully, actually. “Elven grandfathers?”

  “You have one, my love, and he will be quite opinionated about you when he learns you’re alive.”

  “I wish you were but a simple farmer,” she whispered. “I wish I was nothing but a witless village wench. It would be so much easier.”

  “You don’t really wish that,” he said, “do you?”

  “At this moment? Aye. In all the other moments?” She paused, then shook her head. “Nay. I wouldn’t change you, not even for that. Nor me, I suppose. A bit of peace would be nice, though, wouldn’t it?”

  “We’ll have it, eventually. And we’ll steal what bits of it we can on the way. For now, you should sleep whilst you may. We’ll be hard-pressed to find much more of that on our road, I imagine. I’ll go keep watch.”

  He kissed her cheek, then sat up and crawled over to sit on the edge of the hayloft.

  She watched him for quite some time, contemplating the turns her life had taken that she never would have expected. The last time she’d been in Hearn’s hayloft with Miach, she hadn’t known who he was or what he was capable of—and she hadn’t known the same about herself. He’d been a farmer and she a shieldmaiden.

  But now he was the archmage of Neroche and she a witless tavern wench after all, for all she seemed able to do was seek out ways to keep her arms around him. And when she didn’t have her arms around him, she was begrudging herself the separation and wondering how soon she might yet again put her arms around him.

  Pitiful.

  She tried to sleep, truly she did. It was impossible. There was too much light and Miach was too close to her to resist. She finally gave in, crawled over on her knees, and sat down behind him. She hesitated, then put her arms around his waist and put her cheek against his back.

  He put his hands over hers, but said nothing.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, finally.

  “About when I first loved you,” he said.

  She blinked, hard. “Is that so,” she managed. “Not the realm?”

  “I thought enough about the realm whilst we flew. I’m permitting myself a few minutes of more pleasant reflection.”

  “Hmmm,” she managed. She chewed on her words for quite a long time. “So,” she said, finally, “when was that happy occasion you were thinking on?”

  “The first time I saw you,” he said. “You were standing at the edge of a clearing near an inn just outside Istaur. I thought I’d never seen anyone so perilously beautiful.” He laced his fingers with hers. “Then that next day, when you woke and looked at me as if you would have liked to kill me—well”—he laughed a bit—“then I knew I was in trouble.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. “You’re brave.”

  “And you are easy to love,” he said. He squeezed her hands briefly. “I became more besotted with every day that passed, not that you would have noticed.”

  “Oh,” she said softly, “I wondered.”

  “Well, I should have told you what I felt, but I couldn’t until I told you who I was and by the time I was ready to tell you who I was, it was too late and I feared you would never forgive me.”

  “I forgave you.”

  “A monumental occasion for which I am very grateful,” he said honestly. “Now, what of you? When did you first love me?”

  “Chagailt,” she said without hesitation, then she froze. It took her quite a while to catch her breath. “I suppose I can’t deny it any longer, can I?”

  He squeezed her hand. “I won’t press you,” he said, though he sounded rather hoarse.

  She rested her cheek against his back. “Actually, I think it might have been before that. You were so kind to me—especially when I didn’t deserve it. You held my hand, you distracted me with tales, you watched me whilst I slept. At Chagailt, we were in the library and you lay in front of the fire and looked up at me as if you thought I was worth your notice. I’d never had a man look at me as you did—and you do—as if he…”

  “Loved you?”

  “Aye,” she said quietly. “And by the time we reached Tor Neroche, I wanted very much for you to mean something with those looks.”

  He shifted so he could face her. “Did you?”

  She nodded, then she looked down at her hands. “I knew that I was not fine enough for such a place, but I told myself that didn’t matter because you were but a farmer yourself.”

  He winced. “Oh, Morgan—”

  She shook her head. “’Tis in the past, but when I discovered your true identity, what distressed me the most was to think you wanted me—as you guessed at Lismòr—simply to wield the Sword of Angesand, not that you wanted simply me. I had convinced myself by the time I reached Gobhann that I had rid myself of any feelings for you. Then I saw you in the courtyard and it was…” She smiled. “It was like rain after a drought. I think it was then that I knew, deep down, that I couldn’t go on without you. That is why I left Gobhann, in spite of what I knew I would face. Because I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it.”

  He looked at her gravely for a moment or two, then he leaned forward and kissed her.

  Morgan almost fell off the loft.

  It wasn’t that she hadn’t been kissed before. Nicholas had kissed her several times in a fatherly way on the cheek, or on the top of her head. This was something entirely different.

  Miach’s lips were whisper soft against hers, but he might as well have stabbed a dagger into her heart for as much as his lips against hers surprised her. He lifted his head, looked at her with stormy eyes, then slid his hand under her hair, pulled her closer to him, and kissed her again.

  Just long enough to make her realize it had been a very bad idea indeed.

  “Oh,” she managed as he lifted his head to look at her. “This isn’t good.”

  “I told you so.”

  “Aye, well, you were right,” she said crossly. “That doesn’t solve the problem, does it?”

  He smiled at her. “I daresay we should stop whilst we can.”

  “Do you think so?”

  He took a deep breath, then pulled her closer. “Of course not.”

  He bent his head and kissed her for quite some time. By the time he stopped, she thought she might manage to fall off the edge of the loft all on her own.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Words fail me.”

  He laughed and kissed her quickly. “I understand, believe me.” His smile faded. “I want you to wed me, Morgan. I must ask Sìle first, then I’ll ask you. But that is what I want.”

  “I suppose I’ll think about what I’ll say,” she managed, feeling rather flushed.

  His eyes widened briefly, then he laughed. “You do that.”

  She reached out and touched his face. “Perhaps you should shore up your strength against that day. Go sleep.”

  “I don’t think I can after that.”

  She found it impossible not to smile, just a bit. “I don’t think I can either, but you at least should try.” She rose unsteadily to her feet, then went to stretch out on the blanket. She leaned up on her elbow and patted the place next to her. “Sleep,” she said firmly. “I’ll keep watch.”

  He hesitated, then came to lie down next to her. He drew her arm over his waist. “For an hour, but no more. We dare not stay long here.”


  “You’re more worried than you let on.”

  “I am,” he agreed with a sigh. “It concerns me that we were found so easily on Melksham. It worries me to stop here and possibly draw something inside Hearn’s gates, though I have spent a great deal of energy making certain we are hidden.” He paused for quite some time. “I worry that I might not be able to protect you. I would fly you to Tòrr Dòrainn right now on my back, but I’m too damned tired. That and I fear that somehow my magic might be sensed in spite of how I’ve tried to hide it. It concerns me that we might be drawing those creatures to us without using any magic at all. What I want is for us to disappear for a few days so I can find answers.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “It is enough that you are here with me,” he said quietly. “I can see to the rest.”

  “I can guard you, at least,” she said. “If something comes, I’ll wake you.” She looked into his very red, very pale eyes. “And the horses will alert us to anything untoward, don’t you think?”

  He sighed. “They would. And Hearn has his own breed of magic. I imagine we’ll be safe enough. But we must leave before sunset. We’ll be to Tòrr Dòrainn by sunset tomorrow if we fly hard.”

  “Please let us eat here before we go,” Morgan groaned. “I don’t think I can eat anything raw.”

  Miach laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

  She looked at him by the light filtering in through a high window and found that she was unwholesomely glad to be where she was. She could have been sitting in an austere, cheerless chamber in Gobhann. Instead, she was in a hayloft kings had despaired of ever sleeping in and she was with a man who said he loved her.

  It was so much more than she had ever expected, standing there in Gobhann, watching him from the shadows.

  She found he was smiling at her. “What is it?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m begrudging myself sleep.”

  “But why?”

  “Because you’re here to look at.”

  “I can move—”

  He pulled her down and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll manage to sleep somehow. Why don’t you bore me with something you learned about all those adventurous elves. I’m sure that will put me right to sleep.”

  She smiled. “I sense a distinct lack of respect in you.”

  “We’ll keep that to ourselves. Besides, I’m teasing. Who did you read about?”

  “Tachartas of Tòrr Dòrainn,” she said, settling her head more comfortably on his shoulder. “Do you know him?”

  “I know of him, but not any particulars. Enlighten me.”

  She did, until she felt his breathing deepen. He twitched a time or two, then slept deeply. Morgan waited several more minutes, then carefully disentangled herself from his arms and sat up. She simply watched him for quite some time.

  Perhaps he did love her after all. She supposed stranger things had happened. Mages earning Weger’s mark. Shieldmaidens finding out they were actually elves. That sort of thing. Perhaps it wasn’t unthinkable to find that a man could love her.

  She reached for the other blanket, spread it over him, then hesitated. She considered kissing him, then decided against it. It was too tempting, he was too tired, and she supposed if she started, she might not be able to stop.

  Weger would have been appalled.

  She crawled over to the edge of the hayloft and sat where she could swing her legs off the edge. She tried, rather unsuccessfully, to think about something besides the man behind her. It was terrible, actually, to think on how much she’d come to depend on him. She couldn’t bring herself to think about how much she loved him. And whilst she was about the labor of trying to avoid thinking about either of those two things, a thought came at her from out of nowhere.

  What if something happened to him?

  She was rather grateful to be sitting down, all things considered, though that didn’t help with her inability to catch her breath. She recited handfuls of Weger’s strictures, but found no comfort in them. She bowed her head.

  Love was a terrible thing.

  She hoped she wasn’t making a terrible mistake indulging in it.

  Seventeen

  Miach woke and instantly knew that he’d slept longer than he should have. The shadows were different in the loft. He also felt almost human instead of being pushed so hard and so long that he hardly recognized himself. He enjoyed the sensation for a moment or two before he sat up and saw Morgan sitting next to him, watching him silently.

  “You let me sleep too much,” he chided gently.

  “You needed it,” she said. “And it wasn’t that much. Well,” she amended, “it was, but you looked so tired I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

  He dragged his hands through his hair. “I’ll admit I appreciate it. How have you wiled away the hours?”

  “Watching you. Talking to Hearn. Watching you a bit more.”

  “And what did you think?”

  “Hearn was very interesting.”

  He blinked, then laughed. “You’re a heartless wench.”

  “Hmmm,” was all she said.

  He looked at her and saw immediately that something was amiss. Her expression was very grave. And she was sitting rather far away from him, all things considered. She made no move to come any closer.

  He found himself, suddenly, rather unwilling to ask her why—on the off chance she’d changed her mind for some reason.

  A coward, that’s what he was.

  But he’d known that before, so it came as no great surprise to him at the moment. He took a deep breath. “We should go,” he said.

  She nodded and went to gather up her gear. He collected his own things, then followed her down the ladder. He was relieved to see that it wasn’t as late as he’d thought it to be. They would still have time to have something to eat, then be on their way before much more of the day passed. He turned around and found Morgan standing there in the passageway between the rows of stalls, wearing the most unsure expression he’d ever seen on her face.

  “What is it?” he asked in surprise.

  A single tear trailed down her cheek. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  He found that apparently there was enough of his heart to still be shredded. He took a deep breath. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never cared what happened to anyone else,” she said grimly. “It wouldn’t have bothered me if they died. And now…now, look at me!”

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “Is it not what you want?” he asked. He paused. “Am I not what you want?”

  Her eyes widened. “I never said that.”

  “Then what are you saying?” he ventured.

  She glared at him. “I’m saying that if you take foolish chances with your life and leave me alone as a result of them, I’ll…well, I’ll take my blade to you myself and finish anything anyone else leaves of you!”

  Miach found it in him to smile.

  “This isn’t amusing,” she snapped.

  He looked at her for a moment in silence, then he slowly held open his arms. She cursed, then took two steps forward and flung herself against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly.

  “Of course you’re what I want,” she whispered fiercely. “Just be careful with yourself, damn it.”

  He held her close and closed his eyes. It was unwholesome, that sense of relief that rushed over him. “I will be,” he promised.

  “I’ve never cared about anyone like this before,” she said, her voice catching. “It’s worse than any magic ever could be.”

  “Is it worth it?” he asked carefully.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

  Her answer might have worried him if she hadn’t been holding on to him so tightly. He supposed he could safely assume she didn’t mean what she was saying.

  “I think you love me,” he murmured.

  She pulled back far enough to look at him. “Wha
t does it matter if I lose you?”

  “You’re not going to lose me. Why would anything happen to me when I have you to guard my back?”

  She sighed. “There is that, I suppose.”

  “Would you like a distraction from these troubling thoughts?”

  “A distraction?” she echoed. “What sort?”

  “This sort.”

  He tipped her face up and kissed her. He kissed her for far longer than he should have, but rather chastely, all things considered. By the time he lifted his head, he supposed he would still be able to walk steadily. He wiped away her tears, then kissed her once more.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered. “We’ll beg something quick to eat from Hearn and be on our way.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “Aye.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and led her out of the stables. He wasn’t going to say as much, but he shared her concern for his safety—and hers. He’d already come far too close to losing her to Lothar, losing her to Searbhe at Gobhann, losing her to creatures he couldn’t foresee at Lismòr. That didn’t begin to address the magic he might not be there to defend her against.

  He wondered briefly if that was what had driven Sìle of Tòrr Dòrainn.

  He left the stables with Morgan to find Hearn leaning against the wall, looking up at the late-afternoon sky. Hearn saw them, then pushed away from the wall and smiled.

  “Finished?”

  “With what?” Morgan asked.

  “I came to wake you both. I found you, um, otherwise occupied.”

  Miach could feel Morgan’s blush from where he stood. He smiled. “I can’t seem to help myself,” he said easily.

  Hearn looked at him sternly from under bushy eyebrows. “I think you’d better help yourself, lad, unless you have something akin to a wedding in mind.”

  “I do,” Miach said easily, “if she’ll say me aye.”

  Hearn looked at Morgan. “Well?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” Morgan conceded.

  Miach smiled as she slipped her hand into his, then looked at Hearn. “I need a message or two sent. Have you a lad who might be willing?”

  “I’ll see it done, and I’ll see you fed before I send you on your way, but I’ve also a few tidings for you. I’ve already given them to Mistress Morgan, but I’ll repeat them for you.”