The Well of Shades Page 45

  “I expect it’s all singing and fine embroidery,” Eile said, grinning. “Not my sort of education at all.”

  Ferada gave an uncharacteristic snort of laughter. “I hope you will come. I have hopes for Saraid, in a few years’ time. Perhaps her calming influence on small boys may extend to girls as well.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know how long we’ll be staying here. But I’m grateful for your kindness.”

  Faolan’s hand clung to hers a moment longer. She felt his fingers brush hers in a slow farewell before he relinquished her touch altogether. Then Eile turned and left the hall, not looking back.

  15

  SHE MUST HAVE been waiting. When he scratched on her door, she opened it immediately. Faolan slipped through; Eile closed the door without a sound.

  Saraid was still awake, bolt upright in bed with her big eyes fixed on him. “Feeler sing a song,” she ordered.

  “I’m sorry,” Eile said. “I told her you were coming, and she was too excited to go to sleep. We generally have a song before bed, or a story. I’ve tried to keep that up.” Then, to Saraid, “I’ll sing it, Squirrel—”

  It seemed to Faolan there might be a number of tests presented and that he must do his best to pass every one. “What kind of song is it to be?” he asked the child as he moved to sit on the bed.

  “A song about Sorry.” At a look from her mother, Saraid added, “Please.”

  For a man who had once been a bard, albeit a long time ago, this was not a difficult challenge. He gave a tale of Sorry’s exploits, cast in the form and style of a mythical adventure, while the little girl stared, enthralled, and Eile, seated on the storage chest, spoke not a word. He had Sorry suffer a terrible accident and endure surgery in stoic silence; he had her ride in a boat over monstrous seas; he had her gifted with new clothes that made her the loveliest creature anyone had ever clapped eyes on. This seemed a good place to stop; he put in one final chorus. By now Saraid’s small voice could be heard joining in the fa-lala’s and fol-de-riddle-o’s.

  “Time for sleep now,” he told her.

  “More?” asked Saraid hopefully.

  “No more tonight. Of course, this song has many, many verses. Enough for any number of nights.”

  “How many?”

  “Lots and lots. As many verses as Sorry has adventures. But we’ll save the rest for later.”

  “Ah, now you’ve started something,” observed Eile with a smile.

  He smiled back, hearing the nervous edge in her voice, which echoed an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. This had not been allayed by the need to concentrate on the music.

  “Mama do story now,” Saraid said, keen to take advantage of a sociable bedtime.

  “Just a short one, and you must lie down and close your eyes while I tell it.”

  Saraid snuggled under the green blanket with Sorry beside her and squeezed her eyes shut. “House on the hill,” she said. “Please.”

  Eile seemed a little reluctant. Faolan saw something cross her face like a swift shadow, and the green eyes changed. “All right,” she said. “Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived with her mother and father…”

  “… in a house on a hill.” It was clear Saraid knew this tale word for word.

  “That’s right. It was not a big grand house, but a neat small one made of stones and thatch. As well as the girl and her mama and her papa, three chickens lived there…”

  “One black as coal, one brown as earth, one white as snow.”

  “There was someone else who lived in the house on the hill…”

  “A cat!” Saraid’s eyes snapped open.

  “Close your eyes,” Eile ordered. “A striped cat who followed the girl around everywhere and curled up to sleep on her bed every night.”

  “Had the cat a name?” Faolan kept his voice quiet, not sure if he was permitted to participate in what was obviously a long-practiced family ritual.

  “Fluffy.” Saraid’s voice had faded to a murmur.

  “Every day the girl fed the chickens with mash and grain, and she gave Fluffy his dinner, and she helped her mother weed the garden and tend to the vegetables that grew there.”

  “Cabbages, leeks, and beans.”

  “And she grew all the plants she loved, the ones with beautiful smells: lavender, rosemary, chamomile. Thyme, sage, calamint, and briar roses.”

  Saraid sighed, shifting the doll in her arms.

  “When her father came home she cooked eggs for him, with fresh herbs stirred in. And he gave her a hug and said, That’s my girl. When he did that she knew her mama and papa loved her, and that she was the luckiest girl in the world.”

  A long silence, then Eile said, “Good night, Squirrel,” and bent over to kiss her daughter on the cheek. “She’s almost asleep,” she said, sitting down beside him on the bed. “She was actually quite tired, but she insisted on waiting for you. Consider it an honor.”

  “I do,” said Faolan, getting up and moving to sit on the storage chest, for his need to touch was compelling, and he knew he must tread carefully. There was too much to lose if he got it wrong and frightened or offended her. There was everything to lose.

  “Well,” said Eile, eyeing him across the two arm’s-lengths that separated them. The blue gown suited her; it enhanced the creamy pallor of her skin. “I don’t know how to start this. I don’t know what to say. You surprised me earlier. What you said. I’m not sure I understood.”

  “I was so certain you’d be gone. It was a shock to see you. I had… I had come to recognize that…” He stared at the mat on the floor, his tongue refusing to negotiate a suitable set of words.

  “Why did you want me to go away?” Eile was doing better than he was. “To go with Drustan and Ana?”

  “It seemed better for you. And for Saraid. Safer. More… settled.”

  “And better for you.” Her tone was flat.

  “I thought it would be. In some ways, that is still so. I don’t know if I can… I don’t think I can be…”

  “If you still think that,” Eile said, “why are you here?” She had stood up, folded her arms, and walked over to the little slit window overlooking the garden; the summer night filtered in, eerily blue-white. “I mean, here in this chamber, breaking convention.”

  A deep breath. “Because, when I was away, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Part of me said, yes, it was the right thing to do, for your sake; part of me recognized the kind of man I am, the kind of work I do, the utter impossibility of it. But the other part of me… I felt your absence like a wound. Saraid’s, too. I knew I’d made the worst mistake of my life. I’d thrown away something irreplaceable; something I thought I could never get back.”

  She stayed at the window, her back turned. Faolan heard the change in her breathing. His palms felt clammy; his heart was racing.

  “What about Ana?” Her voice was tight. “It’s not so very long since you gave me the tale of that journey; less than a year since it took place. You love her. I know how important she is to you. I saw the way you looked at her, Faolan.” She turned now, hands clutched together, eyes dark. “That kind of love doesn’t just vanish away in a season. It’s forever, the way they tell it in stories. You’re just… confused and lonely. Or worse, you’re saying this out of pity, because I chose to stay at White Hill and now Saraid and I have no protector.”

  His feelings welled up, breaking the precarious barrier he had held around them. “Dovran seems all too ready to step into that role, from what I saw. If not him, then another man. I would be a fool if I believed you needed me for that.”

  “Stop it, Faolan!” He heard the hurt in her voice; saw the twist of her mouth; fought the urge to take two steps forward and fold her in his arms. “Don’t say those things! I can’t help it if Dovran likes me. Besides…” Her voice trailed away.

  He had risen to his feet; he made himself sit down again. “Tell me,” he said.

  “I suppose we have to talk about it sometime.” Eil
e came back to sit on the edge of the bed, one hand on the curled form of Saraid. “For some reason it’s even harder to do than it was before. You remember what I asked you to do for me, the thing you refused to do. You know why I asked.” She was not meeting his eyes; her voice was very quiet.

  “I remember.”

  “In some ways, all that has changed. I’ve learned some things here at White Hill.”

  Things Dovran has taught you. He swallowed the comment. “What things?”

  “I used to think it was a falsehood, that women could enjoy lying with men, enjoy giving their bodies and having… that… done to them, even when it was a man they cared about. After Dalach, I couldn’t believe that was possible. But I’ve seen folk look and touch with such love and tenderness in their eyes and such care in their hands that I have to believe it can be so. Bridei and Tuala; Ferada and her friend Garvan. Most of all—I’m sorry if this hurts you—Ana and Drustan. It’s not just friendship and closeness, it’s… passion. Something deep and wonderful. I saw it.”

  He nodded, holding his breath.

  “You have nothing to say.” She had her eyes on him now.

  “I would ask…” He cleared this throat. “I would ask if this means you no longer need a man to share in a certain… experiment.”

  “Are you saying,” she asked, plainly choosing her words with care, “that you would do it now, if I still wanted you to?”

  “Tell me first.”

  “That’s not fair, Faolan. This is difficult enough. You tell me first.”

  He met her eyes. “If you wished me to attempt that test,” he said, “I would offer you my best effort, yes.”

  “Test?” She frowned. “I wouldn’t see it as a test. Isn’t that sort of thing easy for men?”

  “I would consider it one of the most difficult challenges I had ever faced, Eile.”

  She stared at him. “After what you’ve said—half said—I can’t believe that’s because you shrink from the idea of sharing my bed, though that’s what I thought when you refused, that first time. It’s a challenge for me. But what’s so difficult for you?”

  “I don’t know if you will want to hear an honest answer.”

  “You think I’m the kind of woman who likes reassuring lies? Tell me. Say it.”

  “Very well.” He found that he had wrapped his arms around himself as if in defense; he stood, holding them by his sides. “First I want to make it clear that I don’t… expect anything from you. That if we do this, the when and where and how of it will be your choice and yours alone. Then I must tell you that I lived this in my dreams, night after night, while I was away. Lived it as both delight and… and as bitter failure. Desire was a constant companion; desire not for Ana, but for you, Eile. I did love her, yes, I will not lie about that; I suppose I still do. But what possessed me that season was like a thing in a story, the passion of a lonely, flawed man for an impossible ideal, a perfect woman forever beyond him. You are… real. You are best friend, trusted companion, and… and if you would be, most passionately desired lover. Every time I look at you I want to touch you, to put my arms around you. To protect you, to confide in you, to spend my days with you. And to lie by you at night; to have you. I feared to confess this. Please don’t be frightened. I’ll leave if you want.”

  “I see.” She sat there on the bed, looking away from him. “A lonely, flawed man needs a lonely, flawed companion, then? That’s why you’ve fixed on me.”

  “I didn’t mean—” He stopped himself halfway through the automatic denial. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe that was what drew us together; made us friends. At least, I think we are still friends.”

  “I want to tell you something,” Eile said. “But I’m going to ask you something first.”

  He waited.

  “I want you to come and sit next to me here, and hold my hand.” She looked across at him and his heart turned over at the mixture of warmth and wariness on her face. “Is that all right?”

  He did as she asked. Her hand was cool in his.

  “Yes,” she said, “it is different. It was at suppertime and it still is. I think that’s probably a good sign.”

  “What’s different?” He was trying not to consider the effect of her thigh against his.

  “I danced with Dovran,” she told him. “Holding hands, letting him touch me. It didn’t feel like this.”

  Breathe in; breathe out. “What did it feel like?”

  “I didn’t like it. It made me afraid. It’s the same with other men, Garth, for instance, or Garvan, if one of them passes me the salt and accidentally brushes my hand. It’s different with Wid, but he’s a very old man. The others, even though I like them, their touch brings Dalach back. I’ve tried to get over it. I did use Dovran a bit for that. Letting him help me down the steps and that sort of thing. I’m sorry if that makes you cross or hurt.” Her voice had gone small and tentative.

  “And holding my hand feels different? Should I take it that puts me in the same category as Wid? A father figure?”

  After a moment she said, “No, Faolan,” and laid her head on his shoulder. “It feels good. Nice. I’m not afraid to touch you. And you don’t seem at all fatherly; you never did, even at the start. But I am still afraid of lying with any man. That includes you, even though I wonder if… if it might be all right, the two of us. I’m scared of doing it because if it doesn’t work, if I can’t enjoy it with you, I know it will never be all right. And I want it to be, I want that, my little house and garden, the cat and the chickens and the warm kitchen, and I want Saraid to have a proper family. Perhaps a little brother or sister. She’d love that. Without this, that’s not going to happen. It’s never going to happen.”

  “Shh, shh,” Faolan whispered, touching his lips to her hair, lifting gentle fingers to brush her cheek. “Is this all right?” he asked, feeling her tremble. “Tell me. Anything I do, if it scares you, anything at all, you must tell me…”

  “Not this. This is nice. It makes me feel safe. But I will be afraid of the other. I know that.”

  “I’m afraid, too. Afraid that my ardor will not allow me to go slowly; that desire will make me selfish.”

  “I don’t think you would be selfish about it, Faolan. You have such strength.”

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “You, too. You’re the strongest person I know. Perhaps even stronger than your father. Eile, we need not rush into this.” She must surely be able to see how his body belied his calm words; he was hard with desire now, ready for action, and his breath was coming quick and unsteady.

  “Not here,” Eile said. “Not now. But we should do it soon. It’s like a bridge to be crossed, a scary bridge; the sooner you get it over the better. Tomorrow night. That’s what I want.” She glanced at the sleeping child. “But not in this chamber. The one next door, through there, is empty. Nobody used it after Ana and Drustan left. It’s got a hearth and a bed. If we’re doing it, I want it to be… nice. Not off in a comer somewhere, furtively. I hope that doesn’t sound unreasonable to you.”

  “All the choices are yours,” Faolan breathed. “The yes or no, stop or go on. I’ll do whatever you want. Eile, I have something I want to ask you. About the future. I should have said it right at the start of this—”

  “No!” she said quickly. “Not now. Afterward. After we find out if it’s all right or not.”

  “If that’s what you want.” Will you marry a man who looks at least five and thirty, with an injured leg and a tendency to disappear for long periods without explanation? Better, perhaps, that he did not ask. “I suppose I should go now.”

  “Will you stay?”

  Gods be merciful. “I have to be honest, Eile. If I lie on this bed with you and have to keep my hands off you, I won’t get a wink of sleep. And I imagine I will need rest if I’m to meet your challenge tomorrow.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

  “I could sleep on the floor. Is there a spare blanket?”

  “You’l
l get cold. And what about your leg?”

  “I’ll be fine. Could I kiss you good night?”

  “If you want.” He heard the anxiety in her voice.

  “I do.” He touched his lips to hers, parting them only slightly, keeping it gentle. Her hand came up to his cheek; for a brief moment her lips returned the pressure, then she drew back.

  “Good night, Faolan. Are you sure the floor is all right?”

  “I’ve slept on harder beds, as you well know. Good night, Eile.” He found the blanket and settled himself on the green mat; at least he need not lie directly on the flagstones. Eile moved about, bringing the candle to a small shelf by the bed, changing into a nightrobe—she made him close his eyes—then slipping under the blanket beside Saraid.

  “I’m blowing out the candle now,” she said, and did so.

  The pale light from outside began slowly to enter the chamber, rendering all dreamlike and strange. Faolan wondered if he would wake tomorrow in his bed in the men’s quarters and find that this had been another cruel dream.

  “Faolan?”

  “Mm?”

  “Tomorrow might be a bit difficult to get through. Don’t you think? Even suppertime today was awkward.”

  “It was. Yes, I agree. It will seem a very long day.”

  “I think it might be easiest if we keep busy and see each other as little as possible,” Eile said. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you, and Saraid will, too, but… well, you know what I mean.”

  “Just don’t spend the day with Dovran.” As a joke, it was not his best effort.

  “If he’s on duty I can’t avoid seeing him, Faolan.”

  “Will you be looking after Derelei again?”

  “Probably. He’s not a happy boy these days, and his mother needs time for the baby. I plan to keep him as busy as I can. What about you?”

  “I think I’m officially off duty until this leg mends. I’ll find a job that keeps me out of your way until supper-time. But…”

  “Mm,” said Eile. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Will you tell me something?”