Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 05 (36 page)

           
Kiri, Corin said within the link,
and the vixen darted past
Boyne
's
opponent to the others. Even as
Boyne
engaged, slapping away the knife that appeared in the Atvian's hand, Kiri was
nipping at ankles amidst kicks and curses.

           
Corin grinned and waded into the
fray himself. As
Boyne
settled his score, reducing their number to
two, Kiri forced the men to neglect their prisoner. It was easy enough for the
girl to tear herself away even as Corin and
Boyne
converged on the remaining opposition.

           
Boyne
's fight did not last long. Corin's took
longer, since he lacked the other's sheer bulk and strength. But as Kiri
continued to nip at ankles, Corin smashed the Atvian's nose and sent him
reeling off balance. A second blow snapped his head back and took his senses
from him. He collapsed on the cobbles.

           
"Aye, aye, lad, 'tis the way of
it!"
Boyne
clapped him on the shoulder. "We've
saved the lass from the scum!"

           
Boyne
's "lass" still sat on the ground
where she had landed, half wrapped in dark blankets. Slowly she levered herself
up on elbows, feet flat, knees drawn up, skirts tangled around her boots. She
stared up at them both, then put out a hand to yank heavy skirts decorously
into place.

           
Corin reached down an open hand.
"Lady, will you come up?" He caught her, pulled her, steadied her as
she rose, clasping one arm around her, pulled her, steadied her as she rose,
clasping one arm around her slender waist.

           
She was pale and a trifle shaky, but
apparently unharmed; slight, but decidedly not fragile. Another woman might
have cried or fainted or both; this one did neither.

           
She eyed him closely a moment with
incredibly bright green eyes, shrewdly assessing intentions, then pushed
tangled hair—very red hair—away from an oval face. She blew out an explosive
sigh of relief that also melted the tension out of face and limbs.

           
Guardedly, she smiled; the mouth was
eloquent in its mobility, wide and willful beneath a straight, bold nose.

           
She was not a beauty, not as Corin
reckoned women—her coloring was far too flamboyant—but she was a striking girl,
the kind of girl whose vibrant liveliness of spirit made beauty unimportant.
Almost without thinking, he found himself responding.

           
"You're not Erinnish." She
glanced at
Boyne
. "You are, captain, but the lad's
not."

           
"No, lass, he's Homanan.
Cheysuli, more properly."

           
The big Erinnishman grinned at her
expression of surprise, then replaced it with concern. "D'ye fare all
right, lass? Did they have time to harm ye?"

           
She withdrew her hand from Corin's
and deftly smoothed clothing into place, tightening snug belt, twitching the
folds of her skirts, resetting the fit of tunic and under-blouse. She wore the
plain garb of a fisher woman, and yet Corin had felt the softness of her hand,
which did not at all coincide. No more than her carriage or her manner; he had
seen the like in Keely.

           
And, by Keely, he knew her.
Inwardly, he smiled. Highborn, if not the highest.

           
"They were meaning no harm,"
she said grimly. "They wanted me for Alaric, I'd lay a wager, and not for
their own."

           
"Atvian scum!"
Boyne
turned his head and spat. "Come, lass,
we'll be taking ye to your husband or your father; one or the other'll be
wanting to know of this."

           
She tried to untangle the mass of
hair and could not; the task required a brush. Distractedly she combed it back
with her fingers, grimacing as she found additional tangles. The curling ends
shifted against her belt. "I have no husband. My father's not in Kilore,
nor is my brother or mother—which made it all the easier for the
skilfins."

           
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.

           
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 on 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."