"My lady?" The child’s poking was distracting me from my headache, but I failed to understand.
"He could never bear for me to have aught that he lacked," Grainne said complacently. "A horse, a sword, a brooch…whatever it was, Eamonn must have as much, or finer."
"You say he will go to war for me?"
Her look was kindly condescending. "Left to choose, Eammon will not decide, neither yea nor nay, until Macha’s bull gives milk. For you alone…no. But it will gall him, to be denied what I have had. That is the key, Phèdre nó Delaunay." She took care with my name, saying it slow, then smiled. "Though you are almost, almost worth a war."
I dragged myself up to sit cross-legged, raking my hands through my hair. Melisande’s diamond hung about my throat, the only thing to adorn me. "Did you do it for that?" I asked.
"No." Grainne smiled again, clapping her hands and summoning Brennan to her. He clung to her waist and grinned up at his mother. "For me." She touseled his hair, and gave me a considering look. "Do you think your ship-captain would breed strong sons and daughters?"
"Quintilius Rousse?" I laughed, then caught myself. "Yes, my lady. That, I do."
"Good." Her grey-green eyes glinted in the sunlight. "Tomorrow, we may die, so it is best to live today. And some things are best decided in haste. Maybe you can teach my brother as much."
If you can find the balance between them…
"It seems," I said, "I will have to try."
Chapter Seventy-One
Mercifully, I was not the only one suffering the aftereffects of uisghe that day; most of the D’Angelines were bleary-eyed, and no few of the Dalriada. Not all, it seemed, had Grainne’s constitution. Even some of the Cruithne nursed aching heads, although Drustan was not among them.
None of them, however, had to face Joscelin Verreuil’s glare of disapproval.
"It is a disgrace" he hissed at me, as we sat to break our fast. "Do you think every problem can be solved by falling into someone’s bed? Do you think it’s for that that Ysandre de la Courcel chose you?"
"Forgive me," I muttered sourly, propping my head in my hands. "I’ve not your skill with a sword, to resolve matters that way. Anyway, I might not have fallen there, if you hadn’t left me, all of you. Mayhap you should try it. It might improve your mood."
"I have never-" he began grimly.
I looked at him.
"That was different." He said it quietly.
"Yes." I rubbed my aching temples. "It was. And this was what happens when you send a Servant of Naamah to do a diplomat’s job, and ply her with strong drink."
Joscelin drew breath to speak, then looked at my miserable state. A muscle in his cheek twitched that might have been a repressed smile. "At least you had the choosing of it. Or so I hear."
"Oh, I chose, all right."
He glanced at Grainne, laughing at the head of the table and eating with good appetite, tearing bread from a loaf. "She does have a certain barbarian splendor."
I laughed, then stopped. It hurt my head.
By noon, I had recovered enough to accept Drustan’s invitation to tour the Dalriada settlement, which was called Innisclan. We went on horseback, the Pictish Prince and four of his Cruithne, Joscelin and I. He pointed out the holdings, the smithy and the mill, the vast cattle herds of the Dalriada that spread across the land, grazing on the bright spring grass.
A peaceful scene; but the moist warmth in the air made my blood run cold. The season was hastening on, each day that fleeted past bringing us closer to summer and war.
"Where lies your home, my lord?" I asked Drustan.
"There." Turning his horse, he pointed unerringly to the southeast. Like all exiles, he carried within him a map that ever marked the way homeward. "Bryn Gorrydum, where Maelcon sits upon my throne." He bared his teeth in a white snarl, frightful in his blue-marqued face. "I will mount his head above my door!"
Elua help me, I could only pray he did. "Will Eamonn accede, do you think?" I asked him.
Drustan shook his head, losing his fearsome expression. "There is no fiercer fighter when he is cornered, but Eamonn does not ride into danger. If Maelcon ever came for me, Eamonn would fight until his dying breath. But his nature is to defend, not attack."
"If Grainne chose against him, would the Dalriada follow?"
He gave me a speculative look. "Some of them would, yes. Your warrior’s skill has fired their hearts." He inclined his head to Joscelin, who smiled politely, not understanding. "But Grainne will not do this. Bold as an eagle she may be, but even she cannot cut the bond between them." Resting his reins on the pommel of his saddle, he looked back to the east, homeward and beyond, to the distant shores of Terre d’Ange, and his voice changed. "I dreamed of a bond, once. Two kingdoms, side by side, in open and free alliance. Two thrones, bound with the silken thread of love, and not the chains of necessity." He smiled a little. "So we said, in my very bad Caerdicci, that I have not voiced even to you, and her Cruithne, which was little better. But we understood one another. That is what we dreamed, Ysandre de la Courcel and I. Does she still?"
I had not, I think, understood what Ysandre had told me; she had spoken of it indirectly, couching the meaning in the words of politics. I understood, then. She loved him, with all the wayward fervor of the sixteen-year-old girl she’d been when they met.
And he felt the same.
"Yes, my lord," I whispered. "She does."
His dark eyes returned to mine, dwelling on my face. Earth’s oldest children, his sister had said. Perhaps, after all, he was not such an unfit match for the Queen of Terre d’Ange. "I will wait a week," Drustan mab Necthana said calmly, "for Eamonn to decide. Then, if his heart is unchanged, I will leave, and take up the banner of the Cullach Gorrym to march upon Bryn Gorrydum. There are those who will follow, though not enough, I think, without the Dalriada. You will take your ship and return to Terre d’Ange. Tell Ysandre I will come if I live."
There was naught to say; I bowed my head. Drustan turned his horse, calling his men, and we set out for the Hall of Innisclan. I translated our conversation for Joscelin as we rode.
"I am going to do somewhat else," I said then, "that you will not like. Just…abide it, and hold your tongue. I swear to you, on Delaunay’s name, I’ve a reason for it."
For three days, we met and talked. Word of our arrival had spread, and Dalriada clan-lords appeared daily in Innisclan, until the hall could scarce hold them. Tall and fierce, all of them, in many-colored woolens and the fine, ornate goldwork on which they pride themselves. Some came ready for war, hair stiffened into white crests with lime; Rousse had spoken of it, but it was the first I’d seen.
But the Twins were the Lords of the Dalriada, and while Eamonn held out, there would be no war. And that he did; not alone, either, for there were those among the Dalriada who’d no will to risk war for the Cruithne’s sake.
"A fool’s errand, and one we’re like to return from empty-handed," Quintilius Rousse said grimly, observing the proceedings. I’d spoken that day until my mouth was dry and my mind a tangled knot of words, D’Angeline and Cruithne coiled like a serpent’s nest. Eamonn listened, and watched me with hot eyes, caring nothing for what I said. I am no orator, to sway men’s hearts with words. My skills lie elsewhere.
"We’ve four days, yet." I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, fighting exhaustion. Three days of politely declining Eamonn’s unsubtle interest, pretending not to notice. I couldn’t even count the other offers. I dropped my hands and grinned at Rousse. "Are you so quick to leave the Lady Grainne’s bed?"