smiling.
When she went to join them, Maeve reached out to take her hand. “You’ve done the right thing, Auder Ó Reilly. I’ve been telling Halma that I can think of no one more courageous to marry the Norman.”
“I’m still not so sure,” Halma began.
“Nonsense.” A mischievous smile perked at the matron’s mouth. “With her looks, she’ll have that Norman eating out of her hand after one wedding night.”
Auder didn’t believe that at all, but she wasn’t about to ruin Halma’s evening. For now, her mother looked content. Not nearly as alone as she’d been. And for that, she was grateful to Maeve.
“When I was married,” Maeve continued, “I kept my husband well satisfied. If I asked him to bring me the stars from the sky, he’d have tried his best to get them.” To Halma, she added, “Stop your worrying. She’s a brave girl, and you should be proud of her.”
“I am,” Halma said. And with the soft words of praise, tears brimmed in Auder’s eyes.
“It’s going to be all right, Mother,” she said. “Enjoy yourself tonight.”
When she left the two women alone, she blinked until the tears faded away. Maeve’s prediction couldn’t be further from the truth. Auder knew she thoroughly lacked the ability to please a husband.
Her doubts multiplied until she found herself walking toward the storytelling. She saw Morren moving among the people, seeing that everyone had enough food and drink while Trahern settled back to begin his tales.
The chieftain’s voice took on a mystical quality as he transformed the mood of the clan, capturing them in the spell of his words. As the evening drifted into night, children began falling asleep in their mothers’ arms. Trahern took his wife’s hand, and pulled her to his side. It was as if he drew strength and comfort from Morren, and Auder envied the love between them.
Would any man ever look at her in that way, as though she meant the world to him? The weight of her betrothal vow grew more difficult to bear, for she suspected the marriage was of little importance to the baron. He’d never even seen her face, though he’d agreed to wed her.
She forced her thoughts back to Trahern’s story, wishing she could lose herself within it. She needed to hear the tales, to drown out her fears of tomorrow.
Trahern spoke of a young woman named Sinead who was taken by the faeries when she neglected to give them an offering on the night of Bealtaine . “Her lover Kel went in search of her for a hundred nights,” he continued, his voice weaving its spell. “No matter how long it took or how many miles he had to go, he swore to find her. For she belonged to him in this world and the next.”
A strange prickle formed upon her neck while Auder listened to the story. Across the cashel, she saw Gunnar standing with Clár. The widow was speaking to him, and seeing them together broke something inside Auder. Though it shouldn’t have made any difference, she couldn’t stop the suffocating disappointment. It seemed that the kiss Gunnar had given her meant nothing, despite the feelings it had aroused.
She meant nothing to him.
Auder retreated from the crowd, needing to be alone with her bruised feelings. In the distance, she saw Gunnar watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. Nothing about her feelings was rational or reasonable. Her mind was in disarray, and her anger with Gunnar kept growing higher.
She wished he’d never kissed her a second time. Torches flared in the darkness, and for a long time, she stared at the rippling flames, trying to calm her wayward heart. Within the shadows, she found her refuge, turning her face away from everyone.
She returned to the gates, watching the darkness that lay beyond the torches. Were the soldiers still there? Or had they gone back to Maraloch?
She started walking over to the sentries, when a low voice resonated from behind her. “Don’t move another step.”
Gunnar had never felt so blindingly
When she went to join them, Maeve reached out to take her hand. “You’ve done the right thing, Auder Ó Reilly. I’ve been telling Halma that I can think of no one more courageous to marry the Norman.”
“I’m still not so sure,” Halma began.
“Nonsense.” A mischievous smile perked at the matron’s mouth. “With her looks, she’ll have that Norman eating out of her hand after one wedding night.”
Auder didn’t believe that at all, but she wasn’t about to ruin Halma’s evening. For now, her mother looked content. Not nearly as alone as she’d been. And for that, she was grateful to Maeve.
“When I was married,” Maeve continued, “I kept my husband well satisfied. If I asked him to bring me the stars from the sky, he’d have tried his best to get them.” To Halma, she added, “Stop your worrying. She’s a brave girl, and you should be proud of her.”
“I am,” Halma said. And with the soft words of praise, tears brimmed in Auder’s eyes.
“It’s going to be all right, Mother,” she said. “Enjoy yourself tonight.”
When she left the two women alone, she blinked until the tears faded away. Maeve’s prediction couldn’t be further from the truth. Auder knew she thoroughly lacked the ability to please a husband.
Her doubts multiplied until she found herself walking toward the storytelling. She saw Morren moving among the people, seeing that everyone had enough food and drink while Trahern settled back to begin his tales.
The chieftain’s voice took on a mystical quality as he transformed the mood of the clan, capturing them in the spell of his words. As the evening drifted into night, children began falling asleep in their mothers’ arms. Trahern took his wife’s hand, and pulled her to his side. It was as if he drew strength and comfort from Morren, and Auder envied the love between them.
Would any man ever look at her in that way, as though she meant the world to him? The weight of her betrothal vow grew more difficult to bear, for she suspected the marriage was of little importance to the baron. He’d never even seen her face, though he’d agreed to wed her.
She forced her thoughts back to Trahern’s story, wishing she could lose herself within it. She needed to hear the tales, to drown out her fears of tomorrow.
Trahern spoke of a young woman named Sinead who was taken by the faeries when she neglected to give them an offering on the night of Bealtaine . “Her lover Kel went in search of her for a hundred nights,” he continued, his voice weaving its spell. “No matter how long it took or how many miles he had to go, he swore to find her. For she belonged to him in this world and the next.”
A strange prickle formed upon her neck while Auder listened to the story. Across the cashel, she saw Gunnar standing with Clár. The widow was speaking to him, and seeing them together broke something inside Auder. Though it shouldn’t have made any difference, she couldn’t stop the suffocating disappointment. It seemed that the kiss Gunnar had given her meant nothing, despite the feelings it had aroused.
She meant nothing to him.
Auder retreated from the crowd, needing to be alone with her bruised feelings. In the distance, she saw Gunnar watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. Nothing about her feelings was rational or reasonable. Her mind was in disarray, and her anger with Gunnar kept growing higher.
She wished he’d never kissed her a second time. Torches flared in the darkness, and for a long time, she stared at the rippling flames, trying to calm her wayward heart. Within the shadows, she found her refuge, turning her face away from everyone.
She returned to the gates, watching the darkness that lay beyond the torches. Were the soldiers still there? Or had they gone back to Maraloch?
She started walking over to the sentries, when a low voice resonated from behind her. “Don’t move another step.”
Gunnar had never felt so blindingly
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