Dawn Of Desire Page 8

  The unsuitability of that indelible memory left her drained of hope and feeling utterly lost. She found it impossible to summon the enthusiasm to dress for the evening and remained clad in Adelaine’s gown. Not relishing another of their apparently endless confrontations, she hoped when Egan finally did appear, he would be too preoccupied to comment on her wardrobe.

  After ripping off his clothes in front of Oriana, Egan had spent the remainder of the afternoon cursing himself as twice the fool the disembodied voice had called him. What could have possessed him to behave in such an insufferably arrogant manner? Oriana’s presence had become a deep and painful torture, but he knew he should have behaved with more courtesy and far more dignity than he had exhibited that day.

  When the onset of Mount Royal’s damp fog forced him to return to his chamber, he drew a deep breath before pausing to knock. Oriana promptly invited him to enter, but when he found her absently fondling garments whose color was more suitable for a goat herd than a fine lady, he lost his temper anew.

  “I’ll not have you wearing those ugly gowns. Not today, not ever. Instead you’ll dress in my mother’s gowns until some more flattering garments are finally fashioned for you.”

  Oriana sighed wistfully. “While somber, there’s nothing wrong with these gowns.” She continued to caress them fondly. “Brown is an excellent choice for travel, and that’s all I do.”

  Despite her insistent objection, Egan’s decision was firmly made, and he pointed out a more obvious problem. “When you have no permanent home, how is a god to take you for a wife? Will you lead him on a merry chase through the forest as you did me?”

  Oriana attempted to recall if they’d ever had what could be described as an amicable conversation, but sadly, no such example came to mind. “You ought not to blame me for your trouble when I had no idea you were giving pursuit; but surely a god will find me more easily,” she replied, but her tone lacked conviction.

  “Aye, I suppose.” Egan went to close the door he had left standing ajar, but assuring their privacy made offering an apology no less difficult. That Oriana continually provoked him was her fault rather than his, but he cleared his throat and tried not to sound gruff.

  “You are a lady and gently raised,” he began, trying to ease his way. “I should not have shed my garments in your presence. It was not the act of a champion, and I’ve given my word to be yours.”

  He appeared to be sincerely contrite. Oriana was completely taken aback, but she dared not admit she had been more incredulous than insulted. He was such an audacious man. From the moment he had forced his way into her tent, he had proven impossible to guide in any pleasing direction. No, indeed, he simply issued demands and expected obedience as though he were already king. To her everlasting shame, she still found him appealing.

  “You were angry not to find me here,” she reminded him.

  “Aye, that is true, but I had no right to that anger when anyone would prefer a view of the sea to this bleak chamber. Go wherever you please, but you may not leave me just yet.”

  “Not while I am still useful,” Oriana amended. She watched a swift return of his earlier anger shade his glance and after silently cursing her own obstinate nature, spoke quietly to deflect his often bitter wit.

  “I’m concerned about something Myrna told me. She claimed to be the last here who loved your mother. Were you aware the others have no memory of her?”

  Egan had been about to shout he would be the one to decide just who and what was useful, and caught off guard, he folded his hands behind his back. After glancing down at the floor, he rearranged the carpet of rushes with his toe and wished Oriana were half as compliant.

  “I’ve given the matter no thought whatsoever. I’m a grown man with no need for either a mother or nurse.”

  Oriana fought to remain calm, but Egan was often so dreadfully shortsighted it was extremely difficult to display the necessary patience. “Every king depends upon allies, and if you’re to rule the Dál Cais successfully, then you’ll need the backing of your mother’s people.”

  Annoyed with her logic, Egan strode toward the hearth. A log had been propped across the firedogs in preparation for the evening, and he gave it a rough kick to roll it over the glowing embers. “My mother’s kin are a proud family, but weakened by losses in battle. Consequently, they look to me for protection. It matters little; I depend upon no one.”

  No one but me, Oriana thought to herself, and she wondered if her most valuable service might not be in making Egan see the error in his solitary ways. Once that feat was accomplished, if it were even possible, she would feel free to leave him. A sharp burst of pain greeted the prospect of that sorry triumph, and she bit her lip to stay the threat of tears.

  Dipping her head, she smoothed her fingertips over the seductively soft new garments and longed for Egan’s heat. She would have to leave him one day, and although painful, now was the best time to begin pulling away.

  “No matter how small,” she murmured, “a warm alcove meant for a servant will do, but I must have my own chamber.”

  “No!” Egan thundered back at her. “I’m not nearly that remorseful over this afternoon. I promise not to sleep naked as I did last night, but you’ll remain here with me.

  “As for those hideous gowns, save them for the travel you’re so eager to begin and dress tonight for me.” He crossed to the neatly stacked trunks and opened a small chest at the top. “Here, you need more than a single gold bracelet, my lady.”

  Oriana ducked as he flung a gold torque in her direction, but the magnificent coiled collar still landed in her lap. She had never seen anything nearly as beautiful, but she was loath to touch it. It was an ornament designed for a queen, while she preferred weaving flowers into crowns.

  “Oh, Egan, I can’t wear this.”

  “You can and will. I want everyone to believe I’m so besotted with you that I’ll be deaf to their lies. That will be easy enough, but can you possibly feign some slight interest in me?”

  Her heart beating wildly in her breast, Oriana scarcely dared look up at him. He was so close, she could have reached out to caress his thigh, but thus inspired, grabbed up the torque instead.

  “Is pretend to be equally smitten what you really mean?” she asked.

  “Aye, smitten will do. Can you give me that?”

  Oriana traced the gentle curve of the golden torque. With every fortune she told, she gave a subtle performance, but none was really required with him. She licked her lips thoughtfully. “I have already promised not to embarrass you in front of your kin. I will regard whatever devotion I might show as an extension of that vow.”

  Though that was not as straightforward a consent as Egan would have preferred, he decided he had finally won one of their arguments and departed to allow her the privacy in which to dress for a meal he doubted either would taste.

  Oriana clung to Egan’s arm as they entered the great hall, but it was fright rather than feigned affection that prompted her to draw close. A massive stone fireplace dominated the far end of the long rectangular room, and the evening meal was being served on low tables surrounded by cushions of furs. There was only a small gathering tonight rather than the hundreds the room could accommodate for a feast, but Oriana felt more dread than curiosity about what the evening would bring.

  “You’re shaking,” Egan whispered. He patted her hand tenderly. “You’ll not be cold seated close to the fire.”

  Allowing him to believe she was merely chilled rather than nearly paralyzed with fear, Oriana glided along by his side. She had donned Adelaine’s amethyst gown and tunic, but had waited for Egan to assist her with the golden torque. A simple twist was all that had been required to secure the magnificent necklace, but it rested upon her collarbones with the weight of a captive’s chains.

  She held her head high, and with her long hair streaming over her shoulders, moved with forced grace toward the group already seated near the fire. A young bard strumming a lyre began a new tune a
s she and Egan approached, but it was more discordant than welcoming.

  A dark-eyed young man with a rakish smile rose to greet them. Tall and handsome, he could have been Egan’s twin except for the difference in their eyes. “Come, Egan,” he encouraged, “draw close. I wish to meet your lady.”

  Rather than comply, Egan chose places as far from his half brother and stepmother as the narrow table permitted. He saw to Oriana’s comfort before responding to his brother’s greeting. “Kieran is an impetuous sort, but I have no doubt that you’ll forgive him, Oriana.”

  What Oriana could not forgive, however, was Egan’s continual description of his younger brother in such uncomplimentary terms. Since they resembled each other, and surely their father, so closely, it seemed unlikely that there would be much of the despicable Ula in the young man.

  “When Kieran reminds me so much of you, my darling,” Oriana responded in a honeyed purr, “I shall be able to forgive him anything.” She bowed her head demurely and fluttered her thick lashes as she peered up at Kieran.

  Believing Oriana had completely misunderstood how she was to play her part, Egan sank down beside her and drew her into a possessive hug. He buried his face in her hair and whispered in her ear. “You must flirt with me, not him!”

  Leaning into him, Oriana rested her hands lightly on his arm and giggled softly. “You mustn’t say such naughty things here. What will your dear brother think of us?”

  Surprised Oriana would be so bold, Kieran glanced down at his mother’s narrowed gaze, and understood precisely why she disliked her. The flame-haired beauty was so intent upon Egan that she had not even acknowledged Ula’s presence, which he considered rude in the extreme. He gestured toward her now.

  “My mother and I wish to extend a warm welcome.”

  Egan released Oriana and scolded his brother, “That is my honor, not yours, and we’ll all find more enjoyment in the meal if you keep your misguided thoughts to yourself.”

  Rather than return to his seat, a deeply insulted Kieran moved toward the fire, but not before Oriana had glimpsed the rage darkening his expression. She doubted Egan ever spoke a civil word to his half brother and she felt sorry for both men.

  “You did not care for my seamstress’s finest work?” Ula observed pointedly.

  “If that was their finest effort, then we need to find women possessed of more talent with a needle,” Egan announced before reaching for a flagon of wine.

  “The gowns were lovely,” Oriana contradicted sweetly, “and I look forward to wearing them soon.”

  Disgusted Oriana would tease him about her eagerness to leave, Egan shot her a disapproving glance. Rather than cower, however, she responded with so dazzling a smile he was left to wonder just what it was she had said. Despite her preference for the forest, she appeared to be perfectly at ease at his table—but then, she had been raised to hold lofty expectations.

  Quill, the bard, began another tune about a lovely lady with golden hair. Embarrassed to be so easily distracted, Egan forced himself to glance down the table to the place where his father should have been. His appetite vanished instantly, and he filled his cup with wine and swiftly drank it down. Belatedly recalling the woman at his side, he again grabbed the flagon to fill her cup.

  “I see your manners have not improved in your travels,” Ula chided. “It is a great pity that you lack your father’s grace.”

  Had Oriana not caught his wrist, Egan would have flung his silver cup at his stepmother. “Father still made grave mistakes,” he taunted, and left Ula to imagine just what, or rather who, he had in mind.

  Garrick had been standing in the shadows, and thinking the evening a wonderful success, he took Kieran’s elbow as he passed by and urged him back to the table. “We are all troubled,” he mused as he folded himself down upon a thick cushion beside Ula. “But we share in a common hope for a better future.”

  Egan stared at the Druid, and took immediate exception to how hungrily he eyed Oriana. At the same time, he felt Oriana press close as though she shared his low opinion of the silver-haired Garrick. “No future, however fine,” he challenged, “will compensate us for the great treasure we’ve lost.”

  Garrick nodded absently. “Of course, but we must begin to make plans for Samhain and the coming of winter. The whole clan will gather then and proclaim you the new king.”

  The mention of the late autumn holiday forced Oriana to recall her desire for a warm cloak, and how swiftly that pursuit had led her to Egan. She glanced around the darkened hall and tried to imagine it ablaze with a hundred torches and filled with his kinsmen, all as broad-shouldered and handsome as he.

  “Aye, but it will be a sad day rather than a glad one,” Egan cautioned.

  “It always is,” Garrick posed. “But the old must give way to the young. It is as the gods divined.”

  “My father died in his prime,” Egan nearly shouted.

  “He was my father too,” Kieran interjected. “A fact you continually overlook.”

  Egan did not object to sharing a father. It was Ula he could not abide.

  Oriana ran her fingertips down his arm and took his hand. She did not need to study his expression to feel his rage, and yet there was something else in the room, a presence as pervasive as the smoky scent of the fire. She puzzled over it silently, then caught Ula’s lethal glance and recognized it for hatred’s rancid stench.

  Apparently unaware of Ula’s mood, Garrick appeared to be preoccupied with the meal, a rich vegetable stew laced with smoked ham, which he sopped from his silver platter with hunks of barley and oat bread. Kieran was staring off into the distance, a look of thorough disgust pulling at his finely shaped mouth. Ula now sat brooding over her wine, and while Oriana had not eaten in a long while, she had to force herself to take a few bites of bread and stew.

  She hoped that the rest of Egan’s powerful family were a more personable lot, but the old terror kept tugging at her conscience, and she feared the danger to Egan would continue to compound. Then with a sickening dread she began to think it odd that none of the nobles had tarried there to await his return. Surely they would have been summoned at Cadell’s death and hastened to the fortress to bury him.

  “Where are your kin?” she whispered. “How could they have come and gone so swiftly?”

  Egan brought his finger to his lips to encourage silence before he replied. “They use the river as well as fine horses for travel. That’s the beauty of this place and its curse for our enemies.”

  Overhearing their exchange, Kieran joined in. “A man could grow old awaiting Egan’s arrival. Do not fault our kin for returning to their own homes. They will spend Samhain with us.”

  That it would be the last festival before the arrival of a long, cold winter lent the feast special significance, but with Egan so unwilling to celebrate, Oriana doubted anyone else would enjoy it. Appreciating Kieran’s concern, she sent him a grateful smile and was surprised by how quickly a deep blush filled his cheeks. While it was obvious Egan barely tolerated him, she decided she liked Kieran and would continue to treat him kindly.

  She caught Garrick staring at her, but Egan appeared to be in no hurry to complete the meal he had scarcely tasted, and so she remained seated quietly at his side. Directing her attention elsewhere, she gradually became aware of a gathering of Druids at another table placed off to the side. Apparently they had been so quiet she had not noticed them when she and Egan had entered, but she could not be certain the group hadn’t just taken their places.

  The whole fortress was filled with shadows, but she trusted the knowing to protect her as valiantly as the champion by her side. Of course, she already knew better than to go anywhere near a Druid, and here she was seated at the same table with one.

  As the meal progressed, serving maids scurried around the low table to replenish the wine, stew, bread, cheeses, and fruit. Oriana sensed their fear, for it was a palpable presence as dank as the fortress’s perpetual chill. The young women wore their hair in long
braids and were dressed in gowns far finer than those in which she had arrived. They hovered near Egan and offered an assortment of treats.

  Oriana saw Kieran glance their way and frown; then Garrick spoke and again caught his attention. From what Oriana overheard, they were still discussing Samhain, and the possibility of several marriages taking place at that propitious time. Recognizing none of the names of the prospective brides and grooms, she munched a bite of apple rolled in chopped walnuts.

  She leaned close to Egan to whisper, “It’s plain they prefer to gossip rather than converse. To whom do you usually speak?” She regretted the question the instant it left her lips, and after resting her hand upon his sleeve, she struggled to take it back. “I’m sorry. I know it was your father.”

  Egan shifted uncomfortably, then responded with a hushed comment meant solely for Oriana’s ears. “Ula speaks incessantly of nothing, and Garrick pretends to listen. Kieran is probably daydreaming about hawks and horses.”

  “Are they not your interests as well?”

  Egan gave a grudging nod. “Aye, but it is not enough to make me like him.”

  “A man who makes enemies in his own house is surely a—” This time Oriana caught herself in time, but Egan completed the thoughtless insult for her.

  “Fool? That word has been spoken too often of late,” he swore.

  Egan’s stern expression did not invite further comment, and Oriana was sorry she had said anything at all. Kieran looked no less happy and was sullenly slurping up his stew. He made an occasional murmur to join in his mother’s conversation with Garrick, but even without Egan’s insight, it was plain to her Keiran wasn’t listening. He also sent frequent glances toward the empty place at the table, and Oriana saw the sorrow Egan refused to see. She thought it terribly sad the brothers could not comfort each other during a time of such tremendous loss.

  “We’ve heard little from you this night, Oriana,” Garrick prompted suddenly. “Won’t you tell us something of your people and how you and Egan met?”