Naamah's Kiss (30 page)

On our return journey, the carriage remained curtained and stifling. Raphael sat at apparent ease across from me, telling me the tale of how this particular Temple of Naamah came to be situated in the Tsingani quarter.

It was a charming tale.

I didn't care.

The bright lady's gift, Naamah's gift, was coiling around me and through me, heating my blood. I let it roam freely. When the carriage jolted to a temporary halt, I let it pitch me across the space between us, landing me in his lap.

Raphael's eyes gleamed. "Moirin"

"Shut up," I whispered, sinking my hands into his tawny hair.

I kissed him.

He was a man, and mortal. He kissed me back, his mouth and tongue urgent, his hands hard around my hips, radiating warmth. One hand descended, shoving up my skirts, pushing at my fine new undergarments, moving them out of the way. I fumbled at the buttons on his breeches.

And then

Horses' hooves clopped. I clasped my hand around his erect phallus and fitted it to me with a sigh, pushing downward onto him.

So good.

So deep.

"Nice," I sighed, rocking atop him. The carriage seat squeaked.

"This is not what I intended for our first time," Raphael whispered against my mouth.

"I know." I kissed him, then smiled into his eyes. "I couldn't wait."

It should have been tawdry, but it wasn't. My mind was too filled with beauty, with sunlit marble and doves, with the unfolding wonder of discovering who I was. And, too, there was the mystery that had passed between us earlier. When my climax came, it was like slow, rolling waves. I offered up a silent prayer that it would ease the memory of those other waves, cold and killing.

"Elua!" Raphael spent himself inside me with a shudder. He rested his brow against mine. I put one hand on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. "Well." He shifted me off his lap with an effort. His tone was teasing, but his expression was relaxed and languid. "You're a singularly determined young woman."

"Aye," I agreed. "Is that wrong?"

"Not in the least." He smiled, and I wanted to kiss him all over again. "But I'd hope we could make a better job of it."

"Oh?" I raised my brows. "Then show me."

Raphael looked at me for a long moment without replying, his grey eyes darkening like stormclouds. It was a look that made me shiver inside. "I mean to," he said at last in a low voice. "Later. And on my terms, witch-girl."

My cheeks flushed. "All right."

I thought he meant to take me to bed that night.

I was wrong.

Raphael was gone for a few hours that afternoon on an errand. He returned in the early evening and found me in the garden, trying to recall the names of unfamiliar plants.

"Fennel," he said in answer to my unasked question. "It's good for purging the kidneys of toxins. Also for treating catarrh." He touched the feathery fronds. "The blossoms are yellow and the Tiberians believed it could cure jaundice, but I'm afraid that was mere superstition."

"It smells nice," I said.

"One can eat the bulb. Speaking of which, I believe dinner is ready to be served." He gave me his arm. "Shall we?"

At dinner, Raphael presented me with a pair of emerald eardrops.

"For tomorrow," he said. "You shouldn't make your first appearance at Court without a single jewel adorning you."

"They're beautiful," I said sincerely. "Thank you. You didn't have to do this, truly."

He shrugged. "You're going out of your way to humor me."

Something in his manner gave me pause. "Not so very far out of my way. And you've been more than generous."

"Try them on," he said.

The eardrops had delicate little screws on their backs. I screwed them in place, feeling the weight dragging at my earlobes. It was a strange feeling, but not exactly unpleasant. I gave my head an experimental shake. "Do you like them?" . Raphael nodded. "Very nice."

"Very nice." I echoed his bland compliment. "Raphael, have I offended you? Are you angry with me? Is it because of what happened" I lowered my voice. "Is it because of what happened in the carriage?"

"No." He picked up his knife and fork, then set them down. Picked up his goblet and drank a deep draught of wine. A hovering servant moved to refill it. "Moirin Denis de Toluard told me a tale he heard today. Months' old gossip from Alba. It takes a while to filter through to us here, but what he heard made him prick up his ears. He thought I should know about it."

"Oh?" I felt cold.

"It seems the only son of Lord Tiernan of the Dalriada was ensorceled by a young woman of the Maghuin Dhonn," Raphael said in an even tone. "A very singular young woman to hear the tale. He died because of it."

"Oh, gods bedamned!" I shoved my chair away from the table. "The one had naught to do with the other. Cillian mac Tiernan died in a cattle-raid because he was too proud and stubborn to admit he was more scholar than warrior."

"So you did ensorcel him?" he pressed.

"No!" I pushed the heels of my hands against my eyes. That lad was doomed the minute you laid eyes on him . "No."

"Moirin."

I dropped my hands. "What?"

"I'll not be toyed with," Raphael said steadily. "You're accustomed to having your way with men, that much is clear. But this is Terre d'Ange, not Alba. If you think to make me your unwitting conquest, think again."

I sighed. "I don't."

"Then stay out of my head." He rose and tossed his napkin on the table. "I don't take kindly to you rummaging through my memories and turning them to your own purposes. And I don't take kindly to your using Naamah's gift to sway me."

"That's not fair!" I protested.

"Isn't it?"

I stood and faced him. "I'm drawn to you, aye. Is it my fault if you feel the same way? And I didn't ask to see your memories any more than I asked to be run down by your carriage, Raphael de Mereliot. You're the one keeps prattling on about destiny. What am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to feel?"

Raphael folded his arms. "Prattling?"

"Aye, prattling!" I was angry. "About destiny and magic and purpose, and how there are oh, so many things you don't fear in the world, myself included! All the while plotting to use me to make your mistress the Queen jealous." I snatched the eardrops from my ears and threw them at his feet. "Don't you dare accuse me of using you for my own ends!"

The eardrops clinked and rolled on the marble floor. It was the only sound in a dining hall that had gone very, very quiet. The servants stood frozen, looking like they wished they could disappear.

Unaccountably, Raphael smiled. "What is it I find so compelling about a woman with a temper?" he asked no one in particular.

My anger drained away, leaving me weary. "Is that what you see?" I asked him, sinking back into my chair. "My lord, may I remind you that I am young and alone and very far from home. You are the nearest thing to a friend I have in this place. If you trust me so little" To my shame, my eyes welled with tears and my throat closed.

"Oh, hells." He knelt on one knee before me. I couldn't meet his eyes. "Moirin, I'm sorry. Look at me, won't you?"

I stole a glance at him.

His expression was serious. "Listen. This is all very sudden and unexpected. What you claim are but small and insignificant gifts are passing strange and wondrous to me. And I'll admit, when I heard Denis' story today, I panicked."

I sniffled. "Shall I leave?"

"No." Raphael picked up the eardrops and pressed them into my hands. "Stay. Wear these tomorrow, and I will escort you with pride. All right?"

I wanted to say no.

I should have said no. I should have left; I should have left before. No matter what else he said, not once had Raphael denied using me in his quarrel with the Queen. Ignorant as I was, I had no business dabbling in Court intrigue. But his hands were warm on mine, setting those ridiculous currents of desire swirling in my blood. His grey eyes were earnest and insistent.

And there was the bedamned pulse of the diadh-anam inside me.

"All right," I murmured. "I'll stay."

"Good." He flashed a relieved grin at me. "You know, if you promise a third time, it means you can never leave."

I wasn't in a mood for teasing. "I'd as soon not have this conversation a third time."

"Of course." Raphael sobered and took his seat. "Why did you never mention Cillian mac Tiernan to me?"

I picked listlessly at my food. "I don't know. Because it hurts, I suppose."

He rested his chin on one hand. "Did you love him?"

"Aye." My throat and chest tightened again. I pushed my plate away. "Not enough, but aye." I took a deep breath, willing the tightness to ease. "Cillian was my first friend and my first lover, the only one I'd known before I came to Terre d'Ange. I'd known him since I was ten years old. He brought a tribute-gift of peaches and tried to spy on my mother and me." I smiled at the memory. "I caught him at it and we quarrelled. I had my bow with me. I shot the peaches."

Raphael laughed softly. "Whatever for?"

"I don't recall," I admitted. "But it seemed appropriate at the time."

"What was he like?" he asked.

"Oh" I shrugged. "I don't know. He was just himself. I never thought about it. Until Cillian came into my life, it was just my mother and me." I made myself think about it. "Curious. Thoughtful, most of the time. Impatient, sometimes. He was a good teacher, though. He taught me to read. He brought me books to last through the winter. We studied D'Angeline together. It was Cillian who figured out that my father had been a Priest of Naamah"

Once I'd begun talking, the words poured out of me. Cillian's jealousy, my reluctance to wed him. The unexpected horror of his death, and the awful moment when his mother blamed me for it.

"That's why they put it about that you'd ensorceled him?" Raphael asked in a gentle voice.

I nodded. "His sister Aislinn said it was only grief talking. But it was true in a way. I was selfish. I knew I'd never be the proper wife he wanted me to be, his and his alone. If I'd let him go sooner"

"It wouldn't have changed a blessed thing," he finished for me.

"Mayhap. But it doesn't feel that way." I wiped away a stray tear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your evening."

"Oh, I'd say I made a fair job of that myself," Raphael said wryly. "Please, don't apologize. Talk is healing. It's the unexamined wound that festers."

Like yours , I almost said, remembering that he'd never discussed his parents' deaths with anyone. But I bit my tongue on the thought.

Outside the door to my guest-chamber, he gave me a tender, lingering kiss, tasting of wine and apology. When I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder, he held me. His arms felt strong and good around me.

"Moirin?" His breath stirred my hair.

"Hmm?"

"Did you happen to fend off a pair of highwaymen with a bow and arrow on your journey to the City?" he asked. I looked up in surprise. Raphael gazed down at me, his eyes glinting with amusement. "There's a tale a pair of dowagers are spreading about a young woman who shared their coach. A very singular green-eyed young woman of mixed heritage. Denis heard it in a wineshop and thought I might like to know."

"Ah." I smiled at him. "Well, I might have. Actually, I might have shot one in the leg from an, um, unseen perspective. But the good ladies didn't know that part because they had the curtains drawn."

"The good ladies?" he repeated.

"They were kind in their own way," I said. "Florette d'Aubert and Lydia Postel. After tomorrow, I ought to pay them a visit. Do you know them?"

"Most assuredly not." Raphael kissed me again, slow and deliberate. "You're really not what one would expect, are you?"

My head spun. "No?"

"No." He let me go and made a bow. "On the morrow?"

"On the morrow," I agreed.