Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (47 page)

 
          
Shona
cast her an impatient scowl. " 'Twasn't what I meant… I
meant
he might have been thinking how
I'd react, meeting him like that."

 
          
"I
doubt he anticipated the
kivarna"
Keely said dryly.

 
          
"Aileen
said nothing of it to me in any of her letters, and it was the last thing I
expected. We all forget he is half Erinnish…" She sighed and chewed idly
at a thumb. "And for all you were taken by surprise, I'm thinking he was,
too. Are you so selfish to think only of yourself?"

 
          
Shona
had the grace to look abashed. She stopped pacing and threw herself down into a
chair. It was her father's favorite, and engulfed her. Her expression altered
slowly from fierce outrage to something akin to compassion. She smiled
lopsidedly. "He was no more prepared for it than me. You should have seen
his face…" Shona slung one muscled leg over the chair arm, settling into
its depths. "I felt everything he felt, when we touched—it mirrored what I
felt, throwing it back at me…" She frowned, squirming uncomfortably.
" 'Twas not something I'm wanting to repeat… gods, but he was so
open
—" Shona laced fingers into her
braid and tugged, as if to distract herself. "And I knew, when he touched
me, he was wanting me—
needing
me—"

 
          
She
broke off with a muttered curse, clearly embarrassed as well as frustrated.
Keely waited, trying to sort out her own welter of emotions.

 
          
Shona
sat upright abruptly, unhooking the dangling leg and planting both booted feet
on the floor. She leaned into her elbows and hid her face behind both hands.
Her words were muffled, but the raw helplessness of the tone was undisguised.
"Gods help me, but 'twas what
I
was wanting too—every bit of it, I wanted… I could not
help
myself—" She drew her hands away and cast an anguished
plea at her mother. "What was I to do? I couldn't bear it, all that nakedness
of feelings, all the knowing what he wanted,
and
me… all I could do was run away! Like a child, a wee bairn
fleeing—" Self-contempt was plain. "And me knowing all the while if I
gave in, it was over… if I even
wavered
—"
She shut her eyes. "Gods, I feel so helpless… it made me feel so
helpless
—"

 
          
Keely
drew in a deep breath, trying to still her voice. "It was the
kivarna
—"

 
          
Shona
rubbed violently at her brow. "I'm knowing
that
, well enough… I just never thought—" She broke it off,
rose, began to pace again. "How can I marry him? We're strangers to one
another, knowing nothing about our habits and interests… how could he think I
might be willing?"

 
          
Keely
lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "The way anyone thinks a man might be
willing, or a woman, when they first meet."

 
          
Shona
stared blankly at the dogs, sprawled on the stone floor. Eventually she sat
down by one of the bitches and began to stroke the narrow, wiry head. One of
the pups came over and collapsed as near to Shona as possible, burrowing her
head into her lap. Absently, Shona petted both hounds.

 
          
"
'Twasn't that way for you and father."

 
          
Keely
grunted. "You know that story. I've told you."

 
          
"So
has he." Briefly, Shona grinned. "But you loved one another before
you married. You've
both
said
so."

 
          
"Your
jehan
and I had less in common when
we met than you and Aidan. There was no
kivarna
for us."

 
          
Shona's
cheeks reddened. "I'm wanting more than what we felt. That was little more
than two children setting a broomstick alight—and having the rafters catch!"

 
          
Keely
smiled. "Aye, well… there is something to be said for passion, and
something to be said for peace. Sometimes one outdistances the other, but
eventually they catch up."

 
          
Troubled,
Shona continued to stroke the wolfhounds. "But I know the cost of
kivarna
. I'm knowing what it means. If
we married, Aidan and I, and he died, I'd be left alone. Forever. With no man
to love, or love me back." She looked at her mother. "What would you
do if father died?"

 
          
Keely
drew in a long, painful breath, then released it. "Go on," she
answered quietly. "He would expect it of me."

 
          
Shona's
eyes were steady. She was too much like her father; Keely found it difficult to
answer that face. "What would you expect of yourself?"

 
          
After
a moment, Keely smiled. It was ironic and bittersweet. "Once, I would have
told you no man is worth the loyalty of a woman, or her soul. That no man is so
important his passing would leave a woman bereft; she has strength of her own,
and worth, and should go on very well without him." She stroked a strand
of hair back from her face. "But I have learned that a woman need not
subjugate herself to live with a man, nor give up any part of her beliefs. A
woman is free to love as she will, and therefore free to grieve." She
looked at her daughter's intent face. "If your rather ever asked me to do
something I was adamantly opposed to, I would refuse. No one has the right to
expect another to compromise personal beliefs simply to accommodate the other.
If he asked me not to grieve, I would laugh into his face. But if I thought he
expected me to end my life when he died, I would leave him instantly."

 
          
"Even
if you loved him?"

 
          
"I
will always love your father. But I would leave him. And he knows it."

 
          
Shona's
face was grim. "It would be more difficult if there was
kivarna
between you."

 
          
Keely
gestured. "Perhaps. But
because
we had it between us, it might never come to that. Perhaps if more men and
women shared a mutual
kivarna
, there
would be less contention between them."

 
          
The
tone was argumentative. "So, you think I
should
marry him."

 
          
Keely
smiled calmly. "I think you should make the choice for yourself, and then
live with it."

 
          
Shona
scowled. "That is easy for you to say."

 
          
Keely
laughed aloud, "Is it? Oh, my foolish lass, you're knowing nothing about
it. Nothing at
all
about it."

 
          
Shona
looked affronted. "How can you say that? You're not in my position—"

 
          
Keely
stood up, tugging her jerkin back into place. "We all make choices,"
she said, "Man, woman, and child. And then we must live with them."

 
          
Shona's
voice rose as Keely approached the door. "But your choice isn't like mine.
It never was. You
loved
my father.
You're not knowing what this is like."

 
          
Keely
was at once swept back years to the bleakest portion of her life. To the hardest
decision she had ever faced. To the knowledge that the child she carried was a
child of rape, both physical and emotional, and the product of her most hated
enemy. Knowing the child, if born, might have equal access to magics more
powerful than any presently known, and that he or she might use them for evil.

 
          
Swept
back to the decision that she could not, would not bear the abomination, and
would do whatever she could to miscarry it. Because it was, to her, the only
answer. The only alternative.

 
          
Keely
drew in a breath. "There are people in this world who want to make
decisions for you. Some of them even do it out of misintentioned goodness, of
well-meant kindness. They believe wholeheartedly they are doing you a service
when they take away your freedom of choice, in the name of their morality. Who
am I to take away
your
right to
choose?" She spread her hands. "I will answer any question you have,
and I will give you all the advice you want, but I will not make the decision
for you. That is for you to do."

 
          
Shona
opened her mouth to protest. But she did not, and after a moment, she smiled.
"Aye, so it is. And for that freedom, I should be grateful."

 
          
"Aye,"
Keely agreed, thinking of Brennan and Aileen, who had known no freedom.

 
          
And
of their son, and her daughter, whose unexpected "gifts" might rob
them of their share.

 
          
«
^
»

 
          
Aidan
stood beside his borrowed bed, contemplating his baggage. One set of
saddle-pouches, carrying changes of clothing, preserved food, a few other
oddments. A servant had been sent to unpack for him, but Aidan had thanked him
and dismissed him. He was not yet certain he was staying long enough to unpack
anything.

 
          
Teel,
perched upon a bedpost, fluttered blue-black wings,
The least you can do is stay to the evening meal. Why run away on an
empty belly
?

 
          
Aidan
grimaced.
I am not running away. Why stay
where I am most obviously not welcome
?

 
          
The woman is the daughter, not the lady… let
the others determine your welcome.

 
          
He
had left the door open. Someone stepped through. He knew before she spoke
exactly who it was; the
kivarna
told
him plainly. "So," she said coolly, "I'm thinking there's
something to be settled."

 
          
Aidan
did not turn. "Aye. And I am settling it this moment."

 
          
The
smoky voice was curt; she did not understand his reference. "What?"

 
          
He
turned. She was everything he recalled: long of limb, broad of shoulder,
impossibly strong of will. She blazed with determination. "Am I to go, or
stay?" He gestured idly toward the unpacked saddle-pouches. "I have
only to throw them over my shoulder and walk back down to the city. There will
be a ship. And I can go home."

 
          
Shona's
assessive eyes narrowed. "You give in easily."

 
          
"Give
in?" He loaded the words with elaborate surprise. "I did not know we
had even gotten
that
far."

 
          
Now
her tone was glacial. "We got nowhere at all,
I'm
thinking, except to recognize the
kivarna
." Her feet were spread, legs braced; she was poised
for war, Aidan thought, in one way or another. Her jaw was tightly set.
"Did you know what would happen?"

 
          
He
made a sound of disgust. "I know as much about
kivarna
as you do about having a
lir
." Abruptly he paused, thinking of Keely. If Shona were
like her mother, his last comment bore no meaning at all. "You have no
lir
, have you? Or recourse to
lir
-shape?"

 
          
Muscles
flexed in her jaw. "No."

 
          
The
kivarna
flared briefly. He had
touched a nerve. It was plain to him: Shona displayed no physical
characteristics of her mother's race, nor the magic of the Cheysuli. What she
was, most obviously, was Erinnish, complete with Erinnish
kivarna
.

 
          
And she feels diminished because of it.

 
          
Aidan
shook his head, answering her more kindly. "No, I knew I had it, but not
what it was. Nor what it could do."