His eyes twinkled. “I’ve been asked. But I’ve ne’er been tempted t’ say aye.”
Stop talking now. You’re making a fool of your— “What? You mean to tell me your women do the choosing? And they ask?” Finora knew her jaw was surely hanging down around her knees, but she couldn’t seem to close her mouth.
“The clans are each ruled by a headwoman. The women govern an’ each decides who they wish t’ take as a mate an’ father their bairns. Doth a mon piss her off enough, a lass is free t’ release him an’ choose another.”
“What do the men do?”
He shrugged. “Whate’er we’re good at. We hunt, scout, craft, defend. Those o’ us that be guardians, though,” a shadow crossed his face, “are sworn t’ the clans as a whole. That be above any bond t’ one woman. There’s no’ many women who relish the thought o’ a mon that oft disappears for days, weeks or months at a time on clan business, or can be slain in battle.”
“Is that what this is?” Finora asked. “This quest of yours? Clan business?”
His eyes sobered. “Nay, lass. ’Twas a promise t’ a guardian queen, who wished t’ know if she be the last o’ her kind.”
She sensed a holding back in those words, like there was something he could have added but didn’t. One thing was clear to her, however: Trystan was an honorable man, with his own ironclad code of conduct. She could trust him. She moved around him, brushed against his arm as she opened the Mermaid’s door and went back inside.
The children sat at the table with Giles and Jan, Niadh and Storm sprawled at their feet. Ealga perched on the back of Braeca’s chair. Giles handed Trystan the half-finished whiskey Trystan had set down when he’d stepped outside for their talk. “Would you like something?” Giles asked Finora.
The whiskey was too tempting. She needed a clear head. “Just cider,” she replied. Tess unloaded her tray at the next table.
Giles waved Tess over and gave her Finora’s request.
Finora sat down in the empty chair betwixt her two children. “Were the scones good?”
Ioain nodded. “Can we bwing some home?”
“Please, Mama?” Braeca added, pleading in her big brown eyes.
Finora laughed. “Very well. Enough with those cow eyes, poppet!” When the other woman brought her the cider, she said, “Tess, I think I’ll need a dozen of those cranberry scones to take home with us.”
“I’ll wrap them now,” Tess replied.
Trystan held out a hand and Ealga returned to his shoulder. He slouched against the wall, savoring his drink. “They make this back home. Me uncle Cormag’s a master. His has a unique nutty flavor an’ his barrels’re stamped with an acorn.”
Finora stared at Trystan, the wild Arcadian mountain man, from his long, grizzled grey hair to his muscled legs. She couldn’t help herself. The tattoo down the left side of his face made him look so fierce, but all she could recall was the hot desire in his eyes and the feel of those strong arms around her, holding her close. She wasn’t the only one staring at the way his broad shoulders filled out his shirt. Catching herself at it made her frown. Ridiculous to feel possessive over a stranger. She had no claim on him.
“Acorn whiskey’s rare,” Jan stated. “Hard t’ find, an’ too rich for the common purse.”
“Soon we should be able t’ afford it. Cap’n’s lookin’ for ’nother ship,” Giles clarified. “We’ll be sailin’ ’gain in a few weeks.”
Finora’s gaze slid to Trystan, who stared at the memorial wall, at all the names of those lost to Cilaniestra. “What is it?”
“’Tis lucky I am t’ no’ be listed there. Thanks t’ him.” He saluted Storm with his cup.
“Lighthaven Water Dogs. Mari breeds and trains them,” Finora told him. “They’ve gained a reputation all over Rhattany.”
Braeca also stared at the wall. “My da’s on that wall.”
“Aye, lass.” Trystan’s face softened. “I’m sorra for yer loss.”
Oh, he was dangerous…
“Is your da gone, too?”
“No’ t’ me knowledge. But I’ve been gone from home for some months now.”
“But ye’re old!” Braeca indicated his grey hair. “He must be ancient.”
“Braeca!” Finora’s cheeks heated.
Trystan laughed. “Well, I’m no’ as old as all that. Simply went grey early. They told me it makes me look wise.” He assumed a solemn expression that made the children giggle.
Finora again sensed a holding back. Trystan shot her a sharp glance but said naught further.
“Time to go home,” Finora said. “I don’t want to be climbing in the dark.” She stood, picked up the wrapped packet of scones and inclined her head to Giles and Jan. “Good night.” The children headed for the door, shadowed by the two canids. Finora followed with Trystan and Ealga bringing up the rear. She tried in vain to ignore his gaze. The back of her neck prickled with awareness.
She stopped at Mari’s. Storm’s dam sprawled against Mari’s makeshift stand but lumbered to her feet at their approach. She looked to be near her time—swollen like a great furry whale. “I need a kira of frill and a half of red.” Finora reached down to rub the dog’s ears.
Mari weighed out the two seaweeds. “Pups should be here next week,” she said to the Ioain and Braeca. “You two will have to come see them.”
Ioain stared at his shoes. Finora paid Mari and tucked the wrapped packages under her arm. They continued up the cliffside path. The children sang a counting rhyme Mistress Greta had taught Braeca. Finora and Trystan followed in silence.
“Finora!”
Bree’s call stopped her in her tracks. “What’s wrong?”
“Naught’s wrong,” the mermaid replied. “We’ve been scavenging the ship and I found something your new friend might wish to see.”
Trystan placed a hand against her back. “What is it?”
She turned around. “Bree’s found something she wants you to see. We’d best go down to the shore.” She shivered. That luring, elusive shore…
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Heart of the Volcano Page 9
