by Erin O'Quinn
“Young Lou,” she said. “You speak with more maturity than many an old fart I have met in my long life. Please do not be embarrassed. Feel free to speak openly.”
“That I will, Madam Mockingbird. And I thank ye.”
I was thunderstruck by Torin’s performance. He was every bit as masterful as Jay Feather, and I had a suspicion that he even believed much of what he was saying.
At last Mockingbird’s eyes left Torin’s handsome face and settled on me. “Caylith, I did not expect to see you so soon after your last visit.”
“And I did not expect to be here.” I laughed. “But two things happened. First, Lou became available when I least expected it. And second, I have found need for even more leather clothing, and I have brought you a list.”
“Well, I am glad. My workers and I have been laboring tirelessly, and we are almost finished. I need new assignments. I need payment in the form of leather skins. And, I will admit, I like your stories…and your friends. Let us have another cup of tea.”
“Madam Mockingbird,” ventured Torin. “I would ask a boon of ye.”
“Speak, Lou,” she said evenly.
“I have been casting about for likely work since I left me old home. Caylith mentioned that the dwarves need help building the enclaves. Do ye think…? Ah, but I am probably too large even to work alongside your clan. I should not even bring it up.”
“Nonsense! I think it is a brilliant idea. Speak with my brother Jay, or my brother Crowe. I am sure either of them would have a likely assignment for you. It is not size that matters, young man, except the size of the heart inside.”
Torin looked so pleased that I knew it was genuine. Not only would he have gainful work, he would be close to his love Swallow. But I did not want to be close by when Mockingbird discovered that the lanky Torin was her daughter’s swain. They would both have to be very persuasive indeed for her not to feel betrayed.
That stairway would be built, and climbed, later. For now, Torin had found a new admirer.
“And where was your former home, Lou?” asked Mockingbird, remembering the thread of the conversation.
“An’ that would be Tara, Madam Mockingbird,” he answered readily.
“Leary…from Tara. It scratches at my memory. Ah, well, I shall think of it. Now let us measure you for—what, Caylith? Breeches?”
“Yes, Moc,” I said familiarly. I could not bring myself to call her “Madam” or “righteous,” either one. “You may use him as a fair approximation of his brother and all his kinsmen, for they are the ones on my list who will be wearing the hats and cloaks.”
Torin stood more flushed than at first, while lovely Magpie knelt in front of him, taking measurements from his waist and certain other strategic points. Raven, Jay, and I talked while the two ladies were fussing over Torin.
At last the measurements were taken, Mockingbird and I had discussed my new list, and the teacups had been drained at least three times. Altogether a fulfilling morning and early afternoon.
Jay Feather walked us back up the lovely spiral stairs to the portal. We stood making our farewells, and Jay said, “Cay, you play a dangerous game. My sister is very smart, and also very hostile if she feels used.”
Torin spoke before I could. “I wanted to play a game, Jay. But ye may believe me or not, I spoke the truth to her. The words of the ollamh are true, and me own longings for right deeds are true also. I do not feel I have lied to your sister. As soon as I laid me eyes on her, I knew I would speak the truth, for she brings it out in me.”
“I believe you, young man,” said Jay. His deep blue eyes shone with something I had rarely seen there. It was respect, together with real affection. To me, he said, “I felt the same way when I spoke to your aunt, Cay. I never lied to her, for she deserves the utmost respect.”
I had learned something profound, I thought. I had seen the conversation as a skilled performance, an elaborate lie. And yet it was quite the opposite. Thus when Mockingbird did discover the truth, it would be simply that—a restatement of what was true all along. The only lie would be in the diplomatically hidden fact that Torin knew her daughter.
I smiled at the two of them. “I am fortunate to have such truthful friends. Thank you both.”
On the way home, Torin was a new man. His shoulders were squared back, his head was high, and he wore a slight smile. It was now safe to tease him.
“Is your head pounding now gone?” I asked.
“Aye, lass. I would have a recipe for your cure.”
“My secret,” I told him. “But I wonder whether the headache has only just begun.”
“What mean ye?”
“I mean, lad, that love itself can be the strongest beer ye ever drank, and the ache from it last forever and a day.”
“Ye may have a bold mouth, a Cháit, but ye speak true.”
We rode in silence for a while. Finally, Torin said, “Cate, I hope we have done the right thing. I like Swallow’s mother very much. It was not right to deceive her. I feel as though I should turn around right now an’ tell her the whole story.”
“Was there another way to gain her ear?”
“I know not. But I think tomorrow I will tell her the truth. Then the ache from me love will lessen, just a bit. Unless I feel her boot on me bum.”
“I doubt that Moc wears boots.”
“At any rate, ye have showed me again that you are a true friend to me. Go raibh maith agat, a chara mo ghrá. Me brother is fortunate indeed.”
“Spoil me not with honeyed words,” I retorted, remembering the exact words he had told me not too long ago. I said it now in spite, for his response to me that night had unaccountably hurt my feelings. I had told him at my own fire pit that he meant the sun and moon to Liam and the very stars to me. He had rejected my sincere feelings as though they were somehow wrong. I dug my heels into Clíona’s side, and we trotted ahead of his own glistening, dark-brown stallion, jumping a small ravine and running gracefully toward home.
I lifted my arm in farewell to Torin when I reached our teach, and he seemed to salute me as he cantered past. I was satisfied with the results of our meeting with Mockingbird. Perhaps now Torin and Swallow could begin to have a more open relationship. Working at the enclaves would put him in a position to meet her friends and family, just as she was starting to meet his own.
I wondered at his allusion to “truthful action” and “morality.” He had told Jay that he believed what he said to Mockingbird—that she was a reminder to him of ethical behavior. Did that mean that he would behave honorably with Swallow? That he, like Liam, and Michael, too, would hold himself for marriage? Neither Torin nor Swallow were Christians, so they would have no spiritual reason for abstaining. But Mockingbird herself was a powerful force. They may do it to please her or even to honor her. Or because they felt it was the right thing to do.
I stood currying the mare while Macha and NimbleFoot whinnied their desire to be next. I mused about my own sense of morality. What if I had never had the talk with Father Patrick about fornication? Would I have been so dedicated to saving myself for marriage? No, I told myself truthfully. My own wild and selfish nature would have given in to my desires sooner or later, I was sure.
When Clíona was brushed and gleaming, I turned to NimbleFoot, for he was prancing and whffling, telling me how he missed the curry comb. I stroked his muscled neck and his long, silky nose. “What are you saying, golden boy? Do you want the comb?”
“He…telling you how he wants your touch,” said Liam. I looked around, surprised to see him home so early. I put my arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe, welcoming him. His arms encircled me, and he drew me into his large chest. Our mouths touched at first lightly, with soft sucking movements. And then I was tasting his honey-and-savory tongue, loving the heat of his lips moving on top of my own.
“Is tú mo ghrá,” I told him, my voice husky with my deep feeling for him.
“I love ye, too, Cat.” He fondled my cheeks and my chin, and I ca
ught his hand inside my mouth and held it there with my own hand, sucking and licking each finger.
“I…curry the horses,” he said. “You took care last night, in the dark…cold. Now my turn.”
“All right. Tá go maith. I will bring a treat for them. Then I will find our supper in the garden.” I smiled and handed him my curry comb. I went to the root cellar and felt around in the dark for a store of dried apples I had put there during the summer months. I found four and brought them out. One by one, I treated the horses and stood rubbing them and talking to them.
“Now rub me. Talk to me.” Liam was looking at me, his mouth twitching in a teasing smile, as he curried NimbleFoot.
I stood close behind him and put my hands up under his cloak. I began to rub his chest, feeling his nipples harden under the light tunic. As I stroked him, I said, “We met with Mockingbird today. It went very well. She liked your brother very much.” My hands slid down and lifted his tunic, and I felt his hard, flat stomach. I brought both hands up again, very slowly, as I talked.
“He liked her, too. That was the secret of his success. I thought he might talk to her as though she were a foolish old woman. But he treated her with great respect.” I was stroking, then pulling his nipples, wanting to put them in my mouth. He moved a little, still currying the pony, putting one hand over mine and moving it in a rhythm he liked as I continued to talk.
“She told him he could work there in the enclaves every day. He seemed very happy about that. Now he can be close to Swallow.”
He stopped currying and turned around, very close to me. “Now me apple,” he said, and he bent his head to my own chest, seeking a breast under the deerskin. His boldness at sucking me outdoors, where anyone could see us, took my breath away.
“Wait, Liam. Wait until we are inside.” I tried to step away, but he held me, his hot mouth nuzzling and looking for my breasts, very unhurried and sensual.
At last I was able to break free from his embrace. I felt that my face was very red, and I was breathing with difficulty. He grinned at me and went back to his currying, stepping over to Macha. I almost ran for the garden, marveling for the thousandth time at his unquenchable spirit.
Chapter 13:
Bruises Old and New
We woke to snow. Swirling, drifting flakes had just begun to fall when I opened the door to feed and water the horses.
“Liam! Snow!” I was excited, for this was the first time in many years I had seen it—since my first trip to Lindum to visit Auntie Marrie when I was barely fifteen years old. That was in northeast Britannia, where it stayed much colder than here in Éire.
He stood behind me in the doorway. “Tá sé álainn,” he said quietly. “So beautiful, Cat. I…walk today.”
“I will walk with you, love,” I said. It had been a long time since he and I had walked any distance at all together. The last time would have been our journey from the River Lagan to the Lough Neagh, back when Michael was leading us to his old home. I repeated it in Gaelige. “Beidh mé ag siúl…chomh maith.” I spoke slowly and haltingly. “I will walk with you.” The verbs and I fought each other, bruised each other.
He grinned and stroked my hair. “Wear your boots, Cat. Agus do sionnach. Your fox pelt, too.”
Liam went to the haggard and began to throw fodder to the horses. I went back inside and changed from my léine into the warm red-fox tunic. I pulled on my thigh-high leather leggings that Magpie had fashioned for me, designed to wear while astride a horse.
When I came back outside to fill the trough with fresh water, he stood still and watched me. He loved seeing me in that pelt, and now he fingered the bushy foxtail that I wore around my hips below the belt. “My…prize. Mo thaisce.” He brought me close by pulling a little on the tail, and we stood with our thighs together, feeling each other’s sudden warmth. He leaned and stroked my hair and kissed me at the same time, and I decided I liked that sensation very much.
“Mmm, love kissing ye. Me little fox. Lick me all over, little fox.” He was beginning to suckle my mouth very sensually, and I had to struggle to break free.
“Séamas,” I said simply, and he smiled ruefully at the reminder. Today was Tuesday. He held out his large hand to me, and I took it. We walked in the very early, slate-gray morning, while fat snowflakes fell and covered the footprints behind us.
We both knew without discussing it that snowy conditions were dangerous when riding. Liam was himself a master rider and Angus an experienced drover’s horse. My mountain pony could find his way unerringly, no matter the terrain. But the sudden trenches and ravines, covered by snowfall, could cause one of us to lose balance in the saddle and possibly get hurt. Besides, the walk was exhilarating for both of us.
The snow seemed to make ordinary bushes into chimeras, as a cloud might change from a baby sheep to a serpent’s coiled shape in a matter of moments. We picked up handfuls of the quickly piling stuff and fashioned it into little balls to throw at each other, all the while laughing and ducking.
Liam’s mustache and beard were sprinkled with white. I reached out my hand and touched his dear face, and he caught my hand, bringing my fingers to his mouth. “I love ye, Cat.”
And that is how we somehow made it to the school next to our church, only a quarter of an hour late. Liam left to find Brother Galen, and I sat on one of the benches that stood arrayed along the wall of the large school. Classes would not begin for another half an hour or so. and I settled back comfortably, thinking about this morning with my husband.
I had risen early and was standing at the washbasin, quickly washing so that I could dress and take care of the horses. Liam, still undressed, walked up behind me. “Séamas inniu,” he told me. I nodded without speaking. I knew that every Tuesday morning, without fail, Liam would somberly dress and leave early to meet with the monk to learn about the godspels. On these mornings, he rarely started any love play. It was as though he wanted to go to his lessons with only serious matters on his mind.
Today, however, he surprised me. His mouth began to move along my upper back, and his hands slowly traced their way down my spine until they met at the cleavage of my butt. “Do thoin. So beautiful. Like…teardrop. I want to lick it.”
I did not turn around. His husky voice made my heart race, but I did not want to be the one to interfere with his lesson this morning. His tongue was in my ear. “Let me, Cat. Let me have your butt, oh, I want, mmmn, I want it.”
Still I did not respond, but a sudden fire burst into flame between my legs and traveled into my bum. I could feel his mouth travel down my back, and his tongue started to lick the top of my cleavage. And then, in spite of my own will, I began to move my buttocks in rhythm with his soft tongue. I moved toward him, then away, as if softly thrusting, and he spread my cheeks gently. Then he was on his knees, his tongue probing, and I opened my legs and bent over the table a little.
His entire mouth enveloped my most sensitive place while his tongue pushed in. I moaned as he pulled off, sucking loudly. “Again,” I said, and I pushed my bum toward him. He did it again, and again, a master player making unique music. By then I was crying out very loud, demanding more, almost ready to explode in smoke and fire.
“Tell me,” he said roughly, and then he sucked again. “Tell me. What do you want?” His hands grasped my buttocks so hard I thought he would bruise my skin.
“Do bhéal…i mo thoin.” The moment came, and then I was almost crying, so great was the relief from the shuddering spasms that had wracked me. He held me close for several moments.
At last he stood and kissed the back of my neck. Then he turned me around and looked into my eyes. “Mmn, Cat, so good. I…finish later.” I understood him. Later, he would make love in front of me, and not behind. I loved it either way. He could read it in my eyes.
I wanted to tell Liam how I felt, how deeply I felt his lovemaking, but I was not sure what to say. He knew from my reaction, he knew just by looking into my eyes, how I felt. Were words even necessary? I reached
out and stroked his soft mustache, my finger lingering on his lips, before pulling my eyes away from his.
A familiar voice broke my sensuous dream. “Cay! Are you a student today?” It was Luke.
“Yes Luke,” I said with a smile. “A student of the road. A student of the war hammer, and the bata. But a student of Latin and Ogham? No. Too painful.”
He laughed, looking down at me from his over-six-foot height. “Do you think you might emerge with bruises?”
“Honestly? Yes. Especially from the subjunctive.” I plucked a verb tense out of the air, not knowing whether it was indeed a tense at all.
“Caylith, would that you might put your lively brain to work in Latin. Then the world would have a master scholar!”
I was no student, but I knew that just then Luke had used the subjunctive form of the verb. Very awkward, I thought. Why bother with subjunctive at all? I took the jest one step further. “The world? Indeed, the kosmos, dear Luke.” I was not above showing off a little. He had used that word in my presence not too long ago, talking to Brigid, and they had both smiled at my ignorance. I would show him!
Then we were both grinning at each other. He had known me longer than almost anyone else, and he well knew my aversion to formal studies. He sat down next to me. “Cay, I am going to send an oxcart today with your bathing tub, for it is finally finished.”
“Finally? Dear Luke! It has been less than a week since I asked you about it. You are the real master. I thank you with all my heart.”
“I made a low table to set it on. That way, you can put a cauldron under it to empty it from the spigot. And when its usefulness as a tub is ended, your horses will drink from the best trough in Derry. Or you will have a beer container to rival any in Éire.”
“Yes, someday I will have my Roman-style baths, Luke. But that day is a distant dream. Until then, I will savor my time in my new tub. Taking a bath out of a water basin is a form of torture.”
