“I would love to see that.”
“Perhaps ye will.”
She ignored that as if it were a thing she could not contemplate.
“What lies beyond those islands, over the water?”
“Well, Ireland lies to the south. Beyond that—men have long wondered. The old tales said ’twas the land of the ever-blessed.Tír na nÓg.”
“I have heard that name. Why is it called ever-blessed?”
“Those who died winged away there, to feast and play music and remain forever young.”
“Ah.” That seemed to strike her. He saw the thoughts move in her eyes. “I can understand why they thought so. If ever such a place of promise might exist, ’twould lie where the sun goes to bed. I wonder—” Abruptly she paused.
“What d’ye wonder?” he asked with true curiosity. This woman fascinated him, all of her, not the least the workings of her mind.
“Why such a place should not truly exist. A kind of reward for all we endure here. Life is so hard, the choices we make—and are denied making—so painful and costly. And all that comes at the end is death.”
Deathan gazed at her in dismay. For someone of her youth—surely not above a score of years—and station to stand there in all her beauty and express such pain seemed an abomination.
“Surely,” he said, “life is no’ all bad. There are rewards along the way.”
Her lips curved bitterly. Her gaze remained on the horizon. “I have been given away to a stranger by a king I do not acknowledge. Can you show me the reward in that? I confess, I would rather fly away searching for that far place until my strength gave out and I fell into the sea.”
Deathan wanted to comfort her. His heart did, and it strained his being terribly. But what had he to offer this woman? No promises. Only, perhaps, desire.
“We canna gi’ up on life,” he said, “however hard it becomes. Because we ne’er know what may happen tomorrow, when that blessed sun rises once again.”
*
Darlei turned toface the man beside her, dragging her gaze at last from the far horizon. Their hands remained linked—his felt calloused and strong and warm, and she did not want to surrender it. In a curious way, it grounded her, kept her, yes, from flying off to die in the sea.
There must be something to live for. Could it be him?
Those two thoughts warred in her mind as she gazed into his eyes.
Those eyes of his—of a sudden she realized they were not unlike the sea. Deep, deep blue with flecks of green and glints of light that appeared in accordance with his thoughts. Or when he smiled.
A protective sort of spirit, this man had. He took it upon himself to look after others. He did not want her to despair.
How she knew that, she could not say. She just did.
Could he be her refuge? Her Tír na nÓg? A woman could scarce ask for more.
“I wish,” she said softly, “that somewhat better awaited me tomorrow. I cannot quite believe it.”
“Ye will make friends here,” he proposed, “and find the comforts ye need.”
“Will I?”
“Am I no’ the first o’ them? I pray ye will let me be.”
Friend, or comfort?
A thousand things, she might have said. The words might come pouring out just as his had, when he spoke of his love for this place. Yet merely standing here with him this way felt suddenly so intimate, she could speak not at all.
What had a cruel fate brought her? Possibly his company.
