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She rolled over. Pale sunlight illuminated the bedroom. Aodh stood beside the bed, fully clothed, in armor and cloak.
She struggled to a sitting position. “Snore? I most certainly do not!” She clutched the sheets to her breasts.
“Aye you do.” He tossed her her cloak. It settled over her face. “Come.”
She wrestled it off, her hair sparking as it lifted in wild arcs. “Come where?
“We ride for The O’Fail.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
THEY RODE ACROSS a landscape exploding with spring life, flowers, and bright green mosses. Then on the far hill, a high-walled stone castle appeared. Around it, a perimeter of high stone battlements. No simple pele tower this; this was a fortress of strength.
“Are we certain he’s no’ a Saxon?” Cormac muttered warily as they started down the hill and crossed the meadow toward the towering stone ramparts. Small pinpricks of shapes on the walls solidified into men in armor, patrolling the walls.
They rode in silence up the dirt pathway and clopped over the wooden draw.
They were admitted into the outer bailey, and the portcullis gate winched shut behind them with a squeal of iron and a heavy bang as it hit the earth.
The outer bailey was large and hosted a huge contingent of stables and shops, a smithy and kitchens. Cormac had been right; it was more like a bustling English town than an outpost on a marchland. As they passed
, everyone stopped their activities.
They passed into the inner bailey, and drew to a halt in front of the high, narrow stairs that led to the keep. Ré and Cormac dismounted, and the twenty knights and squires behind them did the same, almost in unison, a sort of dance, men who’d long worked together and moved together without thought.
Aodh stayed on his horse, looking at the keep. Katarina cleared her throat.
“By the way, did I mention…?” A significant pause ensued.
His gaze slid off the tower. “What?”
She smiled. “’Tis nothing. Nothing at all. The O’Fail and I once…shared a kiss.”
Stillness radiated out from him like a stone that had set in the sun all day. Ré and Cormac exchanged a wary glance.
“Why?” he asked, very slowly.
It was only a word, but it was enough to make Ré reach out and put a hand on his arm. So did Katarina. “It was years ago, Aodh. Years. It was so trifling, and so long ago, I’d entirely forgotten about it. Until just now.” She smiled brightly.
“Just now, is it?”
“Yes, just this very moment.” Another bright smile.
“What was the occasion of your trifling kiss with the Irish prince?”
“He was one of several princes, you must understand, years ago. A potentiate. Nothing of regard. But…” Her voice drifted off, then came back. “In any event, a union had been proposed. Bandied about, as such things are—”
“You were going to wed him?”
“—but in the end, it came to naught. So, there you have it.” She smiled again.
“I have something,” he agreed, the Irish lilt a little stronger, implying strong emotion, but his words were level and seemingly devoid of emotion. Ré gave a little shake of his head.
She patted the hard length of Aodh’s arm. “Come, he has likely forgotten about it, in much the way I did. One does, you know. Let us forget it ever happened. We shall present our case, and see what he has to say.”
Ré and Cormac had a fairly good idea of the case Aodh was currently preparing in his mind. They watched him close his eyes, take a deep breath, and get off his horse.
“Fine.” He strode to Katarina’s horse, put his hands on her hips, and swung her to the ground. “What, is he twenty years older than you?”
