He could meditate, he supposed, but it seemed unwise to risk a self-induced trance. He had the sun beating overhead just waiting to fry him like bacon, and a magic bomb strapped on Larkin that for all he knew could burst into flame just for the fun of it.
Why exactly had he thought he had to do this idiotic thing?
Ah yes. Duty, honor, love, pride—all those emotional weights that dragged a man down into the drowning pool, however hard he struggled to keep his head above the surface. Well, there was no going back now. Not on the flight, not on the feelings crowding inside him.
My God, he loved her. Moira the studious, Moira the queen. The shy and the valiant, the canny and the quiet. It was stupid, destructive, hopeless to love her. And it was more real than anything he’d known in a thousand years.
He could feel the locket she’d put around his neck—another weight. She’d called him a bastard one minute, then had given him one of what he was certain was her most valued treasures the next.
Then again, she’d once aimed an arrow at his heart, then apologized with a simple sincerity and flushed mortification. It was probably at that moment when he’d fallen for her. Or at least tripped.
He continued to study the land as his mind wandered. Good farmland, he mused, with rich, loamy soil and gentle rises. Streams and rivers thick with fish running through forests that teemed with game. The mountains in the distance rich with minerals and marbles. Deep bogs for cutting turf for fuel.
She’d brought orange seeds through the Dance. Who would think of such a thing?
She’d need to plant them in the south. Did she know that? Foolish thought, the woman knew everything, or had a way of finding out.
Orange seeds and Yeats. And, because he’d seen it on the writing table in her sitting room, a roller ball pen.
So she’d grow her orange saplings in the hothouse, then plant them in the south of Geall. If they pollinated—and how could they refuse her?—she’d have an orange grove one day.
He’d like to see it, he realized. He’d like to see her orange blossoms bloom from the seeds she’d taken from his kitchen in Ireland.
He’d like to see her lovely eyes light with humor and appreciation as she poured a glass of the orange juice she’d become addicted to.
If Lilith had her day, there’d be no grove, no blossoms, no life here at all.
Already he could see some of the death, some of the destruction. What had been tidy cottages and little cabins were rubble of scorched rock and wood. Cattle and sheep continued to graze in the fields, but there were carcasses rotting in the sun under a black cloud of flies.
Cattle killed by deserters, he decided. Scavenging where and when they could.
They’d have to be hunted down and destroyed, every last one. If even one survived, it would feed and it would breed. The people of Geall and their queen would have to be cautious and vigilant long after Samhain.
He began to put his mind to that particular problem until, at last, Larkin began to circle.
“Thank all your gods,” Cian murmured on the descent.
It was a neat and pretty farm, as farms went. Soldiers were spread out, training, posted at points for guards. Women were among them, working alongside the men. And the smoke that rose from the chimney carried a scent that told him there was stew in a pot, likely simmering throughout the day.
On the ground, hands were shading eyes as faces looked up, or were being raised in waves and salutes of welcome.
They were surrounded the minute Larkin landed. Cian dismounted, began to unload the supplies. He’d leave it to Larkin and the other men to answer questions, and ask them. Now, he needed shadow and shade.
“We haven’t had any trouble at all.” Isleen spooned up stew Cian didn’t want. But he thought it best to wait to dip into his supply of blood until he had privacy.
Larkin dove into his bowl the instant they were set down. “Thanks,” he said with his mouth full. “It’s fine stew.”
“You’re very welcome. I’m doing the cooking by and large, so I’m thinking our troop here is eating better than the others.” She dimpled into
a smile. “We’ve been keeping up with our training, every day, and locking up tight before sunset. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of anyone since we arrived and sent the other troop on its way.”
“It’s good to know that.” Larkin picked up the tankard she’d set beside his bowl. “Could you do me a favor then, Isleen darling? Would you fetch Eogan—Ceara’s Eogan. We’ve some talking to do.”
“Sure I’ll do that right away. Oh, and you can bed down here, or upstairs if you’d rather.”
“We’ll be moving on to the next base after a bit, and leaving three of the men we brought behind here with you.”
“Oh. I noticed you brought red-haired Malvin along.” She said it casually, with just the hint of a laugh. “I wonder if he’d be one you’d leave behind with us.”