She bent before the small mirror again and caught her breath. It was a carcanet, a jeweled choker, studded with garnets and pearls. From the center hung a pendant, on a long chain, dipping into the hollow between her breasts, depicting a soaring bird.
Behind her, also half bent over, peering into the mirror just above her shoulder. was Aodh.
She smiled at him in wordless pleasure.
He tugged a little pouch from his pocket and dumped it into his palm, then turned her around and began tucking little bodkins into her hair. They were tipped with gems, garnets and emeralds, so they sparkled as she turned her head.
“You make a fine maidservant, sir,” she laughed.
“You should see me with stockings,” he said, intent on tucking one above her ear, and even as she laughed, a quiver of excitement went through her at the image of Aodh’s hands on her stockings. Untying the bows behind her knees, his hard fingers scraping her soft skin, then rolling them down…
Quickly she returned her attention to the mirror, her fingertips skimming the little sparkling studs across her hair and veil. Their eyes met in the mirror.
“You look like the night sky,” he murmured.
She thought he would try to kiss her, if not take her outright, their afternoon exertions notwithstanding; their current position certainly invited a taking, him bent over her back. Indeed, it made her face flame. But he only straightened, and extended his arm.
“Shall we?”
She laid her fingers on his forearm. “We shall.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
HE LED HER to the stairwell, which was bright with extra torchlight and a hum of excitement. Of revelry. There had not been revelries here for years. Not enough money, and too much danger. Now, Aodh had brought it all back. Feasting and music and laughter and…rebellion.
No, she told herself firmly. Not tonight.
Ré stood at the archway to the great hall. He too was dressed for feasting, and was smiling, which quite transformed his grim warrior’s face. My, Aodh did surround himself with great lusty men.
Ré swept her a low bow. “My lady.” She returned a curtsey, feeling quite charmed, then Ré slid his gaze to Aodh. “A word?”
Aodh stepped to the side while Katarina waited impatiently. When their conference went on an additional minute, then another, she stepped forward and poked her nose into the hall, to see the festivities.
A face appeared at her side almost immediately. “My lady!”
She jumped back, then smiled at the portly mayor whose round face and big bulging eyes were peering at her earnestly. Mayor MacDougal was a very earnest man.
“Master MacDougal,” she said warmly, holding out her hand. “It is good to see you. It has been some long time.”
He stuffed his thumbs into his waistband, nodding. “Indeed it has, my lady.”
“I greatly miss your wife’s cheeses.”
“I will have some sent up immediately,” he assured her. “And we greatly miss your whisky.” He grasped her hand and pumped it with enthusiasm, then bent into a clumsy bow from which he peeked up hopefully. “Will you have a new batch anytime soon?”
She smiled. “I will have some sent down at once.”
Aodh stepped up behind her, and she half turned toward him, saying, “Master, I would…” Her words drifted off.
Odd as it would have been to say “the lord of Rardove” or any other such term, being witness to the show of deference, nay adoration, the entire hall exhibited when Aodh stepped into the room was even more affecting.
The mayor practically bent himself in half, swept his hat off, and doffed it to the ground. “My lord,” he breathed.
The rest of the room fell into deep bows and curtsies, and a reverent hush swept the hall.
The son of Rardove had come home, and they were pleased.
Then, among the soldiers and various warriors, a huge roar broke out. Cups were raised in the air, and some great, happy Irish shout went up—it was too loud to actually understand the words—then the stringed instruments that had been playing throughout were suddenly drowned out entirely by the sound of a…bagpipe.