Chapter Fourteen
On the following morning, after Katrin had taken care of a slew of duties, including making sure breakfast was underway in the kitchen, she stepped away from it all. She had no appetite herself for breakfast, with a welter of thoughts still possessing her. All that had happened last night.
All that might have happened.
What if she had stood still and let Reagan O’Hanlon kiss her?
It would, no doubt, have been a pleasant experience. More than pleasant.
She took the steep path down to the sea, returning greetings to those she passed, and headed south along the sea toward the headland. Away. She most assuredly needed some time on her own.
Only belatedly did she realize she was barely presentable, having failed to confine her hair following her sleepless night. She wore her oldest clothing and shoes so aged the sides had split. Och, and who cared? She sought none but her own company.
The wind would have wreaked havoc with her hair anyway, for it was a glorious morning with a strong breeze off the water.
Long, deep blue combers edged with white foam raked the shore, and off southwestward, toward Ireland, banks of white clouds flew high.
Early light trembled in the air. The world seemed almost too beautiful.
The path was an old one that she had trodden many times. Pleased now to find herself alone, she drew great breaths of air. Far too long had she been confined to the keep. This was what she wanted.
Deliberately, she let the wind blow the thoughts from her mind. Do not think of Reagan. Do not think about persuading Da to let ye go with their troops. Leave go of these feelings making a weight on yer heart.
When she reached the rise of the headland, she caught sight of a figure already there ahead of her, silhouetted against the bright morning. Annoyance flared. That was the place, the very place where she wanted to stand alone with the world spread before her. All that she loved.
She very nearly turned back, retraced her steps and returned to her life. A strong streak of rebellion kept her there.
If it were a clansman—for as she kept walking, she could recognize the figure for male—he would likely excuse himself upon her arrival. She need only be patient.
Something toward which she was poorly suited.
When she reached the place where the path petered out and the land rose, she realized who it was standing on the height. Him. The harper.
Och, and had she sought to escape her thoughts only to run smack into them? For the harper was in her head. In some indefinable way, always he was.
He turned from his contemplation of the sea and sighted her. She could do naught else but walk on then, for the sake of courtesy.
“Mistress Katrin, good morn.”
“Good morn, master harper.” The wind had been at him also, at his glorious, colorful garb, and had put its fingers in his hair, making it stream out.
Because it somehow hurt to look at him, she took the place at his shoulder and gazed out to sea.
“I gather,” he said, raising that beautiful voice of his above the wind, “I am no’ the only one seeking some solitude this morning. I will go and leave ye to it.”
Aye, it would be best that he should go. She did not need him here.
Only she did.
Suddenly, that need arose and swamped her. Deep, wide, powerful. It near brought tears to her eyes.
She reached out and seized his sleeve. “Nay. Do no’ go.”
She had no explanation for her action. Fortunately, he did not ask for one. They stood so, she clutching his sleeve while the wind rocked them.
Alone. Not alone.
Katrin did not understand what was happening to her life. For a woman desiring to be in control, that was disquieting.
Without her own permission she said, “One o’ your tunes has been occupying my head. I canna seem to prevent it.”
“Which one?”
“’Tis one o’ those ye played during the tale ye told o’ Deathan and Darlei. The one ye said was playing just before she had to go awa’ to her marriage, when they were—”
She’d almost said making love.
“Aye, an ancient song, that one.”
“Where did ye learn it?” She still held his sleeve as if anchoring him to her. It made her feel a fool, but she could not quite let go.
“I canna answer that, mistress. It seems I ha’ always known it.”
“How curious.”
“Aye, is it no’?”
“Now I come to think on it, it seems ye played that song—that tune—during each o’ yer stories. Mayhap that is how it got so deep in my head.”
“Mayhap so.”
He turned to face her. She moved likewise, since it seemed she could do nothing else.
His eyes were very green in the strong light. He looked like a figure out of one of his own stories, almost too beautiful.
She released his sleeve, but her hands—both of them now—continued to reach out. He clasped them.
It felt the most natural thing in all the world.
“Mistress,” he began.
She interrupted him. “Ye will no’ leave Murtray, will ye? Ye will no’ go awa’ too soon?”
“Yer father has asked me to stay.”
“That is well. Because—well, things are so uncertain just now. I feel as if my life is being torn up by the roots. And your music does serve to soothe me. I do no’ think I could manage wi’out it.”
“I am glad of that.”
“It brings peace. And in a time of upheaval, a woman does need peace.”
“So she does.”
There was a certainty about this man, she thought. A serenity. A strength. Why had she ever thought strength came only behind a sword?
“Mistress,” he began again.
“I suppose”—her tongue tripped over itself now—“’tis madness for me to ask it o’ ye. That ye should stay, I mean. Be—be there for me. I scarce know ye.”
“Do ye no’?” Something bright and magical stirred in his eyes.
“Well—” She did know him, did she not? Somehow.
Madness.
His hands tightened on hers. “Rest easy in yer mind. I will be here for ye.” Always. Did she hear that word tacked on? Did he speak it? Did it sound only in her head?
He then did a curious thing. He lifted each of her hands in turn to his lips. Kissed not the backs of them but the palms. Deep, warm, fervent kisses. He leaned in and lightly—so lightly she could not object—kissed each corner of her mouth, both cheeks in turn. He dropped a last kiss onto her brow.
Katrin came apart inside. She could describe it no other way. It felt as if her very soul shattered and left her reaching—reaching for something she could barely see but needed most desperately.
If she did not hold to him, she could hold to naught.
Blindly, she clutched his arms. Gazed into his eyes. The world tilted and she saw…
His soul.
But nay, that was just the wind blowing, making her feel she’d been knocked off her feet. Or mayhap an effect of her emotions run rampant.
“What—” She wanted to ask him what that was for, the beautiful gesture of seven kisses, like a blessing. She did not want to spoil it with a question. And anyway, she knew. A part of her knew.
She wanted to throw herself into his arms. Cling to him. Kiss him until neither of them could remember aught else besides kissing one another.
She took a careful step away. “I must go back.”
“Must ye?”
“Aye, och aye. I have duties to which I should attend, tasks that wait for me.” She was babbling.
“As ye say. Ye be a busy woman.” Was that amusement in his eyes? Amusement and something more, far more.
“Thank ye—thank ye for saying ye will stay on. And for the blessing.”
“Blessing?”
“The—the kisses.”
“Mine to give.”
Hers to receive.
She fled then. Fled what she saw in his eyes and the words she wanted to say, and how badly she wanted to hold him. How she ached for his lips on hers.
She tripped over her own feet on her way down the slope. The wind blew her hair into her eyes so she could not see, but she paused to look back.
Looked back at him.
He stood where she’d left him with the red hair streaming out on the wind and his gaze upon her.
He made her ache.
Why? He was but a wandering harper, one who had chanced to stop at their keep, at this place and time. A talented man whose music attracted her.
Aye, surely it was the music. Nothing more.