Chapter Eighteen
I ’ve been settling into my cottage for a few weeks now, testing the strength of my healing arm as I continue to shift furniture and unload crates. I never knew I had so many things, or that the agreement I've made to trade goods from the sea fae to the earthen fae would yield so many items so quickly. I've already written to cousin Fiadh to see what manner of things the castle could use.
The seasons are shifting; soon, it will be time for another revel with the Moonray Court. This morning, I'm even greeted by the sight of my breath.
In no time at all, a comforting peat fire burns in my spotless new hearth, and a steaming mug of tea warms my hands as I watch the colorful treetops swaying in the autumn winds. It isn’t as bad as I thought, being alone. As Niamh said, I don’t even miss what I once had.
Most of the time.
As the nights grow colder, I feel it more. The absence of something I once had and now have lost. Yet I know I’ve lost some things not worth keeping, too. Cillian Cloudtongue, for one.
I smirk as I breathe in the woodsy scent of my tea, everything almost as it should be.
And then I hear a tremendous bang.
Followed by yelling.
I rush to the other side of my cottage, peering out the window.
There, a short distance from my cottage, swarms a group of men around a pulley system of some kind. By squinting, I discern they’re trying to move some stones. Foundation stones, I’d say.
Maybe this cottage won’t be so lonely after all. Whatever they’re building there, it’ll be my nearest neighbor by the looks of things. But they’ve chosen a terrible time to start. They won’t have it built by the beginning of winter.
I close the curtains on that side, making a note to ask my parents if they’ve heard who’s building out here on the edge of Diarmuid’s Row.
My next day starts in much the same fashion, with more noise and yelling. When I throw open the curtains, I’m astonished to find the foundation of a large house already in place. A short ways from it stands the framing for a barn.
Maybe they will have it all built by winter. There are even more fae working there today than yesterday.
Thanks to them and their noise, I deal with a week of increasingly early mornings before I cannot stand it any longer. With the sun barely up to guide me, I throw on a pair of boots and a cloak and march across the fallow fields in my night dress, a scowl firmly set upon my face.
The closer I get, the more I realize this house is a few windows, doors and a roof from becoming a home. Who in faerie would be in such a rush to build here ?
"Listen up, you noisy lot," I shout at the workers. Two dozen heads pop up from their labors, startling me with their numbers. I try not to let my voice falter. "This is Diarmuid’s Row, and we do not appreciate early morning racket in Diarmuid’s Row."
"My apologies," a man with dark, tousled hair says as he steps out through the doorless entryway. "I was hoping to spend the winter here in this cottage."
That man would look an awful lot like Prince Ruairí, if he wasn’t in workman's clothes.
Curses and bargains! It is Prince Ruairí. The moment he smiles at me, my heart jumps a little. Perhaps it hasn't lost its old patterns after all.
"Queen’s cousin Laoise," he greets me, "it appears we're to be neighbors."
"It does appear that way," I reply, crossing my arms beneath my chest. "I hope you won't be this noisy all the time."
"I wouldn't dream of disturbing you."
Something tells me he'd very much like to disturb me.
His smile could charm a sea urchin. Has he always flirted with me like this? Was I simply too caught up in my status against his to see it?
I lift my chin. I'm not a servant anymore. And thanks to the prince, the enemies of the púcaí have all been rooted out of the high court.
And thanks to me. I had a hand in foiling their plot, too. There's no sense in being modest.
What a curious situation the prince and I find ourselves in, then: two equals, when it comes to heroics, living across the field from one another.
"I suppose," I say, "the winter will pass much more quickly with you for a neighbor."
"I daresay it will."
Then he does something I don't expect. Prince Ruairí moves towards me with swift steps, his hands seizing the sides of my face. The work site falls utterly silent.
"I won't share you," Ruairí says quietly, his eyes intense. "If you're still in love with the bard—even with the idea of him, I'll step aside. But if you can still accept me, after all my bumbling, I promise I'll court you well and always be true. Even if you don't love me now, I swear I'll do everything in my power to give cause for love to grow."
My heart beats faster. With him, it isn't calm I feel. It's the excitement of knowing something long awaited has finally come to be.
"Even if I was in love with him until this very moment, I'd still choose you," I reply, my eyes drifting to his mouth. I cannot help myself. My lips quirk up as I add, " Sir ."
"Beautiful Laoise—in both your forms." His thumb lightly strokes my cheekbone. "I haven't quite mended all my ways yet. Is there anything in your heart for me already? Something to make my task quicker and easier, even if it is the faintest spark?"
I laugh, enjoying that old twinkle of mischief in his eyes. But then they turn serious, and I know how badly he wants the right answer.
I'm no longer a maid. Even the high court would be safe for us now. But are my feelings for him—the ones I ignored for so long—still there?
I search my bargain-altered mind, waiting to find this chance to be with Ruairí ruined by some foolishness. But it isn’t foolish. Here in Diarmuid’s Row, with the sound of the waves crashing in the distance, not a single thing could be foolish about the two of us living here together.
And I realize I'd be a fool not to fall for him. So I go ahead and do just that.
"There's more than a spark," I say, my heart swelling.
When his own lips are just inches from mine, he says, "Queen’s cousin Laoise, if you don't mind, I think I owe you a kiss."
"Owe me, do you? For what?" My gaze still on his mouth, I raise a challenging brow.
"For helping save the queen. For giving me another chance." His throat bobs. "For love."
And that, I find, as his lips crush against mine, is a bargain I'd be wise to accept.