Morrigan's Cross - Circle Trilogy 1 Part 28

He rolled his eyes up, over, to try to see what she was doing to him. "I wouldn't know."

"No reflection must make it a ch.o.r.e. And he always looks perfect."

Now Hoyt slid his eyes toward hers. "You like the way he looks, do you?"

"You're almost mirror images, so it's obvious I do. He has that slight cleft in his chin and you don't."

"Where the faeries pinched him. My mother used to say." "Your face is a little leaner, and your eyebrows have more of an arch. But your eyes, those mouths and cheekbones-the same."

He watched hair fall into his lap, and inside the mighty sorcerer, his belly trembled.

"Jesus, woman, are you shearing me bald?"

"Lucky for you I like long hair on a man.

At least I do on you." She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "Yours is like black silk, with just a little wave. You know, in some cultures, when a woman cuts a man's hair it's a vow of marriage."

His head jerked, but she'd antic.i.p.ated the reaction and moved the scissors. Her laugh, full of fun and teasing, echoed off the bathroom walls. "Joking. Boy, are you easy. Almost done."

She straddled his legs, standing with hers apart, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s close to his face. He began to think a haircut wasn't such a hardship after all.

"I liked the feel of a woman."

"Yes, I seem to recall that about you."

"No, what I'm meaning is I liked the feel of a woman when I had one. I'm a man, have needs like any other. But it never occupied so much of my mind as it does with you." She set the scissors aside, then combed her fingers through his damp hair. "I like occupying your mind. Here, have a look."

He stood, studied himself in the mirror.

His hair was shorter, but not unreasonably. He supposed it fell in a more pleasing shape- though it had seemed fine to him before she'd gone after it.

Still, she hadn't sheared him like a sheep, and it pleased her.

"It's well enough, thank you."

"You're welcome."

He finished dressing, and when they went downstairs they found all but Cian in the kitchen.

Larkin was scooping up scrambled eggs.

"Good morning to you. The man here has a magician's hands with eggs."

"And my shift at the stove's over," King announced. "So if you want breakfast, you're on your own."

"That's something I wanted to talk about." Glenna opened the refrigerator. "Shifts.

Cooking, laundry, basic housekeeping. It needs to be spread out among all of us."

"I'm happy to help," Moira put in. "If you'll show me what to do and how to do it." "All right, watch and learn. We'll stick with the bacon and eggs for this morning." She got to work on it with Moira watching her every move.

"I wouldn't mind more, while you're about it."

Moira glanced at Larkin. "He eats like two horses."

"Hmm. We're going to need regular supplies." She spoke to King now. "I'd say that falls to you or me, as these three can't drive.

Both Larkin and Moira are going to need clothes that fit. If you draw me a map, I can make the next run."

"There's no sun today."

Glenna nodded at Hoyt. "I have protection, and it may clear up."

"The household needs to run, as you said, so you can draw up your plans. We'll follow them. But as to other matters, you have to follow. I think no one goes out alone, out of doors, into the village. No one goes out unarmed."

"Are we to be under siege then, held in by a shower of rain?" Larkin stabbed the air with his fork. "Isn't it time we showed them we won't let them set the terms?" "He has a point," Glenna agreed.

"Cautious but not cowed."

"And there's a horse in the stable," Moira added. "He needs to be tended."

The fact was Hoyt had intended to do so himself, while the others were busy elsewhere.

He wondered now if what he'd told himself was responsibility and leadership was just another lack of trust.

"Larkin and I will tend to the horse." He sat when Glenna put plates on the table. "Glenna needs herbs and so do I, so we'll deal with that as well. Cautious," he repeated. And began to devise how it could be done while he ate.

He strapped on a sword. The rain was a fine drizzle now, the sort he knew could last for days. He could change that. He and Glenna together could bring out sun bright enough to blast the sky.

But the earth needed rain.

He nodded to Larkin, opened the door.

They moved out together, splitting right and left, back-to-back to gauge the ground.

"Be a miserable watch in this weather if they just sit and wait," Larkin pointed out. "We'll stay close together in any case."

They crossed the ground, searching for shadows and movement. But there was nothing but the rain, the smell of wet flowers and gra.s.s.

When they reached the stables, the work was routine for both of them. Mucking out, fresh straw, grain and grooming. Comforting, Hoyt thought, to be around the horse.

Larkin sang as he worked, a cheery air.

"I've a chestnut mare at home," he told Hoyt. "She's a beauty. It seemed we couldn't bring the horses through the Dance."

"I was told to leave my own mare behind.

Is it true about the legend? The sword and the stone, and the one who rules Geall? Like the legend of Arthur?"

"It is, and some say it was fashioned from it." As he spoke, Larkin poured fresh water in the trough. "After the death of the king or queen, the sword is placed back in the stone by a magician. On the day after the burial, the heirs then come, one by one, and try to take it out again. Only one will succeed, and rule all of Geall. The sword is kept in the great hall for all to see, until that ruler dies. And so it is repeated, generation after generation."

He wiped his brow. "Moira has no brothers, no sisters. She must rule." Intrigued, Hoyt stopped to glance over. "If she fails, would it come to you?"

"Spare me from that," Larkin said with feeling. "I've no wish to rule. b.l.o.o.d.y nuisance if you're asking me. Well, he's set, isn't he?" He rubbed the stallion's side. "You're a handsome devil, that's the truth. He needs exercise. One of us should ride him out."

"Not today, I think. But you're right in that. He needs a run. Still, he's Cian's, so it's for him to say."

They moved to the door, and as before, stepped out together. "That way." Hoyt gestured. "There was an herb garden, and may still be. I haven't walked that way as yet."

"Moira and I have. I didn't see one."

"We'll have a look."

It sprang off the roof of the stables, so quickly Hoyt had no chance to draw his sword.

And the arrow struck it dead in the heart while it was still in the air.

Ash flew as a second leaped. And a second arrow shot home.

"Would you let us have one for the sport of it!" Larkin shouted to Moira. She stood in the kitchen doorway, a third arrow already notched. "Then take the one coming from the left."

"For me," Larkin shouted at Hoyt.

It was twice his size, and Hoyt started to protest. But Larkin was already charging. Steel struck steel. It clashed and it rang. Twice he saw the thing step back when Larkin's cross glinted at him. But he had a reach, and a very long sword.

When Hoyt saw Larkin slip on the wet gra.s.s, he lunged forward. He swung the sword at the thing's neck-and met air.

Larkin leaped up, flipped the wooden stake up, caught it neatly. "I was just throwing him off balance."

"Nicely done."

"There may be more."

"There may be," Hoyt agreed. "But we'll do what we came to do."

"I've got your back then, if you've mine.

G.o.d knows Moira's got them both. This hurt it,"

he added, touching the cross. "Gave it some trouble anyway."

"They may be able to kill us, but they won't be able to turn us while we wear them." "Then I'd say that's a job well done."

Chapter 13

There was no herb garden with its creeping thyme and fragrant rosemary. The pretty knot garden his mother had tended was now a gently rolling span of cropped green gra.s.s. It would be a sunny spot when the sky cleared, he knew. His mother had chosen it, though it hadn't been just outside the kitchen as was more convenient, so her herbs could bask in the light.

As a child he'd learned of them from her, of their uses and their beauty while sitting by her as she weeded and clipped and harvested. She'd taught him their names and their needs. He'd learned to identify them by their scents and the shapes of the leaves, by the flowers that bolted from them if she allowed it.

How many hours had he spent there with her, working the earth, talking or just sitting in silence to enjoy the b.u.t.terflies, the hum of bees?

It had been their place, he thought, more than any other.

He'd grown to a man and had found his place on the cliff in what was now called Kerry.

He'd built his stone cabin, and found the solitude he'd needed for his own harvest, for his magic. But he'd always come back home. And had always found pleasure and solace with his mother here, in her herb garden.

Now, he stood over where it had been as he might have a grave, mourning and remembering. A flare of anger lit in him that his brother would let this go.

"This what you're looking for then?"

Larkin studied the gra.s.s, then tracked his eyes through the rain, toward the trees. "Doesn't seem to be anything left of it."

Hoyt heard a sound, pivoted as Larkin did. Glenna walked toward them, a stake in one hand, a knife in the other. Rain beaded her hair like tiny jewels.

"You're to stay in the house. There could be more of them."

"If there are, there are three of us now."

She jerked her head toward the house. "Five as Moira and King have us covered."

Hoyt looked over. Moira was in the near window, her arrow notched, her bow pointed downward. In the doorway to the left, King stood with a broadsword.

"That ought to do it." Larkin sent his cousin a cheeky grin. "Mind you don't shoot one of us in the a.r.s.e." "Only if I'm aiming for it," she called back.

Beside Hoyt, Glenna studied the ground.

"Was it here? The garden?"

"It was. Will be."

Something was wrong, she thought, very wrong, to have put that hard look on his face. "I have a rejuvenation spell. I've had good luck with it, healing plants."

"I won't need it for this." He stabbed his sword in the ground to free his hands.

He could see it, just as it had been, and honed that image clear into his mind as he stretched out his arms, spread his hands. This, he knew, would come from his heart as much as from his art. This was tribute to the one who had given him life.