The Duchess’s little cheeks were flushed pink, and her mouth was grave. She had not wanted to handle the matter in this way, but she had deferred to Catan, who knew her sister better than anyone.
Cat had claimed that the only way to catch a Flann was by surprise: neither wheedling nor whipping would serve. But Cat had another, secret reason for springing this trap on her, and now she watched her sister closely.
Saralla impatiently tapped the toe of her little slipper near Sorin’s head, but Sorin did not take the hint.
It appeared he had composed a new poem of greeting for the occasion. While Saralla was ordinarily amused by Sorin’s poetic excesses, she thought he might have better spent the time dealing with the elf Osh and, especially, the increasingly flagrant revolt of his own son.
“What did you think?” Myrddin snarled. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Dantalion tossed his head and shrugged his wings. “You might have thought it was the elf Lar himself.”
During the day the light was blue like the sky, like Heaven, but at night the interior of Saint Margaret’s chapel was red like Hell. From where Flann stood, the great glass lantern was hidden behind a pillar, and the tabernacle itself seemed to glow with an unholy light.
Or perhaps it was only that the little green lamp did not stand on the altar steps as it always had before.
“It’s a bad little boy you are,” Aengus murmured. “It’s a wee devil you are.”
Benedict stopped his kicking to stare at his father’s face. His own was wrinkled in concentration and insulted dignity, as if he thought he ought not to be expected to comprehend the mysteries of the Gaelic language, but made an effort nonetheless. Finally he decided that the words probably represented a rare compliment, and he smiled.
I am herewith so deviously attracting your attention in order to inform you that I have put together another blog for the purpose of blogging about my first blog. So far there is not much there except some pretty colors and a few familiar faces, but that’s what RSS readers are for.
Stay tuned to http://www.lothere.com/verso/ for further announcements.
Princess Britamund forced herself to smile, but she thought it quite unfair that she should have met Dunstan precisely at this spot. This corridor was rarely used at night, so they would not be disturbed, and it was too narrow to permit two people to pass without touching. And there was nothing like a candle high on the wall to illuminate a girl’s bust.
“I didn’t think to meet you here,” she said. She did not mention that it was precisely why she had come this way.
Flann had undressed her. Flann had brushed her hair. Flann had dressed her in her new nightgown. Flann had tried to rub the tension out of her shoulders. Flann had whispered that she had only to relax and trust him, and everything would be beautiful.
Cat had hated the words. She hated being told by her younger sister—her pregnant, unmarried, unrepentant sister—how it would be. More than that, she hated the words because Leofric had said almost the same thing to her once.
Osh had not been so nervous about anything in many years.
“Go on!” Tashnu whispered. “What are you waiting for? Grandchildren?”
“Whoa whoa whoa! Jupiter!” Cynewulf squealed. “You worked a miracle, Lord Father! Just like in the Bible! Wait till I tell Haakon and Heaf! Jupiter!”
No one corrected Cynewulf for twice invoking a pagan deity within Saint Margaret’s chapel. Cynewulf was the only one among them saying anything coherent in that first moment.
“I just got rid of one Norseman, and so you bring me two? Is Tryggvason planning a conquest by slow, blond invasion?”
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