The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3)

The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3) Page 43

“Liath!” His hand cupped her elbow and he lifted her up. “I beg you, Liath, look at me.”

She looked up. She had forgotten how green his eyes were. The wildish underglaze in them had not vanished entirely, but it had fled back as if to hide, leaving him with a clear gaze, determined and dead stubborn.

“Liath, if you consent to marry me, then I can protect you from him.”

“You’re half mad, Sanglant,” she murmured.

“So I am. God Above! I’d be nothing but a beast in truth if you hadn’t saved me! No better than those dogs that bite at my heels. But you waited for me all that time. Knowing that, I kept hold of what it means to be a man instead of becoming only a chained beast for him to torment.”

“I don’t understand you. Ai, Lady! It’s true what Hugh said of me, made his slave and his—” The shame was too deep. She could not get the word out.

He shrugged it away as if it meant nothing to him, then drew her aside. “Let us move away from here. Half the crowd is watching us instead of the entertainers.” But he paused abruptly, glanced back. A not inconsiderable number of the folk gathered outside the hall, having no good view in to where the tumbling troupe entertained king and company, had turned to watch a scene no doubt as entertaining, as well as one sure to make them the center of attention at every table and fire for the next few days when it came time to gossip about court. Some pointed; other simply stared, servants beside wagoneers, grooms and doghandlers, laundresses with their chapped hands and servingwomen with trays wedged against their hips, giggling or whispering although they stood too far away to hear words. Had they all seen her throw the ale into Hugh’s face? Could they possibly wonder what Sanglant’s interest in her betokened? Hadn’t he been famous for his love of women?

That had all been before Bloodheart.

“Nay, let them see,” he muttered. “Let them know, and carry the tale as they will in any case.” He took her hands in his, fingers curling over hers, enveloping them. “Liath, marry me. But if you will not, I will still protect you. I so swear. I know I am—am—” He winced, slapping at his ear as if to drive off an annoying bug. “—I am not what I was. Lord in Heaven! They whisper of me. They say things. They ridicule me. If I only—Ai!” He could not get words out. He seemed helpless, and furious at his helplessness like a captured wolf beating itself into a stupor against the bars of its cage. “If only my father would give me lands, then there I could find peace. Ai, God, and the quiet I pray for, with you at my side. I only want healing.” His voice was ragged with heart’s pain; but then, his voice always sounded like that.

But to whom else would he have made such a confession? To no one but her.

Hadn’t she turned away from the Aoi sorcerer for this? She kissed him.

It didn’t last long, her lips touching his, although it was utterly intoxicating. He jerked back, stumbling.

“Not out here!” A flush suffused him.

“Wise counsel, Your Highness,” said a new voice, flatly calm and wry along with it. “Liath!” Hathui walked toward them out of the gloom. She stopped neatly between them, fittingly so: taller than Liath, she was not of course nearly as tall as Sanglant but substantial nevertheless. “Your Highness.” The bow she gave him was curt but not disrespectful. “The king your father is concerned that you have been absent for so long. He asks that you attend him.”

“No,” said Sanglant.

“I beg you, Your Highness.” She faced him squarely. “My comrade is safe with me. I will keep an eye on her.”

“Liath, you haven’t yet—”

“Nay, she’s right.” It was like struggling to keep your head above water in a strong current. She had to stroke on her own. “Just—now—it would be better.” It had all happened so quickly.

He stilled, took in a shuddering breath. “I have the book.” He strode off.

“He looks like he’s headed down to the river for a long cold swim,” observed Hathui. She made a sign, and half a dozen Lions took off after him, keeping their distance.

Liath nudged the empty cup with her toe and bent to pick it up.

“Rumor flies fast,” added Hathui, taking the cup out of Liath’s hand and spinning it around. It had a coarse wood surface, nothing fine—but sturdy and serviceable. She snorted. “Did you really toss ale in his face?”

“What am I to do?” she wailed.

“Courageously spoken. You, my friend, stick next to me or to Wolfhere. Else I fear you’ll do something very foolish indeed.”