thick and rough in his throat.
Again she shook her head.
He knelt before her on the wolfskin and held out his hand.
Mairi allowed him to pull her down beside him, her eyes intent on his face.
“You should not have left your bed,” she whispered. “The wound needs rest to heal.”
He shrugged off her concern. “It will heal.” Her hair pooled like silk on the floor around her. He could not resist fingering the shining strands. “I wish you would sing. ’Tis a lovely voice you have, Mairi of Shiels.”
She tilted her head, considering his words as if to gauge whether they were flattery or truth. Finally, she smiled. “I can sing no more tonight, my lord, but if you like I’ll tell you a kelpie tale of the Highlands.”
He stretched out on the rug, his sound arm behind his head. “I should like it above all things.”
“Very well then.” She leaned back on her hands and began to speak. “Once, the land beyond the Grampians was occupied by Celts, small, dark people with wisdom in their eyes and purity in their hearts. Some say they dealt in magic, but others insist their power lay in the earth goddess they worshipped above all others.”
Her voice had a hushed, mystical quality that Edward had heard in only the most skilled bards. He listened carefully, caught in the web of her words.
“A young girl was born into one of the northern tribes. From the beginning, all who knew her saw that she was different. She spoke to the wind and rain and the animals and all growing things, and they answered her. The earth goddess was growing old, and there were those who believed that Ceilith, the young girl, was destined to take her place.”
Mairi stared into the sputtering flames. Edward watched, enchanted, as the firelight played across her face, shadowing the hollows of her cheeks, highlighting the thin nose, the elegant bones of her face, and the faint dusting of freckles on her skin.
“One spring day,” she continued, “when Ceilith was gathering herbs on the moors, a stranger came to the Highlands. He was tall and fair and rode a dark stallion. Caught by Ceilith’s beauty, he captured her and took her far away, beyond the sea. There he made her his bride. She was very unhappy. She could not eat nor drink, and her song that called up the sun each day dried in her throat. Ceilith’s people mourned her. In the Highlands that year, the spring and summer were short. In the land beyond the sea, darkness descended, and the people were afraid. Finally, Ceilith’s husband realized that she would die. Although his heart was sore, he brought her home to her beloved Highlands and, there on the moor where he found her, bid her good-bye. At first Ceilith was happy. Flowers bloomed, grain grew plentiful, and brightness covered the land. But soon, Ceilith was sad again. She hated the frozen north, but she loved a man. She longed for the man who was her husband. She loved the Highlands and the people of her tribe, but she was lonely.”
Mairi was silent for a long time. Finally, Edward prodded her. “What happened? Did she leave her people and return to him?”
“No.” She wet her lips. “He was a king, you see, and a king needs an heir. When Ceilith’s husband left her, he returned home and married a woman of the north. Ceilith died of a broken heart.”
Edward’s heart stopped. Had she found him out or was Mairi’s tale an incredible coincidence? The silence lengthened. He could bear it no longer. Gently, his hands slipped beneath her chin to her throat, turning her head so that she looked directly at him. Those shining gray eyes were incapable of deception. Her face was inches from his own. He could smell the rose-petal scent of her hair. Her breath caught in a quick, sharp intake, and he was lost. The flickering heat in his loins blazed into a roaring inferno. Involuntarily, his hand clenched as he fought his desire.
“Edward,” she choked, “you’re hurting me.”
Cursing himself and his newly found strength of character, he released her and stood up. There were finger marks on her neck. Tomorrow they would be bruises. “Forgive me, lass,” he muttered, “I forgot myself. You are a gifted weaver of tales, but I fear you were right. My wound needs resting.”
Mairi watched him leave the room, a thoughtful expression on her face. He did not look at all like