In the shadow of the alcove Condal thought she would at last be free of fire. The heavy logs of the hearth blazed their heat out harmlessly into the room beyond. The countless candles shone at a distance, warming her no more than stars.
And she was away from the heat of bodies and the hot glare of eyes – away from Flann’s smoldering surveillance, away from Gwynn’s sparking glances – and away from the warm whispering breath of the boy who had sat at her side all evening, scorching the left half of her body with the intensity of his eyes.
Condal had sat entire evenings next to boys before, but she thought this was the first time the boy had noticed he was sitting next to a girl.
Even now that he stood at a distance he still noticed her, and the cool shadows of the alcove were no relief to her. No matter where she hid, like a sun chasing after shadows he always turned his body so that he could have just glimpsed her if he turned his eyes aside.
Perhaps he did not even need his eyes. Though he had scarcely touched her at the table, in his nearness she had already felt his body bearing down on hers. He could scarcely have known she existed an hour before, and now he sensed her at a distance like a new limb. She could almost feel him feeling her…
Or perhaps it was only the wine she was feeling.
Condal let her head fall back against the wall. Lord Cynewulf was spinning himself around dizzily, and everyone was laughing, but they seemed to be in another place. Condal was in a clearing in their midst.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it: cool and pure and quiet, like a snow-covered forest on the longest night of the year. All the people were snug and laughing in their warm houses, toasting their knees before their yule logs, and she alone was out of doors. Perhaps she was homeless, or perhaps she had only sworn never to go home again until she had found the one she was seeking. Sometimes she let herself dream.
As she trudged on through the drifts a few flakes began to fall, twinkling silently into the wide silence, and she looked up in fear and dread of storm. But the snow did not chill her – it only seemed to wash her clean as it brushed over her, so pure and holy it did not even melt at the touch of her skin.
It was a miraculous, pristine snow that fell from no clouds, and overhead she saw only stars. Though they were so many they could not be counted, nevertheless she knew at once that there was one more than before.
Brighter than all the other stars it shone in the southeast, and she alone among her ancient people would see it that night. The rest would wait four more centuries before Saint Ninian would carry its light all the way to Scotland’s shores.
Condal walked on after a while, but any angel that swooped overhead afterwards could have seen how her tracks had turned in the center of the clearing. The one she was seeking was in the southeast.
Suddenly Condal became aware of a heat… of a light… of a lantern at the forest’s edge… of a man calling her back…
No, it was Cearball, and she was snug and warm in the Duke’s dining hall, and she had let her imagination run away with her again.
Oh, what was happening? The people were laughing… Cynewulf was squealing, “No, every boy must kiss the closest girl! It’s the rule!” Hetty was murmuring something apologetic about “mistletoe” and “kissing customs”…
And Cearball was calling to her, without a lantern and without words.
His eyes had never been so expressive as they were now, though at this distance the violet had folded into midnight darkness, and in them Condal saw only the candlelight reflections of stars.
“Come be my closest girl,” they said. “Come kiss me,” they said. “Please,” they said, more clearly than any tongue ever could.
If it had been a standing-close custom, she would have gone. If it had been a staring-shyly custom, she would have gone. If it had been a hand-holding custom, even then she would have gone. Condal had already done all those things, and nothing Cearball or this company did could add to or detract from her first time.
But she had never before kissed a boy. As a little girl she had already kissed and been kissed, but this boy had noticed she was no longer a little girl. Though she screwed up her mouth into the most prudish pucker she could contrive, this boy would know how to reach down inside of her and pull up a real kiss to savor upon her lips.
If she stood now, Cearball would have her first kiss. She could not go – not here, not now, not in this way, not with him.
She tried with all her might to say “I’m sorry” with her eyes. From this distance she did not know what he could see. Perhaps in the shadow of the alcove they only appeared dull and dead and gray.
He turned his face aside first, until his chin almost touched his shoulder. His eyes he squeezed so tightly shut his dark brows nearly met his cheeks. Then he opened them and turned his entire body away. He grinned and winked at someone Condal could not see.
Condal sank back into the shadows in exhaustion and relief. Her seething sun had at last passed behind a cloud.
Chapters
Oh Connie you just missed your chance; I really don't want to see Gwynn being kissed by Cearball.