“Synne!”
Murchad stopped short just inside the doorway of their room. Synne was already within, waiting for him to arrive, and her jaunty smile reminded Murchad just how weary he was. He longed to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in the gauzy wool of her veil, and lean against her sturdy little body for a while.
Uallach had never seen a spring like a sunny April day in Ireland. Crocuses and buttercups grew in such wax-petaled profusion that people trod them carelessly underfoot. The clouds in the bright blue sky were fluffy and harmless-looking as lambs, while the little lambs themselves—and they dotted every hill slope, as numerous as the flowers—were white and fresh as the clouds. Uallach pictured their mamas licking them clean like mother cats.
Eadred caught Natanleod’s eye as he swung around the corner, but he surprised everyone else with his cry, “Don’t tell me you started without me!”
Ordinarily Murchad liked rules. They chafed sometimes, but he could always reassure himself that they must have been made for a reason. If passengers and cargo could not leave a ship until it had been cleared by the harbormaster, doubtlessly it was to prevent the smuggling of taxable goods or outlawed men. Ordinarily Murchad didn’t mind.
“I’ll let you in,” Aering said skeptically, “but don’t blame me if he blows his top. He’s busy. With business!”
Gwynn was unimpressed. “That’s fine, because I’m here on business.”
Aengus was just drunk enough to watch without fully grasping what he was seeing. To be sure, he knew there was a female ass staring him in the face, but it didn’t strike him that there was anything wrong with this until the female had thumped down the stairs and onto the grass, stretched her arms high behind her head, and sighed, “Vain Dieu!”
Lady Gwynn shook her finger at the Queen. “Eadie, you sly puss! Connie and I were just getting undressed for bed when Father came and told us to get dressed again!”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry…”
Lasrua had believed she would never again know a cacophony like the cacophony of Dover, but the port city of Calais had dispelled that illusion the very next day. Worse than the clamor of more conversations than she could follow was the clamor of equally many conversations in languages she could not understand.
She was grateful for the snatches of English she heard now and then from across the market square, even if they seemed to consist mainly of a whiny woman attempting to wheedle a grouchy man into buying presents for her.
Saeward didn’t even recognize her at first: the timid, freckle-faced young woman who’d come to his door in a plain gown and a carelessly braided rope of hair. She might have been a maid. It was the sight of the Queen’s dog behind her that provided the essential clue—and then his jaw dropped.
Gaethine cautiously laid his book aside and pulled up a corner of the blanket to hide it. If he didn’t look occupied, Yusuf might stay and talk a while.
“Then you must pretend to be happy, Baby. Sometimes that’s the only thing you can do.”
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