Silver's Lure. Anne Kelleher

woke the other twin.

      “Hush now, hush, hush,” cried Cwynn as the children screamed. The women rushed in from the kitchen. One twin cowered, while the other launched himself straight at Cwynn, small fists flailing. “Hey, now! No, stop that!” Cwynn was forced to throw up both arms to defend himself. Already rickety, the rung he was standing on cracked beneath his boots, and he fell into a pile a whirling skirts and swirling night-shawls. Somehow, Argael got them all untangled. She pushed Cwynn in the direction of the door, called, “It’s all right, boys, auntie’s coming up first,” as she boosted Asgre up the ladder.

      Ariene was standing by the fire in the kitchen, arms crossed over her breasts. Cwynn entered, feeling even more foolish and out of place than before. It was a mistake to come here, he thought. I should’ve gone down to sleep in the boat. He made as if to pick up his pack, but she stopped him with a swift touch on his arm. “It’s all right, Cwynn, that wasn’t your fault—I should’ve gone up first, woken them for you. I’m sorry.” She nodded at his pack. “Where’re you going?”

      He nodded at the door. “I’ll go sleep in the boat—it’ll be easier in the morning—”

      “To do what? Catch your death?”

      “Ariene, I shouldn’t have come.” He tried to think of something else to say, for the tension was palpable between them. It tied his tongue and stopped anything but the truth from running through his head. I wanted so badly to love you. He spread his hands helplessly, for those words didn’t seem to make much sense.

      “Of course, you should’ve come, Cwynn. You’ve every right to know the boys—soon they’ll be old enough to fish with you. They should know their father.”

      He narrowed his eyes. She sounded conciliatory, even friendly.

      She nodded at the door that led down to the beach. “Will you walk with me? The rain’s stopped.”

      “All right,” he said. From the loft, he could hear Argael crooning to the children. He wished either she or even Asgre would come in and break this awkwardness he felt filling the room.

      Ariene held the door open. He hesitated, then followed her down to the beach. The sand was wet and the rocks were slippery, but she didn’t stop until she reached the water’s edge. She let the ocean lap at her toes, her shawl flapping around her in the wind. The wind lifted her hair, blowing it in little tendrils around her pale face.

      “Are you sure you want to be out here?”

      “I wanted to talk to you.” She glanced out to sea, then turned to look up at him. He was shocked to see tears like tiny pearls limning the edges of her dark eyes. “There’s part of me that’s telling me to keep my mouth shut. And then there’s part of me that needs to say it anyway.”

      “If it’s your truth you should speak it.” Cwynn shuffled his boots in the sand. From here, the keep looked like a giant mound of boulders, topped with thatch, a bigger version of the cottages clinging to the shore. The windows all glowed brightly, though, and he hoped it meant that Shane intended to drink long into the night. Thunder rumbled and a bolt of jagged lightning forked across the horizon from sky to sea. “But speak it quick—the storm’s not over yet. This is just a lull.”

      “The boys are getting older now—they’re lads now, not babies, anymore—soon they’ll be men at the rate they’re growing.”

      “Ariene.” He touched her shoulder. “You didn’t bring me down to the water in the middle of a storm to tell me the boys are growing, did you?”

      She gave a short little laugh. “No.” She shook her head. “No, of course not.” She pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, then said, “I wanted to tell you I’ve been thinking. That the boys need a man, they need their father. The sea took Sorley, and it’s not giving him back. My boys and I—we’re a burden on my mother, though she’ll never say—”

      “Ariene, my Gran-da will keep you fed, you know that. Since when has any suffered in this village more than any other?”

      Ariene shook her head and looked down at the waves rushing to cover her toes with white foam. “I don’t know how to say this, Cwynn. It’s coming out all wrong—”

      “What is?” he asked gently. The wind was picking up again, the waves were swelling as he watched.

      “I heard what you came to tell us, and I realized—” Again she broke off, her eyes fixed on the storm clouds massing on the horizon.

      “What?” He touched a finger under her chin and was stunned to see that she was crying. “What’s wrong, Ariene? What is it?”

      “After I heard your story, I realized I can’t say what I decided, what I’ve been thinking, what I wanted to tell you. Because now, no matter what I say, you won’t believe me. You’ll think it has to do with that you’re a queen’s son—the High Queen’s son, at that, and even if you can’t be High King, well—you’ll still be a great chief. And you’ll always wonder if what I had to say was because of what you told us tonight.”

      “What did you want to tell me?”

      She actually blushed. “I wanted to tell you I’ve been thinking—the boys need a father, and—”

      “Sorley’s not coming back.” He took a deep breath. Part of him did want to take her in his arms and part of him remembered every year on the morning after Beltane when she’d run away, sometimes before he himself was awake. “But I will.” He wrapped his arms around himself against the wind as sporadic raindrops stung his face. “I will come back.” He touched her arm. “We should go back inside. I can’t lie to you, Ariene, there’s part of me that—you were so mean when all I wanted—” He broke off. What was the point of telling her this? She was still the mother of his sons, no matter what else happened. And whatever else was to happen between the two of them had to wait while he took this unexpected turn.

      “Ah, look, Ariene. Maybe you won’t like me as a chief,” he said, trying to lighten her mood. “Maybe you’d rather I smelled of fish than horse or cow.” She eyed him, like a mare about to bolt. “But we used to be friends, you and I, before Sorley came between us. Maybe when I come back, we could go back to being friends. And see what happens next Beltane.”

      “Ariene! Ariene!” Argael called from the back door. “Come inside, the two of you—don’t you see those clouds?”

      As if on cue, the rain dropped out of the sky in a sudden sheet of water, drenching them to the skin almost instantaneously. For a moment, they stared at each other. Want, pure as the water and raging as the sea jolted through him. He stared at the outlines of her ample breasts thrusting through the sodden clinging fabric, topped by hard peaks. He could think of nothing but ripping the nightgown off her shoulders and suckling till they were both satisfied. Instead, he raised his cloak over both their heads and they ran together back to the house, where Argael handed both of them dry linen towels, clucking and fussing like a hen. Ariene strode purposefully through the kitchen, pausing only long enough to take a towel from her mother’s hands, then disappeared through the doorway into the dark front room.

      Argael gave him a questioning look, but he only shrugged. He understood Ariene’s dilemma. Part of him wanted to believe her, that she, too, had finally sensed the connection he had always felt with her. But so much more of him was wary, hurt, suspicious that he was merely being used, especially now she knew what he stood to gain.

      So he covered his head with the towel and dripped onto the mat in front of the door while Argael said, “I’ll get you a tunic and trews that were Aedwyr’s, Cwynn. There’s some in the chest in the storeroom. They may be a bit tight, but they’ll be dry.”

      “And you take my bed,” Ariene said, strolling back. She had changed into another, drier tunic, this one with long sleeves, tied high at the throat with a blue ribbon. Even her feet were encased in thick socks. She dragged a bone comb through her damp curls, deliberately avoiding his eyes. “I’ll sleep in the loft with the boys.”