The way I’m not.But then, she’d come to terms with her plain face. She couldn’t do anything about what God had given her, so she’d have to make the most of her wits.
Davin took a long drink of ale and looked around the stable, as if hoping to escape once again.
“You still love her, don’t you?” Niamh had no qualms about asking a direct question. When he nodded slowly, the pain was evident in his eyes. Fool that she was, she found him attractive. And she was drawn to his wounded, misguided heart.
She took his cup from him and refilled it once more. “You’re a good man, Davin Ó Falvey, even if you’ve made some mistakes.”
“And what mistakes would those be?”
Niamh held out her hand, counting off her fingers. “Let me see. Not looking for Iseult’s son, bullying her when she tried to leave, threatening to kill Kieran . . . shall I go on?”
Davin reached for the ewer and refilled his mug. In the shadows of the barn, his gold hair appeared darker. His cheeks were stony, his blue eyes haggard. “I did what I thought was right.”
Niamh rolled her eyes. “You were stupid, that’s what. The choice has to be hers.”
He drained the mug of ale. “Are you trying to make me feel better? Because if you are, it’s not working.”
“I’m simply stating the truth.” She refilled his mug again and found him staring at her. Those blue eyes, intelligent and honest, made her transform from a sensible young woman into the worst sort of half-wit. What she wouldn’t give to be kissed by a man such as him—someone who knew what a woman dreamed of.
Davin shook his head, gripping the mug as though it were a man’s throat. “Things didn’t end well between us. I almost went after her.” He expelled a rough laugh. “That would have been pitiful, wouldn’t it? But I’m afraid I won’t be able to make things right. I said terrible things to her.”
Oh, saints above. He was treating her as his confessor, wanting advice. This was going terribly wrong.
“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find another woman to wed.” She drank her own mug of ale and found that the taste wasn’t so bad. Then again, her head was feeling a trifle muzzy.
“Why are you so intent on me finding a wife?” His voice had mellowed, and he filled both of their cups again. The ale sloshed over the sides, spattering onto the dirt floor.
“You’re a fine-looking man. I think you deserve to be happy.” She complimented him as if she were speaking of the weather. Thank heavens, she wasn’t flushing. But Davin looked as though he wanted to bolt from the stables.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she continued. “I’m not expecting you to say the same for me. I’m plain-faced, and well I know it.”
He set down his mug and reached out to touch a strand of her hair. She didn’t breathe, couldn’t move when he fingered the brown curl. “You aren’t that plain.”
Polite words, empty words they were. She knew it. “But not as beautiful as Iseult.”
He didn’t deny it, as she’d expected. Brightly, she added, “I do hope you find happiness, though. With a woman who cares about you.”
Like me.But she didn’t say it. Her quest was hopeless, and she might as well abandon it.
“I think we’ve finished the ale,” she said, holding her spinning head with a hand.
“There isn’t enough ale in Éireann to make me forget about her,” Davin grumbled, raising the empty ewer.
He’dlostcountofhow many cups he’d drunk, but it hadn’t drowned the memory of Iseult and Kieran. She really did love the slave. Davin could see it in the wistful expression on her face, in the way she touched Kieran’s tools. She wanted to be with him, even now.
But the thought of the two of them together made him want to stab something.
Niamh sank against the stable wall, tucking her feet beneath herléine. “I think I drank too much.” She fumbled with her hair absently, then unbraided it. The long brown length spilled across her shoulders in soft waves. In the fading sunset, her hair had a golden halo.
He couldn’t help but notice the way her gown molded to generous curves. Though her face was not as fair as Iseult’s, Niamh had an interesting smile.
“Why didn’t you go after them?” she asked. “Kieran and Iseult, I mean.”
The effects of the ale made the stable sway. He sat down beside her, leaning back for balance. “I don’t know. I should have.” He propped his hand up on one knee. The ale hadn’t dulled his senses enough, and his restlessness continued. “Why did you really come here, Niamh?”
Guilt flushed her face, followed by stubbornness. “Because I wanted to help you forget about her,” she whispered.
In her eyes, he saw a storm of troubled emotions. And something more . . . a longing. It startled him, to see a woman who desired him.
