She must choose it.
She carried a barrier of fear, did his love, hisalanna. She must be given leave to face that, or flee.
If she refused him—refused them—he supposed he would wander the world until he grew too frail to tread the roads and his fingers could no longer dance over the strings. He thought of the dream when he’d gathered herbs on the hill, how stiff and old he had felt. The wheel did indeed turn. Age would find him again.
He finished preparing for supper and said to his companion, “Wish me luck.”
Luck. The word seemed to float after him as he went out the chamber door. Or was that only an echo of his own voice?
*
Seven kisses. Katrincould not reason out why those two words remained stuck in her mind. But the instant the harper entered the hall she felt it, and swung around to look at him.
His gaze found her. He smiled.
Something settled inside her, beneath her heart. He was here. She could continue with her tasks. With her world. With her life.
Swiftly, she turned back to her work, setting cups at the places along the boards. What she could not do was stand gazing at him. Much as she might wish to.
But she found that very soon she must steal another glance.
He looked very fine, this night. He wore his cloak of green with the embroidered tunic beneath, and the brown skin leggings and boots. The beads woven through his hair were, many of them, green also.
Yet none of that mattered. It was the way he moved that drew her. That smooth, somehow powerful grace.
He carried his harp—well, that was not surprising, but it made her heart leap. It meant he intended to play for them. She would soon hear his music. Fall under its spell.
Anticipation sizzled inside her, almost like that a child felt for a promised reward. She could be patient, could she not?
“Mistress Katrin?”
She jumped violently when someone spoke beside her, so near they almost touched. Reagan. How could she have missed his approach?
“Master O’Hanlon! Ye did startle me.” She was not a small woman, yet had to look up, up to meet his tawny gaze, which held a rueful light. One of his eyebrows quirked.
“Forgive me. I am not usually so easy to overlook.”
“I did no’ overlook ye, just—”
He shot a deliberate look at Finlay before returning his gaze to her face, not without a tinge of irony.
“I see that ye are distracted.”
“Just eager to make certain each of our guests has what he desires.”
That made both Reagan’s brows fly up. Only then did she realize the words might sound—well, not as she’d meant.
What did Finlay want? For he did want somewhat, on that she would bet her life. Why had he given her those kisses? The ones that even now refused to leave go of her heart.
She needed to speak with him.
“I wanted to speak with ye,” Reagan said, and she started again.
“I beg your pardon?”
He edged still closer and lowered his voice to a rumble. “I did not know if ye wanted still to meet tonight.” He hesitated. “Given what happened, I mean.”
The kiss. The attempted kiss. Och, what had befallen her life?
