Ivor was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, he said, “What use would it have been if ye’d have been unhappy? I didnae ken yer faither very well, but I did ken yer brother. None of them would have been happy if they kent ye were wed to a man who didnae make yer heart sing.”
“Be that as it may,” Eithne whispered, so quietly that Ivor had to lean in closer to hear her properly, “It was the first of three times that he asked. The second was on the day I turned twenty, and I turned him down then too. He told me he thought that the years would have cooled me pride.”
“And the last time?” Ivor prompted.
Eithne’s blue eyes covered in shadow as she answered in a very flat tone. “A year and a day after that. Last week, in fact. I was…harsh. I told him that he must stop because I would never love him. He told me he’d have me and me lands one way or the other. And then, a couple of days later…”
Ivor let out a long, low sigh. “Oh, Eithne. That doesnae make it yer fault.”
“It feels like it is,” she said, then she bunched up her legs to her chest once more and sobbed. “It feels like if it wasnae for me…”
He put his arm around her without a thought, and she leaned into him and cried. Though he’d been admiring her body not long before, the contact now held none of that. He just hoped that, through his embrace, she could find some comfort.
After a while, her sobs subsided, and they sat there like that in silence. He became more and more aware of her body pressed up against his own, but though his desire began to awake, his sympathy grew more. He wanted to see her smile. Ivor had never been good at such things, but something about Eithne made him want to try, at least.
“When Killian and I were six and ten, we met a lassie, Niamh, in a nearby village,” he started, his hand gently resting on her shoulder as he spoke.
Eithne didn’t react, but he felt her go still and realized that she was listening.
“Niamh was a farmer’s daughter of seven and ten, and she was one of the bonniest lasses we’d ever seen. We both decided then and there that we’d have her.” Ivor chuckled. “We were men in some ways, but we were still bairns. I dinnae believe either of us would have kent what to do with her if we’d won her, at least if she didnae end up taking charge in the end.”
Ivor smiled at the memory; he still remembered the youthful confidence and boasting back and forth between the two of them.
“What happened?” Eithne asked quietly.
Ivor was careful not to look at her or move too quickly. He was terrified that he might scare her off. Instead, he said, “Well, we both made a series of increasingly elaborate attempts to gain her favor. I remember Killian dressed entirely in green and proclaimed himself one of the Sith because she said she loved the fae folk. The superstitious elders nearly drove us out of the village.”
To Ivor’s delight, Eithne actually let out a thin, incredulous giggle. “And ye? What was yer crowning achievement?”
“Och, that would be when I showed up at her window with a bunch of her favorite flowers…despite the fact they made me break out in a severe rash. I must’ve looked quite the sight, all swollen and itchy at her window before dawn,” he chuckled.
He could feel Eithne’s muscles relax as he held her shoulder, meaning his story had the desired effect. Removing some of her tension was necessary to help him out and because he hated seeing her in pain.
“So what happened in the end?” Eithne asked. “She sent ye both away?”
“Nay, nay,” Ivor replied with a chuckle. “She tumbled us both, believe it or dinnae. Said it was her final test, of which of us were deserving of her hand. She had nae idea who Killian really was, of course.”
Eithne sat up, her eyes amused now as she looked at him. “A fine tumble, was it?”
Ivor laughed, long and hearty, feeling freer than he had since he heard the news in that tavern a few days before. “Aye, a fine mess,” he replied, grinning. “I cannae speak for what went on with Killian, of course, but I may as well have been a blushing maiden. I like to think I’ve improved since then, but ah well.”
Eithne snorted. “And then?”
“And then she chose Killian,” Ivor said, shrugging. “She told him that her love was his. We shook hands, and I left, and then just a wee bit later, he’s running down the path toward me. What happened, I asked him, where’s yer lady love?” Ivor’s expression softened, remembering. It was a sweet kind of pain that lanced through his heart now, missing a friend who should never have gone so soon.
“What did he say?” Eithne asked, spellbound.
“Apparently, she said that she’d always planned on choosing him,” Ivor said. “And that she found me passing strange. He got offended on me behalf and left, saying that if I wasnae good enough for her, neither was he.” He laughed at the ridiculousness of the memory and the affection it brought. “And that was the last we saw of Niamh.”
Eithne was silent for a moment, a tiny smile on her face. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, then said, “Thank ye.”
“For what?”
“For giving me back me brother, for just a minute,” Eithne said. She took his large hand between both of her tiny ones. “For kenning him so well that I felt that he was here with me for just a moment. It’s good to ken that someone loved him as much as I did.”
Ivor swallowed away the sudden burning in his throat and blinked away the prickling in his eyes. “It was hard nae to love Killian,” he told her. “And he adored ye. I’m at yer disposal, Eithne, because we’re bonded already.”
“From any other lad, I’d think that a terrible attempt at a flirtation,” she teased. Then she squeezed his hand affectionately. “But with ye…ye ken, I think ye’re right.” She moved forward, wrapping her arms around him. “Thank ye. Thank ye for everything.”
