Despite her insistent objection, Egan’s decision was firmly made, and he pointed out a more obvious problem. “When you have no permanent home, how is a god to take you for a wife? Will you lead him on a merry chase through the forest as you did me?”
Oriana attempted to recall if they’d ever had what could be described as an amicable conversation, but sadly, no such example came to mind. “You ought not to blame me for your trouble when I had no idea you were giving pursuit; but surely a god will find me more easily,” she replied, but her tone lacked conviction.
“Aye, I suppose.” Egan went to close the door he had left standing ajar, but assuring their privacy made offering an apology no less difficult. That Oriana continually provoked him was her fault rather than his, but he cleared his throat and tried not to sound gruff.
“You are a lady and gently raised,” he began, trying to ease his way. “I should not have shed my garments in your presence. It was not the act of a champion, and I’ve given my word to be yours.”
He appeared to be sincerely contrite. Oriana was completely taken aback, but she dared not admit she had been more incredulous than insulted. He was such an audacious man. From the moment he had forced his way into her tent, he had proven impossible to guide in any pleasing direction. No, indeed, he simply issued demands and expected obedience as though he were already king. To her everlasting shame, she still found him appealing.
“You were angry not to find me here,” she reminded him.
“Aye, that is true, but I had no right to that anger when anyone would prefer a view of the sea to this bleak chamber. Go wherever you please, but you may not leave me just yet.”
“Not while I am still useful,” Oriana amended. She watched a swift return of his earlier anger shade his glance and after silently cursing her own obstinate nature, spoke quietly to deflect his often bitter wit.
“I’m concerned about something Myrna told me. She claimed to be the last here who loved your mother. Were you aware the others have no memory of her?”
Egan had been about to shout he would be the one to decide just who and what was useful, and caught off guard, he folded his hands behind his back. After glancing down at the floor, he rearranged the carpet of rushes with his toe and wished Oriana were half as compliant.
“I’ve given the matter no thought whatsoever. I’m a grown man with no need for either a mother or nurse.”
Oriana fought to remain calm, but Egan was often so dreadfully shortsighted it was extremely difficult to display the necessary patience. “Every king depends upon allies, and if you’re to rule the Dál Cais successfully, then you’ll need the backing of your mother’s people.”
Annoyed with her logic, Egan strode toward the hearth. A log had been propped across the firedogs in preparation for the evening, and he gave it a rough kick to roll it over the glowing embers. “My mother’s kin are a proud family, but weakened by losses in battle. Consequently, they look to me for protection. It matters little; I depend upon no one.”
No one but me, Oriana thought to herself, and she wondered if her most valuable service might not be in making Egan see the error in his solitary ways. Once that feat was accomplished, if it were even possible, she would feel free to leave him. A sharp burst of pain greeted the prospect of that sorry triumph, and she bit her lip to stay the threat of tears.
Dipping her head, she smoothed her fingertips over the seductively soft new garments and longed for Egan’s heat. She would have to leave him one day, and although painful, now was the best time to begin pulling away.
“No matter how small,” she murmured, “a warm alcove meant for a servant will do, but I must have my own chamber.”
“No!” Egan thundered back at her. “I’m not nearly that remorseful over this afternoon. I promise not to sleep naked as I did last night, but you’ll remain here with me.
“As for those hideous gowns, save them for the travel you’re so eager to begin and dress tonight for me.” He crossed to the neatly stacked trunks and opened a small chest at the top. “Here, you need more than a single gold bracelet, my lady.”
Oriana ducked as he flung a gold torque in her direction, but the magnificent coiled collar still landed in her lap. She had never seen anything nearly as beautiful, but she was loath to touch it. It was an ornament designed for a queen, while she preferred weaving flowers into crowns.
“Oh, Egan, I can’t wear this.”
“You can and will. I want everyone to believe I’m so besotted with you that I’ll be deaf to their lies. That will be easy enough, but can you possibly feign some slight interest in me?”
Her heart beating wildly in her breast, Oriana scarcely dared look up at him. He was so close, she could have reached out to caress his thigh, but thus inspired, grabbed up the torque instead.
“Is pretend to be equally smitten what you really mean?” she asked.
“Aye, smitten will do. Can you give me that?”
Oriana traced the gentle curve of the golden torque. With every fortune she told, she gave a subtle performance, but none was really required with him. She licked her lips thoughtfully. “I have already promised not to embarrass you in front of your kin. I will regard whatever devotion I might show as an extension of that vow.”
Though that was not as straightforward a consent as Egan would have preferred, he decided he had finally won one of their arguments and departed to allow her the privacy in which to dress for a meal he doubted either would taste.
Oriana clung to Egan’s arm as they entered the great hall, but it was fright rather than feigned affection that prompted her to draw close. A massive stone fireplace dominated the far end of the long rectangular room, and the evening meal was being served on low tables surrounded by cushions of furs. There was only a small gathering tonight rather than the hundreds the room could accommodate for a feast, but Oriana felt more dread than curiosity about what the evening would bring.
“You’re shaking,” Egan whispered. He patted her hand tenderly. “You’ll not be cold seated close to the fire.”
Allowing him to believe she was merely chilled rather than nearly paralyzed with fear, Oriana glided along by his side. She had donned Adelaine’s amethyst gown and tunic, but had waited for Egan to assist her with the golden torque. A simple twist was all that had been required to secure the magnificent necklace, but it rested upon her collarbones with the weight of a captive’s chains.
She held her head high, and with her long hair streaming over her shoulders, moved with forced grace toward the group already seated near the fire. A young bard strumming a lyre began a new tune a