“Lodging?”
“Aye, that’s becoming a bit of a thing. We’ll house as many here as we can manage, and at my uncle’s as well. There’s the inn, and many of the farmers and crofters nearby are sheltering family and friends already. No one will be turned off. We’ll find a way.”
She fiddled with her cross as she spoke. Not, Cian thought, out of fear of him, but out of nervous habit. “There’s food as well to think of. So many had to leave their crops and cattle behind to come here. But we’ll manage. Have you eaten?”
She flushed a little deeper as soon as the words were out. “What I meant is there’d be supper in the parlor if—”
“I know what you meant. No. I thought to see to the horse first, but he appears well groomed and fed.” On the heels of the words, Vlad bumped his head against Moira’s shoulder. “And spoiled,” Cian added.
Her brows drew together as they did, he knew, when she was annoyed or thoughtful. “It’s only carrots, and they’re good for him.”
“Speaking of food, I’ll need blood in another week. You might make certain the next pigs that are slaughtered, their blood isn’t wasted.”
“Of course.”
“Aren’t you the cool one.”
Now the faintest sign of irritation crossed her face. “You take what you need from the pig. I’m not after turning my nose up at a slab of bacon, am I?” She shoved the last carrot into Cian’s hand and started to sweep out.
She stopped herself, “I don’t know why you fire me up so easily. If you mean to or not. And no.” She held up a hand. “I don’t think I want to know the answer to that. But I would like to speak to you for a moment or two about another matter.”
No, avoiding her wasn’t possible, he reminded himself. “I have a moment or two.”
She glanced around the stables. It wasn’t only horses that had ears in such places. “I wonder if you could take that moment or two to walk with me. I’d be private on this.”
He shrugged, and giving Vlad the last carrot joined Moira to walk out of the stables. “State secrets, Your Highness?”
“Why must you mock me?”
“Actually, I wasn’t. Irritable tonight, are you?”
“It might be I am.” She shoved back the hair that spilled over her shoulder. “What with war and end of days, and the practical matters of washing linens and providing food for an army meanwhile, it might be I am a bit irritable.”
“Delegate.”
“I am. I do. But it still takes time and thought to push chores into other hands—finding the right ones, explaining how it must be done. And this isn’t what I wanted to speak to you about.”
“Sit.”
“What?”
“Sit.” He took her arm, ignoring the way the muscles tensed against his hand, and pulled her down onto a bench. “Sit, give your feet a rest if you won’t turn off that busy brain of yours for five minutes.”
“I can’t remember the last time I had an hour, all to myself and a book. Well, I can, actually. Back in Ireland, in your house. I miss it—the books, the quiet of them.”
“You need to take it, that hour now and again. You’ll burn out otherwise, and won’t be any good to yourself or anyone else.”
“My hands feel so full, they make my arms ache.” She looked down at them where they lay in her lap, and sighed. “And there, I’m off again. What is it Blair says? Bitch, bitch, bitch.”
She surprised a laugh out of him, and turned her head to smile into his face.
“I suspect Geall has never had a queen such as you.”
And her smile faded away. “No, you’ve the right of that. And we’ll soon see. We go tomorrow, at first light, to the stone.”
“I see.”
“If I lift the sword from it, as my mother did in her time, and her father in his, and back to the first, Geall will have a queen such as me.” She looked off, over the shrubberies toward the gates. “Geall will have no choice in it. Nor will I.”