"You may go, too, Alby," he said. "I’ll call for you later."
"Tiarna-"
"Go on. Please." Alby bowed stiffly and left. The door closed loudly behind him. Jenna cocked her head toward MacEagan, raising an eye-brow. "Aye," the man said. "Alby is more to me than simply my squire. I tell you that so there won’t be any secrets between us. There can’t be, not if this is to work." He gestured toward one of the chairs and Jenna sat, watching as MacEagan seated himself across from her. The odd smile was still on his face, and he folded his hands quietly on his knee.
"I’ll never love you," Jenna said flatly.
He seemed to take no offense, his face unchanging. "Perhaps not. And certainly not love in the way you loved Ennis O’Deoradhain. I wouldn’t expect or want that of you. But I hope that you could come to like and respect me, at least. I think we can be friends, Holder Aoire, and I would say that I have love for my friends."
Another shrug. More silence. Finally, MacEagan rose and went to the window. He pushed open the stained glass panels, sending colors shifting across the room. He stood there limned in sunlight before turning back. "I know the Banrion has outlined what I can offer you, Holder, and I won't go over that again, only tell you that I would endeavor to be as a father to your child. I would offer your child everything I would offer a child of my own."
"And what is it you intend to gain from our. . arrangement?" Jenna asked him. "In your words, not the Banrion's."
He brought steepled hands up to his mouth, bowing his head for a moment in thought. "I get to use your reflected power," he answered finally. "Bluntly, that's what I receive. We know-Aithne, Bantiarna Ciomhsog, and I-that Ri MacBradaigh won't live much longer. When he dies, a tiarna of the Comhairle will be elected Ri in his place. A tiarna married to the Holder of Lamh Shabhala would be a powerful figure, don't you think? Maybe even enough to be more than a Shadow Ri-and we control enough votes in the Comhairle to guarantee the outcome. And you. . you would be Banrion and would take my place on the Comhairle."
"What of Banrion Aithne?"
"She would have her ancestral lands in Rubha na Scarbh to rule, especially daily now that her brother has proved to be a traitor. She would still h among the Comhairle, representing her townland, and the Comhairm is the real power in Inish Thuaidh, not the Rl. And she would also know secrets, which would ensure that her voice was adequately heard She loses nothing but a husband she doesn't love, like, or respect and a tit] she won't mourn."
"Because hers was a political marriage," Jenna spat. "Like the one we're discussing."
"Aithne went into her marriage knowing it would be no more than it is," MacEagan responded. "I have higher expectations."
"You shouldn't."
"But 1 do," he persisted. "Oh, not for physical love-neither one of us want that of the other. But I do admire you, Holder Aoire. Your youth, your background-there aren't many like you who could have gone through what you have and survived,
much less flourished. You're stronger than most believe, including, I think, yourself."
"I don't need false flattery, Tiarna MacEagan."
He went back to the chair, sat, and took the glass in his hand again, swirling the liquid before taking a small, appreciative sip. "I've said noth-ing false, Holder. And my given name is Kyle. I would be pleased to have you use it."
"I still haven't made a decision," Jenna answered. She paused, took a breath. "Tiarna," she finished.
MacEagan gave a sniff that might have been a chuckle. "How can I help you make that decision, then? Tell me what you need."
"There's nothing you can give me. It's something I have to feel. Back in Ballintubber. . My marriage would never have been arranged; I wasn't important enough for that. It's the poor who can most easily marry for love, and I always expected that, if I married, it would be that way. I expected that we would have little more than the land we worked, that it would be hard, but it would be all right because we would care for each other. This-" Jenna swept a hand through the air.
"You can still have love," MacEagan said. "I don't intend to keep you from that."
"But it would always have to be a secret love. You might know, and perhaps Aithne, but it would have to be hidden from everyone else.
"Aye," MacEagan responded. He blinked. "As mine is. Now." He too another sip of the whiskey and set the glass down once more. "I've already y given you my trust, Holder. I've already made myself vulnerable to you sA that you would feel safe. I can't force you into this marriage, and wouldn’t even if I could. But I do think it could be advantageous to us both. I will give you one other promise-if one day you find a love that you can't bear to keep hidden from the rest of the world, then I will go with you to the Draiodoir and sign the dissolution. All you have to do is ask."
"You say that now."
"I'll put it in writing, if you wish."
Jenna could feel her hands trembling. She placed her right hand over her left, trying to conceal the
nervousness. In the three days since the Banrion had made the suggestion back in Inishfeirm, she had agonized over this. The night the Banrion had come, she’d gone to the harbor and called Thraisha, but no matter how wide she cast the vision of Lamh Shabhala, she couldn’t find her. The Holders within the cloch na thintri had been useless, yammering contradictory advice. She had found Riata in the babble and spoken with him, but he had only sighed. "The Daoine way isn’t ours," he said, more than once, and didn’t seem to be able to comprehend the implications, so foreign to his culture. She’d called her da from the carving of the blue seal, and he had listened sympathetically, but in the end all he could tell her was to do what she thought best. She wished more than once that she could talk with her mam again-she wondered what Maeve’s advice might be, caught up as she was in the same snare-but her mam was with Mac Ard. She closed her eyes every night and called to Ennis’ spirit, trying to bring him to her to tell her what to do… but the only answer had been the wind and the steady, relentless sound of the surf against the rocks.
"You are the only one who can make the decision," Riata had said finally. "You are the one who has to live it."
"Write it, then," Jenna said. "And we will marry, Kyle MacEagan."
"Please leave us, Keira," MacEagan said to Jenna’s attendant. The young woman-no older than Jenna herself-lowered her gaze, curtsied quickly, and vanished, closing the door to the bedchamber behind her. MacEagan smiled at Jenna, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her night robe tightly around her neck. He held a bottle of wine and two goblets.
"I thought I would come and say good night, Jenna," he said. He re-mained standing at the door. He nodded toward the polished wood be-hind him. "You can trust her. Keira’s been with me since she was twelve; she knows how to keep her mouth shut and eyes averted when they need to be. Or if you have someone else you feel you can trust more. .
?"
Jenna shook her head, mute. MacEagan-my husband, she thought. I Wonder if I will ever stop shivering when I hear that-continued to smile.
" ’Bantiarna Jenna MacEagan of Be an Mhuilinn,
Holder of Lamh Shabhala.' I imagine that will sound strange to you for a while."
"I think it may always sound strange," Jenna answered.
"If asked, Keira will swear that I spent our wedding night here in the chamber," MacEagan said. "But Alby has put together a room for me m across the hall. I thought. ." He lifted the wine and gold-rimmed goblets "We should at least share a drink together first. I would like that, if you're willing. It's been a long and tiring day for both of us."
That was certainly true enough. Banrion Aithne had given Jenna a cloca of finest white silk that had come all the way from Thall Mor-roinn. Jenna had let Keira and the other attendants dress her, feeling numb and some-how detached, as if she were watching this happen to someone else. The wedding had been in the Great Hall of Dun Kiil Keep; she entered the hall to find the Ri and Banrion, the entire Comhairle, Moister Cleurach and several of the Brathairs of the Order, and many of the minor Riocha of the city in attendance. The dripping of the stones punctuated the droning voice of the Draiodoir brought from the Mother-Creator's temple to con-duct the ceremony. Jenna stood next to MacEagan, not truly hearing the words, and when the Draiodoir handed her the traditional oaken branch to break, symbolizing her departure from her previous family, the dry crack of the stick had sounded impossibly loud and she had dropped the half she was to give to MacEagan, startled. The party afterward had been interminable. A singer had begun the Song of Mael Armagh, his baritone voice so much like Coelin's that Jenna felt her breath go shallow for a moment. The food in front of her seemed to taste of ashes and paper. A seemingly eternal line of well-wishers passed their table. Jenna had won-dered what they were thinking behind their carefully smiling faces, their choreographed movements, their polite and empty words. .