Seven Brothers Blessed [ Lore of Penrua: Book IV ]

[ 33 ]

"I do not understand why you're permitting this to happen," said Uachi. He stood just inside Diarmán's bedroom door, his arms folded. It was the morning after their first attempt to find Han Taín his bride. Uachi had come to meet him so they could go down to breakfast together.

They had not shared a bed since Han Taín's arrival, a fact Diarmán had decided not to notice.

"Permitting?" Diarmán knelt on the flagstones, rummaging through this clothes-chest, searching for something. He yelped and fell back as a spider scuttled across a sleeve, nearly touching his fingers.

"What?"

"Bloody damned spider." Diarmán shuddered, shaking his hand briskly.

Uachi raised an eyebrow. For the first time in what felt to Diarmán like a lifetime, a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Gods below, he loved to see Uachi smile.

"What sort of lover are you?" Diarmán snapped with feigned peevishness. "You should be cantering over to gallantly save me."

"From a spider?"

"'Twas the size of a horse!"

Pushing off of the wall, Uachi strode over to Diarmán. He dropped to a knee. "Our horses in Penrua are bigger than yours, then."

"Ha." Diarmán shook his hand again.

Uachi reached into the clothes chest, pulling out the topmost garment and giving it a shake. "What are we looking for?"

"There's a linen tunic with an embroidered collar. Green, I think, maybe blue—my mother's work. If it hasn't been devoured by moths..."

"Very well." He continued to search, shaking out each piece of clothing as he pulled it out and set it aside. "It's not this?" Uachi held up a shirt.

"No, that's not it. Green or blue embroidery, I said."

"This is blue."

"That's violet, my darling."

Uachi frowned at the collar of the shirt, turning it in the light from the window. "It's blue."

Diarmán took the shirt and set it aside. "In any case, we're looking for a tunic. We'll need to find something for you to wear, too."

"Wear? To breakfast?"

"To the wedding. What you have on is fine for breakfast, although you won't turn any heads with your fashion sense."

"So I'm to attend this affair."

"The wedding? Why, of course you are. Why shouldn't you?"

Uachi didn't answer.

Diarmán glanced at his profile. His frown. "Why shouldn't you?" he repeated.

"I won't. I can't condone it."

Diarmán's stomach turned. He did not truly want to talk about this with Uachi. Not right now. "It's not a matter of what we condone or do not condone. This unknown lady is her own woman, Uachi. She makes her own choices."

"Diarmán." Uachi knelt on the flagstones next to him. He put his hands on Diarmán's shoulders, turning him away from the clothes chest. "Look at me. Look me in the eye and say these things. Tell me it's right. Tell me you believe this will be her choice, truly."

Diarmán met Uachi's eye, irritation flaring in his chest. "I simply—it's not that I..."

Uachi raised his eyebrows, waiting.

With a huff of frustration, Diarmán tugged away, rising to his feet. He strode to the window, turning his back on his lover. "He is not a man to be reasoned with."