The Pool of Two Moons Read Online Free Page A

set in a way that Meghan was beginning to know well. "No stubbornness now, Iseult," Meghan warned. "Ye agreed to throw your lot in with me, and indeed I'm glad now that the Spinners brought your thread to cross mine. There is a design in this weaving, that I be sure o'. Ye must be made ready."
    Iseult stilled her hands, which had begun to fidget in her lap.
    "Besides, why no' take the opportunity to learn what ye can? Knowledge is power, surely ye must ken that. If ye are one day to be Firemaker, as ye wish, ye should want to do the best ye can for your people. I am sure your grandmother does no' wish ye to waste your time here." Still Iseult was silent, her lashes red crescents against her creamy, freckled face.
    "And if I remember rightly, your father first came to the Tower o' Two Moons because he had learnt all that the wise ones o' your land could teach him. He wanted to learn our wisdom and skills, and while he was with us he studied hard."
    At that Iseult looked up and said, "Ye are right. To be the Firemaker is to be in geas to the Gods o'
    White. To no' take it on full-heartedly is to no' give all honor to the gods." She paused, and then said in a constricted voice, "I give ye my apologies then, auld mother, and confess both to fear and pride, worst o'
    deficiencies." Meghan looked a little surprised and went to say something, but Iseult pressed on grimly. "I was afraid ye wished me to learn your wisdom so that ye could win me from the Prides, and turn me to your own path; and I was proud and angry for your nephew has scorned my offer o' coaching when indeed he should ken it was a rare compliment for me to offer at all!" Meghan's puckered old mouth twitched, but she answered gravely. "Indeed, Iseult, there is no need to apologize—all I wish is for ye to make the most o' your powers. Ye may return to the Spine o' the World any time ye wish, though I would no' like to lose ye at all."
    "Then I shall bide a wee and see what pattern the weaver makes o' our lives," Iseult replied just as gravely.
    Meghan was pleased at her words, for it showed the girl had at least listened once or twice, but she shut her mouth down grimly and said, "Do no' bother the lad, Iseult, it is no' kind o' ye. Indeed, it was a blaygird enchantment laid on him and he is bitter indeed at the Ensorcellor. He does no' find his life now easy to accept."
    Iseult opened her mouth to protest, then flushed and said nothing, remembering the black mood her question the night before had provoked. Biding with these southerners has made me rude and disdainful, she thought. Asking unwanted questions!
    When Bacaiche at last stumped back to the clearing, his curls were lank with sweat, his bare chest and shoulders marked all over with bramble scratches. Meghan beckoned him down to sit by her, her wrinkled face uncharacteristically soft. "Look, Lachlan my lad, I have my father's kilt and plaid for ye. His sgian dubh and sporran too. They were tucked away a long time syne. Ye need clothes, ye canna wander around the country in a pair o' Isabeau's auld breeches. Too small by far they are for ye!" Bacaiche seized the plaids eagerly, his topaz eyes blazing, his black mood forgotten. "Look, the sporran bears the MacCuinn crest—there's a brooch to hold the plaid too." He turned the brooch to examine it, and Iseult saw the device—a leaping stag carrying a crown in its antlers. "I have no' seen the stag rampant syne I was a bairn." His voice thickened. "And the dear auld tartan— my father never wore anything else."
    "Nor mine." Meghan caressed the plaid that now hung on her shoulders. With its rich folds pinned together with a great emerald, it was easy to believe she was descended from righrean.
    "Who exactly was your father, Meghan?" Bacaiche asked, stroking the dark green velvet of the jacket. "I do no' think I've ever really known what our relationship is. I just remember ye always being there when I was a bairn."
    "Aye, I was indeed always there. I was there