The Pool of Two Moons Read Online Free Page B

when your father was a babe-in-arms, and your grandfather and great-grandfather too. Indeed, so many o' your forebears have been dandled on my knee that I have near forgot them all. Great-aunt would be the most accurate description, if we left out about ten greats or so."
    So rich with irony was Meghan's voice that both Ba-caiche and Iseult were not sure whether to believe her. She smiled and twisted the jewel at her breast. "My father was the Whitelock himself," she said proudly. "I was his eldest daughter, and Mairead the Fair who wielded the Lodestar after him was my younger sister."
    "But Aedan Whitelock died four hundred years ago!"
    "Nay, three hundred and fifty-nine only. He lived to a grand auld age, my dai-dein, though he gave up the throne when he turned seventy, thinking it was time his daughters had their chance. Mairead won the Lodestar and I won the Key o' the Coven in the same year—seven hundred and thirty-four. It's a year I shall never forget."
    "But that means ye must be . . ." Bacaiche tried to calculate the years in his mind, but failed.
    "Remind me to give ye some lessons in mathematics," Meghan said wryly. "I am four hundred and twenty-seven years auld, though it's hardly polite o' ye to ask. Dearie me, it makes me feel auld to say it, I had almost forgotten how long it has been. Cleaning out the bottomless bag has made me nostalgic . . . Go and put on my father's kilt and sporran, Lachlan, and wear them proudly, for truly he was a great man, perhaps the finest MacCuinn o' them all."
    "Ye are calling me Lachlan." His voice was muffled. "Why now? Ye have no' let me be called Lachlan since the enchantment."
    Meghan smiled and patted his smooth, brown hand with hers, gnarled and blue-veined. "We are safe here. There is no need to fear listening ears, none can scry on us within the protection o' Tulachna Celeste and none can approach who are no' faery friends. Besides, we declared ye at the jetty. Do ye no' think half o' Rionnagan knows by now that one o' the lost prionnsachan is found? I was no' yet ready to let Maya know that ye were alive and a threat to her power, but the massacre at the jetty forced my hand."
    Iseult gritted her teeth and said nothing.
    "So perhaps it is time for ye to stop being the Cripple and become a prionnsa again. I shall call ye Lachlan from now on, and so shall Iseult, and when we gather our troops together, they shall call ye the MacCuinn, as they should."
    When Lachlan came back from the bushes, he walked with his head high and his wings spread, the kilt swaying above his talons with every stilted stride. "These clothes are no' really in the fashion o' the day, are they?" he said ruefully, though he knew he looked magnificent. He had thrown the plaid over his bare shoulder and pinned it with the stag device, the emerald eye glinting darkly.
    "Bring me the shirt and I shall alter it for ye. If ye will let me measure and fit ye, I think I can make ye a shirt with wing-holes as well as armholes."
    "Aye," Lachlan replied eagerly and unpinned ? the plaid, dropping easily into a crouch before Meghan. The firelight flickered over his olive skin, outlining the contours of his chest. Iseult could not help watching for, without his concealing cloak, Lachlan was a beautiful man, all muscle and smooth skin. Even folded, his wings were magnificent, glossy with blue highlights like the wing of a blackbird, while his tousled curls hung over his forehead in a way Iseult found quite disturbing. She reminded herself what a surly, ill-natured man he was, how rude and how ungrateful.
    When Lachlan was well shrouded in linen and tied to her by a flashing needle and thread, Meghan said softly, "I ken ye are angry because Iseult spoke to ye about your wings and claws, but indeed it is time ye accepted your state, Lachlan, and tried to make the most o' it."
    Surprised, he tried to jerk away. Meghan held him fast, saying calmly, "Lift your arm, laddie." After she had pinned him, she continued, "I ken