I slept poorly; even with a tapestry hanging over the connecting door, I could hear Bramble barking in the women’s quarters, and at a certain point there came a sound that might have been weeping. And my body, my treacherous body, was stirred by memories of those fleeting touches, her arm slipped through mine, her hands resting against my heart. How could I wait two whole months for her, how could I bear these exquisite, painful feelings? How did other men manage? There was nobody I could talk to; Donagan, close as he was to me, would surely laugh if I confided my difficulty. I could wait. Of course I could wait. I was a prince. Let that not be Flidais weeping through there; let her not be regretting ever agreeing to marry me. Oh, if only I could tap on that door, and be admitted, and fold her in my arms with words of comfort, with soft kisses and tenderness. It would be so easy. I ached to do it. Instead I lay restless and wakeful, my manly parts in a shameful state of arousal, and waited for the dawn.

13 Blackthorn

13

~BLACKTHORN~

It was odd, the way folk wanted to tell me all their troubles. It wasn’t as if I ever gave them the slightest encouragement. Mostly I answered with a grunt or an mm-hm. Sometimes, as with the lovesick lads and girls, I dispensed down-to-earth advice, not wanting to see them undone by their own foolishness. A girl – Becca, her name was – came to me one day asking for a potion that would make a certain young man adore her to the exclusion of all others. It was a ridiculous idea, and I told her so. Explained how silly it was to believe that a spell, even a good one, could conjure the sort of love that would last a lifetime. Added that a young woman of fifteen or sixteen should be making something of herself before she even started to think about finding a man.

Becca had brought a friend with her. Many of the girls came in pairs, being a little scared of dealing with me alone. As I explained the differences between friendship, desire and love, I noticed the friend casting her eye over my supply of herbs and spices, my equipment for making distillations and decoctions, oils and salves, without saying a word. It was only when Becca had had enough of my lecture and expressed a wish to leave that the other girl, Emer, started asking questions, and good questions they were, about my methods and my materials and how a person might learn to become a healer. To my surprise, I found myself inviting her to come back some time – I did not say without Becca but she understood. Not that one sensible girl would make up for a whole village of silly ones, but it would be a start.