Cailín (Lass) (Anam Céile Chronicles) by Rosalind Scarlett Page A

him briefly, and although I couldn’t actually hear
what they were saying, I could nevertheless pick up me father’s tone.  I
wondered what Donovan must think.
    Me
father had to get back to his work, muttering as he left, “Aislinn, don’t you
be trailing after him like a wretched mongrel.  Let him do his work.”
    Disregarding
him entirely, I lingered on near Donovan.
    Unabashedly,
I ogled him as he worked.  With the few and far between occasions of being so
fortunate to be so near him, I had to relish each possible second I be awarded. 
Now, this close to him fer as extended a time as ever I had been, I be able to
really take him in wholly fer the first.  I determined to commit to memory each
minute feature of which he be comprised, so that me forthcoming preoccupations
of him could be entirely precise, having not one hint of vagueness whatsoever!
    Little
mole upon the side of his neck just under his jaw … perfectly straight teeth …
soft plump earlobes … the way his hairline kisses the back of his neck …
tousled waves of hair … the freshness of his face … slight cleft in his strong
chin … small dimple upon the left side when he flashes his shy offset smile … 
gentle wave in the descent of his nose …  the rift above his brow when he is
concerned …  inviting russet curls peeking out the top of his shirt-line …  His
voice more lovely than the most beautiful music that ever has inspired me soul … 
    Just
then Donovan glanced back to discover me staring at him intently.  Our eyes met
and fer a long moment sustained their encounter with a conveyance all their
own.  He smiled modestly and went on with what he be doing pensively.  I did
take notice of the way that smile seemed to linger upon his lips.
    When I
looked at him, I didn’t merely see him, I felt him.  I gazed upon him and I saw
all I was to be. 
    There be
no way to disguise the way he shines.  Oh, how I want him to know the things I
feel fer him!  But then again, I do not.  Fer if he does, me fantasy might
surely burst!  Why must it all be so complex?  
    I
gawked as carefully he glided his hands ever gently over Morrissey, examining
him fer any signs of ailment.  Never did I think I would be jealous of an old aiteann ,
but emerald as Éire I be as I coveted the feel of those hands to explore me
body in that same great detail! 
    Suddenly
I became distracted by the burbling of me belly.  Oh, how ravenous observing
him affects me!  If only he could satisfy me hunger with a kiss!
    “Well,”
he began after his thorough examination, “I not be the expert by any measure,
but fairly certain I be that Morrissey is suffering from an impending bout of
colic, which at his age, could very well have debilitated him.” 
    “’Tis
as I thought, then,” I confided, mostly to me self.
    “I’ll
give your father instructions to keep Morrissey comfortable tonight and, of
course, I shall still have Dr. O’Connor come out tomorrow and check him himself
just to be certain.”
    Satisfied,
I nodded me head, filled with admiration fer him and his caring devotion to his
chosen path.
    “I have
to admit, Aislinn, I be rather intrigued," he started somewhat
inquisitively.  “Do tell me.  How was it you knew?” 
    “Oh! 
Well . . . you know, I have been around dear old Morrissey fer me whole life,
and I be extraordinarily in tune to him, I suppose.” I fibbed. 
    After
all, what would he think of me if he knew the things I actually be capable of? 
Would he think me as a sidhe, the same as me father?
    “Hmm .
. .” be all Donovan uttered in response, eyeing me rather curiously as he
gathered up his bags.  “You certainly are exceptionally mature fer only
fifteen.”  He glanced back at me and I was sure I caught his eyes rove quickly
over me form as he said it.  A rush of sensation traveled throughout me body.
    Donovan
turned to face me and reached his arm toward me, gently taking me hand in his. 
Just the warmth from the mere