A Time of Exile (39 page)

“Would you, sir?” Maer paused to lick dry lips with a nervous tongue. “Er, ah, well, I imagine you’re not a pleasant man to face when you’re angry about somewhat.”

“Not in the least, Maer lad, not in the least.”

When he waved his hand again, the fire went out cold. So Lord Pertyc was right about the old man, Maer thought. I wonder if sorcerers can really turn men into frogs? I’ve no desire to find out the hard way, that’s certain.

Yet, as he was leaving, so was Glae, and he decided that it would be dishonorable to let her walk when he was riding her way. He lifted her to his saddle, then mounted behind, slipping his arms around her waist and taking the reins.

“What were you fighting over?” Glaenara said. “Some lass, I’ll bet.”

“Naught of the sort! It’s a long story.”

During the ride home, he told her about his persecution of Crindd, and she laughed as much as the lads in the warband. He decided that one of the things he liked best about her was the way she enjoyed a good laugh; so few lasses seemed to appreciate his sense of humor. When they got about half a mile from the farm, she insisted that he let her walk the rest of the way to keep her brother-in-law from seeing them together. As he was lifting her down, he tried kissing her. Although she laughed and shoved him away, she let him steal a second kiss. Just as his lips touched hers, he felt a sharp pain, like the pinch of bony fingers, in the back of his left thigh. He yelped and jumped.

“What?” Glae snapped. “What happened to you?”

“Er, a muscle cramp, I guess.” He rubbed the spot gingerly—it still hurt, all right. “I’m sorry.”

“Humph, well, if that’s the way you’re going to be!”

But she was smiling as she turned away and ran off, heading for the farm. Although Maer waved goodbye, he was completely distracted. For a few moments he could see in a tangle of bushes nearby a small creature, as solid and distinct as she could be, with long blue hair and a face like a beautiful child, scowling at him in jealous rage. Suddenly she disappeared, leaving him wondering if he were going mad.

Yet he saw her again, the very next time he rode down into town in hopes of meeting Glaenara. Sure enough, he found Glae selling eggs and turnips in the market, but just as he was striking up a conversation, the blue-haired creature appeared, standing directly behind Glae and snarling like a jealous lover. Maer completely forgot himself.

“Now don’t you hurt her!”

“What?” Glae said. “Hurt who? The chicken?”

“My apologies. I wasn’t talking to you—I mean—oh, by the hells!”

Glae swiveled around to look behind her. Although Little Blue-hair, as he started calling her, stamped a foot and shook a small fist in Glae’s direction, it was obvious that the human lass saw nothing.

“Maer, you
are
daft! That’s the oldest prank in the world, making someone look and find naught there. And I must be a lackwit to fall for it.”

“Ah, er, sorry. Truly, I shouldn’t have … uh, well. Here, I’ve got to go, uh, er, run an errand, but I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me.”

Leading his horse, Maer hurried off through the sparse crowd in the direction of the blacksmith’s shop, but he turned off before he got there and found a private spot behind the inn. Little Blue-hair appeared, sitting on his saddle and smirking at him. Although he felt more daft than ever, he waggled a finger at her.

“Now listen, you, you can’t go around pinching people and suchlike.”

She held up one hand and made a pinching motion with her thumb and forefinger.

“Like that, truly. Don’t do it again, especially not to other people.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“If you don’t behave, I’ll … I’ll … I’ll tell Nevyn the dweomerman on you.”

He made the threat only because he could think of none better—after all, Nevyn terrified
him
, didn’t he?—but it had all the force he could possibly have wanted. She leapt to her feet, opened her mouth in a soundless shriek, flung both hands into the air, and disappeared. For a moment Maer felt almost guilty; then he decided that she’d brought it on herself and hurried back to take up his courting in peace. For some weeks afterward, all the Wildfolk stayed far away from him, and he was glad of it.

“Now listen, Glae,” Nalyn snapped. “You know as well as I do that Doclyn’s a decent young man and a good hard worker. His father’s asking me for the smallest possible dowry that can stand up in a lord’s court. We won’t do better than that. Why won’t you marry him?”

Glaenara looked up from the bowl of dried beans she was sorting and simpered at him.

“He doesn’t please me.”

“Oh, my humble, humble apologies, my fine lady! It’s not looks that matter in a man.”

“Obviously, or Lida never would have married you.”

“Glae!” Myna spoke sharply from her chair by the fire. “Please don’t start things up again.”

Glae banged the bowl onto the table and stalked outside, sweeping her skirts around her as she hurried across the muddy farmyard. The bitter truth, she supposed, was that unless she married someone, she’d go on living here, under her brother-in-law’s thumb, working hard all her life, never having anything resembling her own house—not that she’d ever have the lovely things and leisure that Braedda would. When she reached the cow barn she paused, looking up at the sky, where the moon sailed free of a wisp of icy cloud. She shivered, wishing she’d brought her shawl. Over by the chicken coop something moved: a man shape, detaching itself from a shadow: Maer. She hurried over to him and whispered when she spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

“Trying to figure out how to get a word with you. Are you cold? You can have my cloak. Here.”

Bundled in the heavy wool, she walked with him a little ways back into the woods, where he’d left his horse. The moon streamed through the bare-branched trees and made little patterns on the ground.

“Suppose I came out here tomorrow night,” Maer said. “Would you meet me?”

“It’s going to rain tomorrow night. Samwna’s joints ached all day today, and that’s always a sure sign of rain coming.”

“Well, then, I’ll come out here anyway and keep a hopeless vigil in the pouring rain and get a horrible fever and maybe die, and it’ll all be for love of you.”

“Oh, don’t talk daft.”

“I mean it. Glae, truly, I’m half out of my mind for love of you.”

“Oh, don’t lie to me!”

In the moonlight she could just make out the shock on his face. Half afraid she’d cry, she sat down on the ground under a tree. In a moment he joined her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. But I’ll say this, and it’s not fancy words but the truth. I don’t think there’s another lass like you in all Deverry and Eldidd.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“A little of both. How’s this? I’m not mad for love of you, but I blasted well like you a whole lot, and every now and then, I think maybe I do love you.”

“That I can believe, and my thanks. I like you, too.”

Somewhat hesitantly, Maer slipped one arm around her shoulders and kissed her. She let him steal another, found herself thinking of the future, and kissed Maer instead to drive the thought away. When he started caressing her, she wrapped her arms tight around him in the spirit of someone gulping a particularly bitter healing decoction and let him lie her down in the soft leaves.

The medicine worked. Having a man of her own made the rest of her life easier to take, as did the coppers Nevyn gave her for tending his cottage. Once she set her mind to ignoring Nalyn’s insults and keeping peace between them, they got through whole days without squabbling, and Mam
and Lidyan began to relax into a pleased relief. When the explosion came, then, it was twice as bad as it might have been. One evening, just at sunset, Glaenara was chasing the chickens back into the coop for the night when Nalyn came walking out of the house. She could tell something was wrong just from the cold look in his eyes.

“And what’s eating at you?”

“I was down in town today, that’s what, and everyone was telling me I should be keeping an eye on my little sister. That silver dagger’s been riding into town to fetch you, hasn’t he?”

“And what if he has?” Glaenara set her hands on her hips. “It’s decent of him to give me a ride when I’m tired.”

“Ride—hah! Who’s riding what, Glae?”

“You little pus boil! Don’t you talk to me that way!”

Nalyn grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

“You tell me the truth.”

Glaenara twisted free and kicked him across the shins. When he grabbed her again and held tight this time, she was shocked at how strong he was—towering over her, causing her pain with an easy masculine strength.

“You’ve been rolling around with that lad, haven’t you? He wouldn’t want naught else out of the likes of you.”

This very real possibility made Glaenara burst into tears.

“Oh, ye gods!” Nalyn snapped. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“So what if it is? Can’t I have one thing in my rotten life that I want just because I want it?”

With an oath, Nalyn let go of her, then slapped her hard across the face. Glaenara slapped back without thinking, and at that, the long bad feeling between them erupted. He grabbed her by the shoulder, twisted her around, and slapped her hard across the behind. As hard as she fought and kicked—and she landed some bruises on him—she couldn’t get free. The pain of his slaps was nothing compared with her terror at feeling so helpless. She was sobbing so hard that she could barely see. Dimly she heard her mother screaming and Lidyan’s voice calling out. All at once, Nalyn let her go. Glaenara staggered and almost fell into her sister’s arms.

“Nal, Nal,” Myna whined. “What are you doing?”

“Beating a little slut,” Nalyn sputtered out. “Lida, let go
of her! I won’t have my wife feeling sorry for a slut like this. Her and her cursed silver dagger! Ye gods, I’m never going to be able to make her a decent match now.”

Lidyan started to cry, her hands slack on Glaenara’s arm. Still terrified, Glaenara turned to her mother to find Myna staring in paralyzed disbelief, her thin lips trembling, her patient eyes full of tears. Glaenara tried to speak, but she choked on pure shame.

“Glae,” Myna whispered, “tell me it’s not true.”

Glaenara wanted to lie, but she was shaking too badly to speak. Myna reached out her hand, then drew it back, staring at her all the while with aching eyes.

“Glae,” Lidyan wailed, “how could you?”

But Lidyan was watching her husband; Myna turned toward him, too, a final slap sharper than any hand. They were both going to let him pass the final judgment on her.

“It’s true enough,” Glaenara spat out. “Go on! Call me what you want. I won’t be here to listen!”

Glaenara barreled through gate, raced as fast as she could down the road, kept running even when she heard them call her back. She hardly knew what she was doing; she only wanted to run and run and never see any of them again. Her mother was siding with Nalyn. At the thought tears came to choke her and leave her gasping, forcing her to fling herself down into the tall grass to weep. By the time she’d wept herself dry the sun was setting. She got up, expecting to see Nalyn coming after her to beat her some more, but the twilight road was empty, the house far behind. She wiped her dirty face on her sleeve and began running again, heading for town and Braedda, who would maybe forgive her—perhaps, she thought, the only person in the world who would.

At last, just as the stars were pricking the velvet sky, Glaenara reached the village. As she stood behind the inn and wondered if Samwna would even let her inside, once she knew the truth, the tears rose up again, hot and choking. She had no place in life anymore, nowhere to go, nothing to call her own; she was a shamed woman and a slut and naught more. She was still weeping when Braedda’s enormous cousin, Cenedd the blacksmith’s son, came strolling through the innyard.

“Glae, by the gods!” Cenedd said. “And what’s all this?”

“Nalyn turned me out, and I deserved it. All because of Maer.”

When Cenedd caught her by the shoulders, Glaenara flinched back, expecting that he would beat her, too.

“Bastards, both of them,” Cenedd said matter-of-factly. “Now don’t cry like that.” He turned his head and yelled. “Braedda, get out here!”

When Braedda and Samwna hurried out, Glaenara blurted the truth between sobs, simply because there was no use in lying. Braedda began to cry, too, but Samwna took charge—again, as matter-of-factly as Cenedd.

“Now, now, it’s not the end of the world. Oh, Glae, you’ve been such a dolt, but truly, I was afraid this was going to happen. Here, you’re not with child, are you?”

“I don’t know. It’s not been long enough to tell.”

“Well, then, we’ll know when we know and not a minute later. You come inside where it’s warm, and we’ll all have some nice hot ale.”

As the two women led her into the kitchen, Glae looked back to see Cenedd standing and talking urgently with Ewsn and Selyn, the weaver’s son. She and Braedda sat huddled together on a bench in the corner of the kitchen while Samwna bustled around, pouring ale into a tall metal flagon and settling it into the coals on the hearth.

“Mam?” Braedda said. “Can Glae sleep here tonight?”

“Of course. There’s no use in trying to talk sense to Nalyn until he’s had a chance to cool off a bit.”

“My thanks,” Glae stammered. “Why would you even help me? You should just let me sleep in the road.”

“Hush, hush! You’re not the first lass in the world to make a fool of herself over a good-looking rider, and doubtless you won’t be the last.”

Ewsn stuck his gray head into the kitchen and caught Samwna’s attention.

“Be back in a bit. Just going for a ride with some of the lads. We’ve been thinking about poor Myna, you see.”

“So have I,” Samwna said. “It aches my heart.”

“You’re not going to the farm, are you?” Glaenara blurted out.

“Not just yet, lass,” Ewsn said. “We’ll let your brother think things over before we do that.”

After dinner, Pertyc’s riders were welcome to sit in the great hall and drink while they gossiped or watched what little there was to see. Maer and Cadmyn were playing dice when Ewsn the innkeep, Cenedd the blacksmith’s son, and Selyn the weaver’s son came into the great hall, stood looking around them for a hesitant moment, then went over to whisper urgently to Pertyc.