Alicia Roque Ruggieri (17 page)

He hesitated.  “I left
my promised wife at Oxfield and told her I would return for her soon.  She is a
kitchen servant there.”

Seonaid thought he
flushed a little red at this last bit, and she smiled inwardly. 
How interesting
the differences in class even among servants!
  “Well,” she spoke aloud,
“You may send word to your young woman and let her know you will fetch her in
the spring.”

“That would be
acceptable, for me to have a wife at Dunpeledyr?”

“Aye, of course.  There
may even be work here for her.”

He smiled, his first
since he’d met her.  “Then I agree to your terms, Lady Seonaid.”

Oxfield

Wearily, Deirdre lifted
the bucket and poured water into the wooden bowl.  She rolled up her tunic
sleeves and splashed the cold water over her arms, rubbing them to remove the
caked flour.  Then she shook the water from her hands and wiped them on her
skirt.  With a sigh, Deirdre picked up the small clay lamp and willed her feet
toward the fireplace to see if Cook needed anything.

Deirdre moved quietly
toward the woman, hoping to not awaken her if she already slept.  As she neared
the fire, however, she could see by Cook’s profile that she was still awake.

“Cook, do you want water
or anything else?” Deirdre asked.  “I’m going to bed now.”

Cook didn’t reply. 
Knowing the older woman was a little deaf, Deirdre took a seat across from her
to try again.  “Cook—”

Her words died as she
realized Cook stared blankly, her head slumped back against the pillow behind
her.  Fear touched Deirdre, and she reached to lay her hand on Cook’s.

‘Twas cold as snow,
stiff as wood.  Deirdre retracted her hand and sat still, her eyes gazing
across at the ugly shell that had housed such an exquisite person.  Her love
for the woman filled her more than it ever had during Cook’s life.

24

West Lea

“I’ll return in a few
weeks,” Calum promised.  The late morning had seen Lowri’s burial, and now
Bethan walked beside him as he led his horse toward the road.  Exhausted from
weeping, Enid slept inside the cottage.  “You have enough food to get by until
then?” he inquired.

“Aye.  Thank you,
Calum,” Bethan answered quietly.  “I cannot thank you enough for every way
you’ve helped us.”  Her voice soothed him as a mother bird with its
hatchlings.  Even in sorrow, serenity accompanied her. 
Could she transmit
such peace to me?

At the road’s edge,
Calum stopped and turned to look at her.  After a moment, she asked, “What is
it, Calum?”

He paused. 
Lord,
help me to see Your way for me.  This is opposed to everything I thought I
would do.  But my feelings…

“Have I done something
wrong, Calum?”  Her face grew serious and pale.  She stood there like a child
about to be chastened for some error.

He shook his head. 
“Nay.”

She reached a hand to his forearm, her eyes beseeching him.  “Tell me,
Calum, please.  Whatever ‘tis, it can’t be any worse than these past days have been.”
He inhaled deeply.  “I hesitate to say it, lass, because you’re grieving over
your mama, and I don’t want to take or seem to take advantage of that.  But
what I must say…that is, I don’t think ‘twill come as a shock to you.  At
least, I hope it won’t.” 

Calum observed her
carefully.  She stood silent, waiting. 
Speak, lad, while she’s listening.
 
“I care about you, Bethan.  Very much.”  He sighed.  “I never thought I would
say that to any lass.  But, truth upon my lips, I admire you more than any lass
I’ve ever met.”

She sucked in her breath
audibly and turned away from him.  Calum felt his insides cave.

“I have spoiled our
friendship, aye?” he whispered, laying a hand on his horse’s neck. 
That I
had kept my feelings to myself!

After a moment, he saw
Bethan shake her head.  When she turned toward him, he thought she blinked away
tears. 
She, too, cares!

“I am promised to
another man.”  Her words sent the arrow of providence to kill his hopes.  “One
of the women you met at the burial…’tis her son I’m to wed.”

“Who is he?”  He
couldn’t stop the words.

She cradled the muzzle
of his horse in her hands.  Calum watched as the animal lipped her fingers in
play.  “Garan, son of the priest from the next village.  I’m to marry him in
the spring.”

The son of a priest.
  “Is he a good man, this Garan?”  He
kept his eyes on the horse.

She swallowed.  “Aye,
very good.  I couldn’t ask for better.”

Calum nodded.  He
couldn’t speak.  There was nothing worthwhile to say, and he wouldn’t make it
worse for them both by vocalizing regrets.

“‘Twas arranged a year
ago.”  She met his eyes.  “I’m sorry, Calum,” she whispered.

They stood silent for a moment.  Then Calum mounted his horse, handling
the reins gently.  “I’ll return in a few weeks,” he restated.  “Grace and
peace.”
He saw the sadness in her eyes.  “Grace and peace,” she replied, and he nudged
his horse into a trot.

Looking back a few
moments later, he saw that she’d already returned to the cottage, not waiting
to see him disappear.

Dunpeledyr

His lips turned up in
pleasure.  For as long as he could remember, the boy-turning-man had loved
sitting by the burn, trying to mimic its childlike laughter in his mind,
thinking of songs as he soaked in the warm sunlight.  Now Solas moved his hand
over the grass and suddenly felt a moist, hot tongue run across his palm.

“Giant!  You came!”  The
dog rarely obeyed his commands immediately, so ‘twas a surprise to have him
come at only a whistle or two.  “Good dog.  Good dog.”  Solas delighted in
feeling the rough heavy fur between his fingers.

“Lad!”

At the unexpected call,
Solas alerted.  He felt Giant’s fur rise beneath his fingers and a soft growl
begin deep within the dog’s chest.  “Easy, boy.  Easy.”  Solas rose to his feet
and turned toward the voice.  “Who is it?” he asked, not at all nervous.  The
fields were his keep, as Dunpeledyr was his father’s.

“My name’s Deoradhan,”
the man said.

He is on foot; I can
tell by the level of his voice.

“I’ve come from
Dunpeledyr, but I think I’ve lost my way.  Can you help me with directions?”

Solas smiled. 
The
new horsemaster.  Mother liked him well.
  “I can do better than that.  I’m
headed back now and will take you myself.  Does that suit you?”

“Aye, it does,” answered
the man.  “And you are…?”

“Solas,” he supplied,
“Lord Weylin and Lady Seonaid’s son.”

The man was silent for
so long that Solas wondered if he’d decided to try to make it back to the
fortress on his own.  “Are you still there, Deoradhan?”

The horsemaster found
his voice.  “Aye, aye, I am.  And you will lead me back, Solas?”

Solas couldn’t help but
laugh at this.  “A blind lad, lead you?  Nay, man, Giant will lead both of us
and see us safely home.  Come, Giant.”

The dog moved forward,
and Solas picked up his walking staff.  “He’ll bark for me to know where to
go,” he explained to his new acquaintance, “but there’s little need of that for
you.”

Solas knew that the man
must be nodding, and he began walking toward the barking ahead.  “Mother has
been pleased with your work these few days, Deoradhan.”

“I’m glad she’s
satisfied, lad,” answered the man.

Solas paused.  “You met
my sister at court, did you not?”

“Aye, I met her.”

“She spoke of you highly
and said you’d studied abroad.”

“Aye, I did.”

“But grew up in Camelot,
at the high king’s table?  How did that come to be?” asked Solas.

“Through a difficult
circumstance,” the horsemaster answered.  “And you, Solas.  Lady Fiona told me
that you come to court but rarely.”

“Aye, ‘tis a far
distance for a blind lad.  And my mother never goes.  I don’t care to go with
my father alone.  You’ll see the fortress just over these hills, I’m told,”
Solas said as he felt the ground rise under his feet.

Oxfield

The young nobleman
turned in his polished saddle and raised one hand in a wave.  From her place on
the steps beside Drustan, Tarian saw that Lancelot’s mouth carried his
perpetual half-smile and that his eyes gleamed even more brightly than usual. 
He
anticipates court life eagerly.
  She glanced over at Drustan, who held his
hand up in send-off.

“So departs Apollo,”
commented the lord, his eyes following his nephew as the horse and rider
cantered through the gate.  The hooves sounded sharp as lightning on the cold
stones.  “Ah, well, I’m sorry to see him go,” he sighed.

Tarian stayed silent,
watching him. 
He looks as if he would go with Lancelot if he could.  I am a
noose around his neck.
  She swiveled her gaze back to Lancelot’s retreating
back and heaved her own sigh of relief, not yearning. 
Never have I been so
glad to see someone leave.  What a bad influence.  Though I don’t know how much
worse Drustan can get.

With a shiver, Tarian
turned toward the hall entrance.  Her husband’s voice stopped her.  “Do you
want to begin seeing candidates for a new head cook this week?”

Tarian spun in
surprise.  “What do you mean?  Meghyn is our head cook.”  Surely the older
woman hadn’t quit.  Not at the beginning of winter.

Drustan furrowed his
eyebrows.  “Meghyn’s dead, Tarian.  I thought you would have heard.”

Dizzy with sudden
distress, she shook her head, clutching her thick shawl around her shoulders. 
“When did she die?” she managed.

“The day after Samhain,”
replied the lord.

I spoke to her only
days before.
  “And where have they buried her?”

“In the cemetery outside
the gates.”  He shrugged.  “At any rate, we need a head cook as soon as
possible.  You’ll take care of it right away?”

Of course.  You
wouldn’t want your meals disturbed,
Tarian thought bitterly, feeling guilty
and justified at once. 
God forgive me, but he cares for no one but
himself.  I know that now. 
Forcefully, she turned her thoughts to the
present.  “Aye, but I don’t think I need to see anyone.  I have a person in
mind already.”

“Who?”  Drustan
frowned.  “I hope ‘tisn’t one of your upstart religious friends, Tarian.  The
head of the kitchen needs to know what she’s doing.  And don’t try to deny you
have such friends.”

Anger mingled with her
sadness over Meghyn’s death.  “I won’t deny it, Drustan.”  She raised her
chin.  “And I think you know me well enough to believe that I will choose
someone competent, my lord.”

Drustan nodded.  “See
that you do, then.  I’ll leave it in your hands.”

Dunpeledyr

“Deoradhan, Lord Weylin
has returned from the south and wishes to see you.”

Deoradhan paused with
the soft brush half-way down the length of the bay horse.  Finally.  Heart
thundering, he turned to the young stable lad.  “Jamie, you’ll finish—”

“Aye, I’ll finish him!”
the boy snatched the brush from Deoradhan and began to draw it over the horse
with long, gentle strokes. 

Not bothering to thank
the boy, Deoradhan rushed from the stable, slipping on the straw under his
leather shoes.  The sun blinded him as he came into the light, and he suddenly
realized that he hadn’t asked where Weylin would meet with him.

Never mind.  I’ll
find him.  And one day, not today, but one day I’ll…
  He let his thoughts
trail off, not daring to complete them yet.  When he had allowed his mind to
travel down that path in the past, the idea had paralyzed him with desire. 
I
will have what is mine by right.  And he will be no more.  No more a torment to
my mother, no more an obstacle in my path.

But for the first time,
one corner of his mind played the traitor. 
But what of Solas?  And what of
Fiona?

The questions tore him
in two without warning, freezing his will with an indecision he’d not known
before.

Oxfield

“Her mother is dead, my
lord,” Calum informed Lord Drustan.  The two men sat in the lord’s private
chambers.  Having traveled all day from the West Lea, Calum wished he could
have retired immediately, but he knew that business came first at Oxfield. 
After handing over his horse to a stable boy, Calum had reported to his lord
without delay.

“And her father?”
Drustan asked, sipping his wine.  His slippered feet stretched out toward the
hearth, and he had wrapped a heavy robe around his shoulders against the early
winter’s chill.

“Away working at another
farm.  No one knows where.  He told some of the neighbors that he planned to
return after the harvest.”

“And he hasn’t come back
yet?  And no word from him?”

“Nay, no word.”

The lord raised his
eyebrows.  “Either he’s dead or a deserter.”

“I’m sure he’s no deserter,
my lord,” Calum asserted.

Lord Drustan smiled. 
“Nay?  Well, then, he’s dead, aye?”

Calum stayed silent. 
Lord,
let him be alive, for Bethan’s sake.

“And if he’s dead, he
died with a debt on his land.  His daughter realizes what that means, aye?” asked
Drustan.

“The land will revert to
you, my lord.”  Calum shook his head.  “Nay, I’m sure the girl hasn’t thought
of that.  But I’ll tell her.”

Lord Drustan nodded and
stood.  “So I’ll see you in a week or so?”

“Aye.”  Calum rose to
his feet.  “My lord, Bethan has no relatives nearby that I know of, and she has
a little sister in her care now.  Would you retain both of them in your
service, my lord?”

The nobleman thought for
just a moment.  “Aye, aye, bring them back with you.  You’ve said the girl is a
fine worker in the kitchen?”

“Aye, the finest I’ve
seen.”

“Good.”

~ ~ ~

Tarian accepted the cup
from Deirdre with a smile of thanks.  A cup of warm mead in her own hands, the
kitchen maid sat across from her.  Deirdre’s eyes roamed over the other servants
in the kitchen, silently supervising them as she talked with her mistress.

“I was very sorry to
hear about Meghyn, Deirdre,” Tarian spoke.  “Did she have any family nearby?”

Deirdre shook her head,
then paused.  “Well…aye, I suppose Deoradhan could count himself her family. 
She raised him from a small lad, I understand, as his nurse.  You ken,
Deoradhan, the lord’s messenger.”