Shana Abe (20 page)

Kyla replied that she did think so, it was always a good thing to be polite, and this satisfied Joseph enough so that he began to point out some of the more interesting sights to her as they walked: Over there, under that rock, he had once found the largest bug he had ever seen; over there, in that knothole, he had once found a nest of baby owls, all now grown up; over there, behind that group of trees, was a meadow, and in the meadow lived a family of rabbits; over there …

Up ahead the rest of the group was scattered in a crooked line between the bushes and the hills, Marla holding the hand of Elysia, Harrick leading the way.

The picnic was held in the meadow of the rabbits, thick with clover and wild grass. From what Kyla had seen of Lorlreau so far it seemed a fairly typical representation of the island: sheltered amid windswept hills, rugged cliffs not very far away, a gentle slope leading off into the darkness of the forest. The song of the ocean was a low murmur this far inland, but still it came, comforting somehow, refreshing.

They ate their bread and cheese mostly in silence, even the children relaxing enough to just watch the sky, or pluck a blade of tender grass, or examine the array of stones decorating the field.

It made Kyla sleepy, warm sunlight and a full stomach, and she would really have liked nothing more than to stretch out on the clover and close her eyes. And then she had to smile, because such a thought seemed so natural to her, yet of course a
lady would never dream of sitting amid the dirt and grass in her fine skirts; a lady would never picnic under the sun without shelter and escort; a lady, in fact, would probably never even have accompanied this hodgepodge in the first place. A real countess—that woman in the looking glass, perhaps—would have stayed behind at the keep, sewing, playing the lute, being submissive and refined and genteel, all the things in life that seemed to elude Kyla.

She thought about those times not so long ago when she had just fallen asleep where she lay: in meadows, under scrub, behind rocks. The stars had been her company, and the ground had been her bed and all the nightsong of the kingdom’s creatures had lulled her to sleep.

Or, alternately, jolted her awake, depending upon how close they were.

It was so strange. She would never have thought she would miss those moments. They had been filled with fear and pain. And yet, and yet … something in her did miss them.

How many other countesses in all the land could claim to have had what she did? Her freedom. Not for long, no. Just a taste of it, really, bittersweet at that. No one to tell her where to go, what to do, how to dress, what to say. No Conner or Helaine, no Alister.

Had her life continued the course it had been on just a year ago, she would have eventually still found herself in this very meadow. Probably not right now. Probably the wedding would have been a few months away still, to be held in Henry’s own cathedral. She would have still ended up the Countess of Lorlreau, albeit in a much more conventional manner. Her parents would have attended, her mother smiling through her tears, her father beaming. Alister would have waved at her covertly when he wasn’t busy fidgeting with his formal tunic. It could have been so lovely.

She shook her head at the sky, wanting to surrender this vision before it became too painful. It was not reality. Reality was harsh and bloody and unfair and confusing. It was brutal and violent, and she was helpless to understand it.

Yet despite all the madness she was still here, sitting in a meadow on an island belonging to the Earl of Lorlreau, still married to the man who had been promised to her. The man who was responsible for the deaths of almost all of her loved ones.

Kyla found a determined line of ants beside her, shiny-backed, marching through their jungle with tiny bread crumbs as their prize. It was something she would have shared with her brother, a common thing they would have found uncommon together, a moment of fascination with a miniature world.

Maybe someday she would have her own son or daughter to share the hidden secrets of this meadow with. Maybe. She couldn’t imagine such a thing right now. But the everyday habits of life might again seep over her, perhaps, and she might start a new family. She and her husband.

Roland watched the party pick up the remains of their meal and begin the hike back into the woods. He lingered where he was, half hidden by the convenient trunk of a pine, reluctant to dispel the vision of Lady Kyla walking her graceful walk beside some boy, nodding her head at his comments, following carefully with her eyes wherever he pointed, providing the perfect attentive audience to her young admirer.

His meeting with the steward at Taldon had gone much more quickly than he had anticipated but still not as quickly as he had hoped. The crops looked good, the fishing was picking up, no one’s roof had blown apart in the last storm, no one’s pigs were dying off; in other words, no major complaints to deal with. The most time-consuming part of it had been greeting everyone again, seeing old friends, learning the faces and names of the new children that had been born on the island in his absence. It was an old, familiar chore, reminding him of how much he missed being here, yet comforting him with the fact that he was finally back, and back with a bride.

Aye, and everyone had wanted to hear of her. They stayed on Taldon for the most part, coming over to the main island
only as they needed to, and so many had missed her arrival yet caught the gossip on the wind. Near the end of his visit most of the men and women were informally gathered in what passed as the common house, breaking bread and peppering him with questions.

He had answered as best he could, but couldn’t hide the fact that he was eager to get back to Lorlreau. He knew there were plans to take Kyla to see the deer today. He knew also he had lists and lists of things to attend to, a myriad of pressing items that all seemed to call out for immediate attention from the lord.

And yet here he was, breathless from hurrying to catch up with the group, now paused just outside their circle, watching her. Watching Kyla, his wife.

She looked different from yesterday, when she had been windblown from the sea, polite and resolute despite the fact that she so obviously hated to travel by water. He had been very proud of her, that she kept her composure no matter her discomfort, and as always he had been entranced with Her radiance. Sea salt and wind could only enhance it, as far as he was concerned.

Today, obviously, a maid had come and done her hair up in some intricate fashion of braids that disguised the uncommon beauty of it, tucked it away behind a translucent veil, and he couldn’t help but regret the loss of that unusual sight. How well he remembered Lady Kyla, riding beside him with her hair loose by her waist, swinging in time to the horses’ steps.

His druid was a true lady now. Or was she?

Roland left the shelter of the pine and moved to catch up with the party.

Kyla spied him first, turning to him from across the field, and he saw immediately that she still could have been that nymph behind the veil and the braids, that unconventional and natural thing in her unrepressed by a maid’s ministerings. The woods and the fields suited her, they always would.

“My lord,” she said. She seemed flustered by something,
seeing him, but then gathered herself and curtsied—in the middle of the meadow, she curtsied—not meeting his eyes any longer, the veil falling forward over her shoulders.

So of course he had to bow back, a great, flourishing bow, which brought laughter from the children and a most fascinating blush to the cheeks of his new countess.

He fell into step beside her, leaving her young suitor to begrudgingly fall back to her other side. Roland clasped his hands behind his back, admiring the day, admiring his wife.

“How did you sleep?” he asked after a while, willing her to look at him.

She didn’t. “I … very well, thank you, and you?”

“Very well, indeed,” he replied, a blatant lie. He wondered if he had slept at all, in fact.

For in spite of his resolution to leave her alone, to let her come to him in the natural timing of her own need, last night he had arrived at the bedroom that used to be his, and now was theirs, and she had been sleeping so sweetly in his bed. One hand had remained outside the covers, lax, fingers slightly cupped against her chest. And strangely enough it was just that vision of her hand that did him in, wrist slightly bent, delicate, perfectly feminine, a pale curve of skin against the darkness of the bed. Just her hand, because that was all he was able to bear to think of.

He had not meant to stay in the room with her. He had meant to check on her, make sure she was fine, that she had everything she needed, that was all. He was going to sleep elsewhere, he didn’t know where, probably with his men in the great hall. Somewhere else.

Instead he found himself slipping out of his clothes and into the bed beside her, incredibly warm and soft, sheer torment. She slept in a thin linen gown, which had ridden up to her hips already. He felt her bare legs brush his as he came closer.

Roland had held his breath but she didn’t wake up, accepting his arm around her waist, her back to him, with complete ease.

And he had watched the night sky spin by for hours, turning the stars away from his window until the dawn had crept with
pearly fingers into the room, all the while holding her, breathing her, wanting her.

When the sun touched the curved stone of the windowsill he had made himself leave. Mayhap it had been a lesson in fortitude. All Roland knew was that he had never spent a more exhausting, and heavenly, night.

The party now entered into the heart of the forest itself, following a thin path worn in the grass and dirt, walking single file. Roland put Kyla ahead of him so he could continue to watch her, envisioning the form of her clearly even past the veil, past the bliaut she wore, the underskirt, perhaps a chemise … with eyelets, and ribbons.…

The interior of the forest was cooler than it had been outside the trees, or perhaps it was just that the clouds had begun to creep over the sun. Either way, Kyla felt the chill of it through the thickness of the trees, the unmistakable scent of the woods surrounding them all.

No one was speaking anymore. It might have been the stillness of the forest that influenced them, it might have been just that they were approaching the lair of the deer. All that she could hear were their footfalls, crunching through old pine needles, past fallen leaves, each step slightly springy on the mossy ground.

Right behind her, especially, she heard the steps of Roland.

The others were slowing, looking back at her, forming a cluster at the edge of a little glen, motioning her to come forward. They parted as she passed through, then the children immediately pressed in behind her.

The glen was small and lush, with tall, wild grass pressed down beneath the shelter of a prickly bush. Beneath its lowest limbs lay three deer, a male and two females, with another male standing alertly nearby.

Elysia, beside her, took her hand. “Who is here?” she asked.

“Bancroft, Belle, Sammy, and Eleanor,” said Marla softly.

“Here she is, Eleanor,” said Elysia, slightly louder. “I’ve brought her for you.” She pulled Kyla a few steps into the glen.

The male already standing lowered his head at their approach, but one of the females climbed delicately to her feet
and came over to them. She was tall, almost past Kyla’s shoulders, with the same ruddy tone and pale white spots that Kyla remembered from before.

Elysia reached out a hand and the deer nudged it with her nose. Kyla found her own hand being offered to the doe, Elysia holding it in place for her. The deer’s nose was wet and cold, but not unpleasant. Kyla saw from the corner of her vision that Roland was on her other side, silent, observing her. The doe began to lick her palm.

“She likes your salt,” said Elysia.

It tickled. Involuntarily she smiled, looking up and meeting Roland’s gaze.

The shadowed sunlight underlit his eyes, turning them darker, more like the depths of the ocean. He was not smiling but she felt his heat: the pleasure he brought her, the intensity of focus that marked his entire body. His arm grazed hers, reaching out to pet the doe, but he was still examining her, scanning her whole face with that darkened gaze.

She was helpless to look away, caught in a fantastic spinning web of the desire she felt from him, drawing her in whether she willed it or no, coaxing her, subduing her, sparking that hidden flame within her she wanted to deny but couldn’t, holding her breathless and suspended in the heavy air around them, the thunderclouds, the fragrant leaves and crushed grass, the promise of rain everywhere.

Someone jostled her, one of the children pushing past to get to the other deer, and the spell was broken.

She saw Roland look down and away, the lines around his mouth tight again.

The doe was done with her hand and was nibbling now on the sleeve of her gown.

“I have something for you, Eleanor,” said Elysia in a singsong voice, reaching into the depths of her dress to produce a red apple. Eleanor immediately turned to it.

The children were squatting by the seated doe and buck, stroking them, offering more treats, while the women watched. Harrick stood in the middle of them all, not seeming to mind the tree branches that brushed his head.

Roland walked in front of Kyla to reach Elysia, taking her hand and leading her over to the other animals, crouching down with the children, talking to them, answering whatever questions they came up with.

Kyla stood back, removed from the scene, watching with that sense of distance that was becoming more familiar of late.

It was really rather extraordinary. The famed and feared hunter, the notorious Hound of Hell, playing now with children and beasts, as gentle as a daisy. No creature showed fear of him here; the children climbed over and around him, the deer allowed his approach and caresses with calm spirits. Elysia stood cradled between his knees, chattering on about something, and he nodded and laughed when he should, handed out more apples from a bag for the children to feed to the animals. Never once looking over at her again.