Romilly did not see the first of the guests arrive for the Midsummer-feast; the day had dawned clear and brilliant, the red sun rising over just a hint of cloud at the horizon. For three days there had been neither snow nor rain, and everywhere in the courtyard flowers were bursting into bloom. She sat up in her bed, drawing a breath of excitement; today she was to fly Preciosa free for the very first time.
This was the final excruciating test for hawk and trainer. All too often, when first freed, the hawk would rise into the sky, wing away into the violet clouds and never return. She faced that knowledge; she could not bear to lose Preciosa now, and it was all the more likely with a haggard who had hunted and fed for herself in the wild.
But Preciosa would return, Romilly was confident of that. She flung off her nightgown and dressed for the hunt; her stepmother had had her new green-velvet habit laid enticingly ready, but she put on an old tunic and shirt, and a pair of Darren's old breeches. If her father was angry, then he must be angry as he would; she would not spoil Preciosa's first hunt by worrying about whether or not she spotted her new velvet clothing.
As she slipped out into the corridor she stumbled over a basket set in her door; the traditional Midsummer-gift from the men of the family to mothers, sisters, daughters. Her father was always generous; she set the basket inside, rummaged through it for a handy apple and a few of the sweets that always appeared there too, and thrust them into her pockets - just what she wanted for hunting, and after a moment she pocketed a few more for Darren and Alderic. There was a second basket there too; Darren's? And a tiny one clumsily pasted of paper strips, which she had seen Rael trying to hide in the schoolroom; she smiled indulgently, for it was filled with a handful of nuts which she knew he had saved from his own desserts. What a darling he was, her little brother! For a moment she was tempted to ask him, too, on this special ride, but after a minute of reflection she sighed and decided not to risk her stepmother's anger. She would arrange some special treat for him later.
She went silently down the hallway and joined Darren and Alderic, who were waiting at the doorway, having let the dogs outside - it was, after all, well after daylight. The three young people went toward the stable.
Darren said, "I told father we were going hawking at dawn. He gave you leave to fly his racer if you would, Alderic."
"He is generous," said Alderic, and went quietly toward the hawk.
"Which one will you take, Darren?" asked Romilly, slipping Preciosa on to her wrist. Darren, raising his eyes to her with a smile, said, "I think you know, sister, that I take no pleasure in hawks. If father had bidden me to exercise one of his birds, I would obey him; but in honor of the holiday, perhaps, he forbore to lay any such command on me."
His tone was so bitter that Alderic looked up and said, "I think he means to be kind, bredu."
"Aye. No doubt." But Darren did not raise his head as they went across to the stable, where the horses were ready.
Romilly set Preciosa on the perch as she saddled her own horse. She would not command any man to disobey her father against his conscience; but she would not ride sidesaddle on this holiday ride, either. If her father chose to punish her, she would accept whatever he chose to do.
It was sheer ecstasy to be on a horse again in proper riding clothes, feeling the cool morning wind against her face, and Preciosa before her on the saddle, hooded but alert. She could feel a trickle of awareness from the bird which was blended of emotions Romilly herself could not identify . . . not quite fear as she had come to know it, not quite excitement, but to her great relief it was wholly unmixed with the terrifying rage she had felt when she began training the hawk. The clouds melted away as they rode into the hills, and under their horses' hooves there was only the tiniest crackling of frost.
"Where shall we go, Darren? You know these hills," Alderic asked, and Darren laughed at them.
"Ask Romilly, not me, my-" he broke off sharply and Romilly, raising her eyes suddenly from her bird, intercepted the sharp, almost warning look Alderic gave the younger man. Darren said quickly, "My sister knows more of the hills and of the hawks than I do, Lord 'Deric."
"This way, I think," she said, "To the far horse-pasture; we can fly the birds there and none will disturb us. And there are always small birds and small animals in the coverts."
As they topped the rise they looked down on the pasture, a wide stretch of hillside grassland, dotted here and there with clumps of berry-briars, small bushes and underbrush. A few horses were cropping the bunchy grass, green with summer, and the fields and bushes were coated with clusters of blue and yellow wildflowers. Insects buzzed in the grass; the horses raised their heads in alert inquiry, but seeing nothing to disturb them, went on nibbling grass. One small filly flung up her head and came trotting, on spindly legs, toward them; Romilly laughed, slid from her horse and went to nuzzle the baby horse; she came not much higher than Romilly's shoulder.
"This is Angel," she said to the young men, "She was born last winter, and I used to feed her with apple scraps - no, Angel, that's my breakfast," she added, slapping the soft muzzle away from the pocket where the horse was trying to rummage. But she relented and pulled her knife, cutting a small slice of apple for the filly.
"No more, now, it will give you a bellyache," she said, and the little animal, evidently taking her word for it, trotted off on her long spindly legs.
"Let us go on, or old Windy will be on us," she said laughing, "He is out to pasture in this field. He is too old a gelding for the mares to take any notice of him, and his teeth are almost too old to chew grass; Father would have him put down this spring, but, he said he should have one last summer and before winter comes. He will send him quietly to his rest; he should not have to endure another winter of cold with his old joints."
"I will grieve when that is my task," said Darren, "We all learned to ride on him, he was like an old rocking-chair to sit on." He looked with a distant sadness at the aged, half-blind pony chomping at soft grass in a corner of the field. "I think Father spared him because he was Ruyven's first horse...."
"He had a good life, and will make a good end," said Alderic, "Unlike men, horses are not allowed to live till they are senile and half mad ... if they gave men such mercy as that, I should not - there would not now be a usurper king on the throne in Hali and the king would not now be wandering in his exile."
"I do not understand," said Romilly. Darren frowned, but Alderic said, "You are not old enough to remember when King Felix died? He was more than a hundred and fifty, an emmasca, very old and without sons; and he had long outlived sense and wit, so he sought to put the eldest son of his youngest brother on the throne, rather than his next brother's elder son, who was rightfully Heir. And so the Lord Rakhal, who flattered and cozened an old and senile king and got the Regents all in his hand with bribes and lies, an aged lecher from whom no woman is safe, nor, 'tis said, the young son of any courtier who would like to curry favor, sits on the throne of the Hasturs at Hali. And Carolin and his sons wander across the Kadarin, at the mercy of any bandit or robber who would like the bounty set on their heads by our most gracious Lord Rakhal ... for I will never give him the name of king."
"Do you know the exiled king?"
Darren said, "The young prince was at Nevarsin among the monks for a time; but he fled when word came that Lord Rakhal sought him there."
"And you support the young prince and the king in exile?" Romilly asked.
"Aye. That I do. And if some kindly courtier had relieved the ancient Felix of his life before 'twas a burden to him, Carolin would now rule in Hali as a just king, rather than turning the holy city of the Hasturs into a cesspool of filth and indecencies, where no man dares come for justice without a bribe in hand, and upstart lordlings and outlanders wrangle and divide our land among them!"
Romilly did not answer; she knew nothing of courts and kings, and had never been even so far as the foothill city of Neskaya, far less into the lowlands, or near to the Lake of Hali. She reached for Preciosa's hood, and then hesitated, showing Alderic the courtesy due a guest.
"Will you fly first, sir?"
He smiled and shook his head. "I think we are all as eager as you to see how Preciosa has come through her training."
With shaking hands, Romilly slipped the hood from Preciosa's head, watching the hawk mantling her feathers. Now. Now was the test, not only of her mastery of the hawk, but of the hawk's acceptance of her training, the hawk's tie to her. She felt she could not bear to see this hawk she had loved, over whom she had spent so many anxious and painful hours, fly from her and never return. It flashed through her mind, is this how Father feels now that Ruyven has gone? Yet she must try the hawk in free flight. Otherwise, she was no more than a tame cagebird, sitting dull on a block, not a wild hawk at all. But she felt tears blurring her sight as she raised her fist and felt the hawk balance a moment, then, with a single long wing-stroke, fly free.
She rose on a long, slanting arch into the sunlight, and Romilly, her mind full of anxious thoughts - will she fly well, has this long period of inactivity dulled her flight? - watched her rise. And something in her rose with the hawk, feeling the wordless joy of the morning sun on her wings, the light dazzling her eyes as she winged upward, rose, hovered, soared, wheeled and winged strongly away.
Romilly let out a long breath. She was gone, she would not return.
"You have lost her, I fear," said Alderic at last "I am sorry, damisela."
Loss and pain, and a sharing of ecstasy, battled in Romilly. Free flight, something of her soaring with the hawk . . . and then fading away in the distance. She shook her head. If she had lost the hawk, then she had never really possessed her. She thought, I would rather lose her than tie her to me against her will....
Why cannot Father see that? She knew the thought was Darren's, because of the bitterness. Then he was not head-blind? Or was his telepathy erratic, as hers had once been, coming only rarely and when she was deeply moved .. . her own had strengthened when she had begun working with the animals, but Darren had none of that gift...
So Preciosa was free, and it was all an illusion. She might as well sit quietly in the house and mind her stitchery for all it would profit her to hang about the hawk-house, trying like a man to work with the birds....
And then it seemed that her heart would stop. For through the infinite pain of loss, a thread of awareness stole, high flight, the world laid out beneath her like one of the maps in her schoolbooks, only colored and curiously sharp, with a sight stronger than her own, and little flickers of life coming from here, from there, small birds in flight, small animals in the grass....
Preciosa! The hawk was still in rapport, the hawk had not flown wild! Darren said something; she did not hear. She heard Alderic saying, "Don't waste your voice, bredu, she cannot hear you. She is with the hawk...."
Romilly sat, with automatic habit, in the saddle, upright, silent, but the real part of her soared over the high pasture, keen with hunger, in the ecstasy of the flight. Supernaturally keen, her sight and senses, aware of the life of small birds, so that she felt she was smacking her lips and almost giggled and broke out of the rapport with the absurdity of it, sudden burning hunger and a desire almost sexual in its ferocity ... down. Down on long soaring wings, the beak striking, blood bursting into her mouth, the sudden fierceness of bursting life and death....
Down. Wavering down. She had just enough of her selfhood left to hold out her fist rock-steady, under the sudden jarring stop of a heavy hawk laden with her kin. She felt tears streaming down her face, but there was no time for emotion; her knife was in her free hand as she cut the head away, thrust her portion, headless rabbit, into her wallet with the free hand; all her own awareness was feeding with the greedy hawk on her portion. Alderic had loosed his own hawk, but she did not know; she was weeping outright with love and relief as she slipped the hood on Preciosa's head.
Preciosa had come back. She had returned of her free Will, out of freedom into bondage and the hood. She choked back her tears as she stroked the hawk with the feather, and knew her hands were shaking.
What have I done to deserve this? How can I possibly be worthy of it? That a wild thing should give up her freedom for me . . . what can I possibly do to make me worthy enough for that gift?
Later they ate the apples and sweets that Romilly had brought, before riding back, through the growing light, to Falconsward. As the young people came through the courtyard they saw strange horses being unsaddled there, one with the banners of Aldaran of Scathfell, and knew that the highest-born of the guests had arrived.
Alderic asked, anxiously, "Is it old lord Gareth still Lord of Scathfell?"
"He is not, my lord; Gareth of Scathfell is not more than forty-nine," said Romilly. Alderic looked relieved, and Romilly intercepted a questioning look between Darren and Alderic. Alderic said shortly, "He might well know me by sight."
"Do you not trust to the laws of-" Darren began, frowned in Romilly's direction, and broke off, and Romilly, bending her head over her hawk, thought; what kind of fool do they think me? I would need be deaf, blind, dumb and head-blind as well, not to know he is allied in partisanship to Carolin in exile, perhaps the young prince himself. And I know as well as he why my father must get no word of it.
"True; Old Gareth died three winters gone, sir," Darren said, "and was half-blind at that. Will all of the folk of Scathfell be here, Romilly?"
Romilly, relieved that the tension had passed, began to recite the grown sons and daughters of the middle-aged lord of Scathfell; his Heir, yet another Gareth ("But they call him Garris, in lowland fashion," she added), "Dom Garris is not wed, he has buried three wives; I think he is only in his thirtieth year, but looks older, and is lame with a wasting disease of one leg."
"And you dislike him," said Alderic, and she grinned, her impish smile. "Why, how could you possibly know that, Lord Alderic? But it is true; he is always fumbling the maidens in corners, he was not above pawing at Mallina last year, when she had not even put up her ban-...."
"Lecherous old goat!" Darren said, "Did Father know?"
"None of us wanted a quarrel with neighbors; Luciella only told Mallina and me to keep away from him if we could do so without being uncivil. Then there is Dom Edric, who is blind, and his wife Ruanna, who keeps the estate books as well as any man. And there are the young twins, Cathal and Cinhil, they are not so young either - they are Ruyven's age; twenty-two. And Cathal's wife, who was one of my childhood friends - Darissa Storn. Cinhil is not wed, and Father once spoke of betrothing us, but nothing came of it, which gladdened my heart - I would not want to live at Scathfell, it is like a bandit's hold! Though I would not mind being close to Darissa, and Cinhil is a nice enough boy."
"It seems to me you are over young to be wedded," said Alderic, and Darren laughed. "Women marry young in these hills, and Romilly is fifteen. And, I doubt not, she thinks it long till she is in a home of her own, and out from Luciella's guidance - what's the ancient saying, where two women rule a hearthfire, the thatch may burn with the sparks flying . .. yet I think Father could do better for Romilly than a younger son, a fourth son at that. Better lady in a cottage than serving-woman in a castle, and when Dom Garris weds again - or if old Scathfell should take a wife - Cinhil's wife would be lowest of all, not much better than waiting-women to all the rest. Darissa was pretty and bright when she was wedded, and now she looks ten years older than Cathal, and all out of, shape with bearing children."
"I am in no haste to marry," Romilly said, "And there are men enough, I suppose, in these hills; Manfred Storn is Heir to Storn Heights, and he is about Darren's age, so it's likely, when I am old enough to many, Father will speak to old Lord Storn. The folk of High Crags will be coming too, and they have a couple of unmarried sons and daughters, it's likely that they will marry Rael into that kindred, or me." She shrugged. "What does it matter, after all? Men are all alike."
Alderic chuckled. "By those words I know how young you are, Mistress Romilly - I hope your father does not seek to have you married till you are old enough to distinguish between one man or another, or you may awaken some day and discover you are married to the very last man on earth you would have sought for husband. Shall we go in the house? The sun is high, and your stepmother said something of a festival breakfast - and I smelled the cooks making spicebread as we passed the kitchens!"
Romilly only hoped, now, that she could get up to her room unobserved, to change her clothing and bathe before the festal meal. But, coming around a corridor, she almost bumped into a tall, pale, fattish man with fair hair, coming from the big bathing-room with hot pools, fed by volcanic springs. He was wrapped in a loose robe and his hair was damp and mussed; he had evidently gone to soak away the fatigue of riding. Romilly curtseyed politely as she had been taught, then remembered that she was wearing breeches - curse it! If she had gone on about her business he might simply have taken her for an out-of-place servant boy on some errand. Instead his pale flabby face tightened in a dimply creased smile.
"Mistress Romilly," he said, his eyes sliding up and down her long legs, "An unexpected pleasure. Why, what a pair of legs you have, girl! And you have - grown," he added, the pallid china-blue eyes resting on the straining laces of the old tunic pulled over her full breasts, "It will be a pleasure to dance with you tonight, now I have had the delights of seeing what so many women so carefully conceal from their admirers. ..."
Romilly flushed, feeling heat in her face, ducked her head and escaped. Through the scalding heat flooding to her ears, she thought, wretchedly, Now do I know what Luciella meant, that I was too big to run about in breeches - I might as well be naked, the way he looked at me. All her life she had run about in her brother's clothes, as free of self-consciousness or shame as if she were another lad; now, under the man's lustful eyes, she felt as if her body had actually been rudely handled; her breasts prickled and there was a curious crawling sensation lower down in her belly.
She took refuge in her room, her heart pounding, and went swiftly to the washstand, splashing her hot face with cold water to cool it.
"Luciella was right Oh, why didn't she tell me?" she wondered wretchedly, then realized that there was no way to speak of it, and if she had been told, without this experience, she would only have laughed it away. Her hands were still shaking as she undid the laces of the boy's tunic, dropped the breeches to the floor, and for the first time in her life, looked clearly in the mirror and saw her body as a woman's. She was still slender, her breasts scarcely rounded, the hips scarcely more flared than a boy's, and the long legs were really boyish. But, she thought, if ever I wear boy's clothes again, I shall be sure they fit me loosely enough that I truly look like a male.
Through the glass connecting doors to Mallina's room she saw her sister exploring her Midsummer-baskets; like Romilly herself, she had three, which made Romilly turn back to her father's generous basket, with more fruits and sweets than flowers - The MacAran had quite a realistic view of little girls' appetites, which were just as greedy as those of young boys - and the smaller basket she thought was from Darren. Now, examining it closely, she realized that it was filled with garden and hothouse flowers, exquisitely arranged, and with one or two exotic fruits which he must have gotten in Nevarsin, since they did not grow near Falconsward. Then she saw the card, and read in surprise; I have neither sister or mother to receive
Midsummer-Gifts; accept these with my homage, Alderic, student.
Mallina burst into her room.
"Romy, aren't you dressed yet? We mustn't be late for Festival breakfast! Are you going to wear your holiday gown? Calinda is with Mother, will you button the back of my dress for me? What beautiful flowers, Romy! Mine are all garden flowers, though there is a beautiful bunch of ice-grapes, as sweet as honey - you know, they leave them on the trees in Nevarsin till they freeze, like redfruit, and then they lose their sourness and grow sweet. . . Romy, who do you think he is? He looks so romantic - do you think Dom Alderic is trying to court one of us? I would be happy indeed to be betrothed to him, he is so handsome and gallant, like the hero of some fairy-tale-"
"What a silly chatterbox you are, Mally," said Romilly, but she smiled, "I think he is a thoughtful guest, no more; no doubt he has sent to mother a basket as fine as this."
"Domna Luciella will not appreciate it," Mallina said, "Still she thinks Festival Night is a heathen observance not worthy of a good cristoforo; she scolded Calinda because she had Rael making Festival baskets, but Father said everyone deserved a holiday and one excuse was as good as another for giving the farm workers a day of leisure and some well-deserved bonus gifts, and he should let Rael enjoy the Festival while he was still a child - he would be as good a cristoforo as he need, if he was a good boy and minded the Book of Burdens."
Romilly smiled. "Father has said much the same every Festival since I can remember," she said, "And I doubt not he likes spicebread and sweetbaked saffron cakes and fruits as well as anyone else. He quoted from the Book of Burdens that the beast should not be grudged his gram, nor the worker his wage, nor his holiday, and Father may be a harsh man, but he is always just to his workmen." She did up the last button on the gown and spun her sister around. "How fine you are, Mally! But it is fortunate you do not wear this dress on a work day - it needs a maid to do it up for you! That is why I had my festival gown made with laces, so I could do it up for myself." She finished fastening the embroidered cuffs of her under-tunic, slipped the long loose surplice, rust-red and embroidered with butterflies, over her head, and turned for Mallina to tie up her braid at her neck with the butterfly-clasp that modestly hid the neck of her frock.
Mallina turned to choose a flower for her hair from the baskets. "Does this rose-plant suit me? It is pink like my dress . . . oh, Romy, look!" she said, with a scandalized half-breath, "Saw you not, he has put golden-flower, dorilys, into your basket!"
"And so what, silly?" asked Romy, choosing the blue kireseth blossom for her knotted braid, but Mallina caught her hand.
"No, indeed, you must not, Romilly - what, don't you know the flower-language? The gift of golden-flower is - well, the flower is an aphrodisiac, you know as well as I do what it means, when a man offers a maiden dorilys...."
Romilly blushed, again feeling the lustful eyes on her. She swallowed hard - Alderic, was he too looking at her with this kind of greed? Then common sense came back. She said crisply, "Nonsense; he is a stranger to these hills, that is all. But if that kind of talk is commonplace among silly girls, I will not wear the flower - shame to them, for it is the prettiest of all the flowers, but do you choose me a flower, then, for my braids."
The sisters went down in their finery to the family feast, bearing with them, as custom dictated, the fruits from their festival baskets to be shared with father and brothers. The family was gathered in the great dining-hall rather than the small room used for family meals, and Domna Luciella was there, welcoming her guests. Rael was there in his best suit, and Calinda in a new gown too, dark and decent as suited her station, but well-made and new, not a shabby or outworn family castoff; Luciella was a kind woman, Romilly thought, even to poor relations. Darren wore his best clothing too, and Alderic, though his best was sombre as befitted a student at Nevarsin, and bore no trace of family colors or badges. She wondered who he was, and kept to herself the thought that had come to her, that he might well be one of the king's men, exiled, or even the young prince . .. no, she would say nothing; but she wished that Darren had trusted her with his secret.
The middle-aged Gareth of Scathfell, as the man of highest rank in the assembly, had been given the high seat usually assigned to The MacAran at his own table; her father had taken a lower place. The young couples and single men and women were at a separate table; Romilly saw Darissa seated beside Cathal and would have joined her friend, but her stepmother gestured to an empty seat left beside Dom Garris; Romilly blushed, but would not incite a confrontation here; she took her seat, biting her lip and hoping that in the very presence of her parents he would say nothing to her.
"Now, clothed as befits your beauty, you are even more lovely, damisela,'' he said, and that was all; the words were perfectly polite, but she looked at his pale slab of face with
dislike and did not answer. But after all, he had done nothing, the words had been polite enough, what could she say, there was no way she could complain of him.
There were delicacies of every kind, for this was breakfast and mid-day meal in one; the feasting went on for some time, and before the dishes were cleared, the musicians had come in and begun to play. The curtains had been drawn back to their furthest to let in the midsummer sun, and the doors flung open; the furniture in the lower hall had been moved away to clear it for dancing. As Darren led his sister out for the first dance, as custom demanded, she heard them discussing, at the high table, the men that had been sent out to seek the exiled Carolin.
"It's nothing to me," The MacAran said, "I care not who sits on the throne; but I'll not have my men bribed to be thief-takers, either. There was a time when MacArans ruled this as a kingdom; but then, we had little to do but keep it by force of arms, and I've no wish to make my lands an armed camp, and the Hasturs are welcome to rule as they will; but I curse their brotherslaying wars!"
"I had heard word that Carolin and his older son had crossed the Kadarin," Lord Scathfell said, "No doubt to seek refuge with my cousin of Aldaran - there is old hatred between the Hastur-kin and the Aldarans."
Her father drew up his mouth in a one-sided grin. "None so keen at the hunting of wolves as the dog with wolf blood," he said, "Were not the Aldarans, long ago, come from that same Hastur-blood?"
"So they say," Lord Scathfell said with a grim nod, "I put no stock in all those tales of the children of Gods . . . though, the Gods know, there is laran in the Aldaran line, even among my own sons and daughters, as among yours; have you not one son in a Tower, Dom Mikhail?"
Her father's brow clouded. "Not by my will or wish, nor by my leave," he spat out, "I give no name of son to him who dwells among the Hairimyn. On his lips the harmless word was an obscenity; he calmed himself with an effort and added, "But this is no talk for a festal board. Will it please you to dance, my Lord?"
"I will leave that for younger folk," said Lord Scathfell, "But lead your lady out to dance if you will," he added, and The MacAran turned dutifully to Lady Luciella and led her on to the dance floor.
After the first ceremonious dance, the younger folk gathered for a ring-dance, all the young men in the outer ring, and the girls and women in the inner one; the dancing grew riotous after a bit, and Romilly saw Darissa drop out of the dancers, her hand pressed to her side; she went to fetch her friend a drink, and sat beside her, chatting. Darissa wore the loose ungirdled gown of a pregnant woman, but even so she loosed the clasps on her tunic, and fanned herself - she was red and panting.
"I shall dance no more till this one is born," she said, pressing her long fingers against her swollen body, "He holds his own dance, I think, and will dance from now till harvest-time, mostly when I am trying to sleep!" Cathal came and bent solicitously over his wife, but she gestured him back to the dancing. "Go and dance with the men, my husband, I will sit here for a little and talk with my old playmate - what have you been doing with yourself, Romilly? Are you not betrothed yet? You are fifteen now, are you not?"
Romilly nodded. She was shocked at her friend, who had been so pretty and graceful but three years ago; now she had grown heavy-footed, her small breasts swollen and thick beneath the laces of her gown, her waist clumsy. In three years, Darissa had had two children and now she was bearing another already! As if reading her thoughts, Darissa said with a bitter twist of her lips, "Oh, I know well, I am not so pretty as I was when I was a maiden - enjoy your last year of dancing, Romilly, 'tis likely that next year you too will be on the sidelines, swelling with your first; my husband's father spoke of wedding you to Cinhil, or perhaps Mallina; he thinks her more docile and lady-like."
Romilly said in shock, "But need you have another so soon? I should think two in three years was enough."
Darissa shrugged and smiled. "Oh, well, it is the way of things - this one I think I will feed at my own breast and not put out to nurse, and perhaps I will not get with child again this year. I love my little ones, but I think three is enough for a time."
"It would be more than enough for me for a lifetime," said Romilly vigorously, and Darissa laughed. "So say we all when we are young girls. Lord Scathfell is pleased with me because I have already given them two sons, and I hope this one is a daughter; I would like a little girl - later I will take you to see my babies; they are pretty children, little Gareth has red hair; maybe he will have laran, a magician for the Towers."
"Would you want him to-" Romilly murmured, and Darissa laughed. "Oh, yes, Tramontana Tower would be ready to take him, the Aldarans are Hastur-kin from away back before the Hundred Kingdoms, and they have old ties with Tramontana." She lowered her voice. "Have you truly no news of Ruyven? Did your father really disown him?"
Romilly nodded, and Darissa's eyes widened; she and Ruyven had played together as children, too.
"I remember, one year at Midsummer, he sent me a Festival-basket," she said, "and I wore the sprig of golden-flower he sent me; but at the end of that Festival, Father betrothed me to Cathal, and we have been happy enough, and now there are our children - but I think kindly of Ruyven, and I would gladly have been your sister, Romilly. Do you think The MacAran will give you to Cinhil if he should ask? Then should we be sisters indeed."
"I do not dislike Cinhil," Romilly said, but inwardly she shrank away; three years from now, then, would she be like Darissa, grown fat and short of breath, her skin blotched and her body misshapen from breeding? "The one good thing about such a marriage would be, it would bring me close to you," she said truthfully, "but I see no haste to marry; and Luciella says, fifteen is too young to settle down; she would as soon not have us betrothed till we are seventeen or more. One does not breed a good bitch in her first heat."
"Oh, Romilly," Darissa said, blushing, and they giggled together like children.
"Well, enjoy the dancing while you can, for your dancing days will be over soon," Darissa said. "Look, there is Darren's friend from the monastery - he looks like a monk in his dark suit; is he one of the brethren, then?"
Romilly shook her head. "I know not who he is, only that he is a friend of Darren's and of the Castamir clan," she said, and kept her suspicions to herself. Darissa said, "Castamir is a Hastur clan! I wonder he will come here freely - they held by the old king, I heard. Does your father hold to Carolin, or support the new king?"
"I do not think Father knows or cares, one king or another," said Romilly, but before she could say more, Alderic stood beside them.
"Mistress Romilly? It is a set dance - will you partner me?"
"Do you mind being left alone, Darissa?"
"No, there is Cathal; I will ask him to fetch me a glass of wine," Darissa said, and Romilly let Alderic draw her into the forming set, six couples - although one of them was Rael and Jessamy Storn who was eleven, and half a head taller than her partner. They faced one another, and Darren and Jeralda Storn, at the head of the line, led off, taking hands, circling each couple in the complex figures of the dance. When it came Alderic's turn she reached confidently for his hands; they were square, hard and warm, not the soft hands of a scholar at all, but calloused and strong like a swordsman's. An unlikely monk, indeed, she thought, and put her mind to the intricacies of the dance, which at the end of the figure put her opposite Darren, and then opposite her brother Rael. When the set brought her briefly into partnership, crossing hands and circling with Cinhil, he squeezed her hand and smiled, but she cast her eyes down and did not return the smile. So Lord Scathfell thought to marry her to Cinhil this year, so she could be fat and swollen with baby after baby like Darissa? Not likely! Some day, she supposed, she would have to be married, but not to this raw boy, if she could help it! Her father was not so much in awe of the Aldaran Lords as that, and besides, it was only Aldaran of Scathfell, not Aldaran of Castle Aldaran. Scathfell was the richest and most influential of their neighbors, but The MacAran had been an independent landholder since, she had heard, before the raising of Caer Donn city!
Now the set brought her face to face with Dom Garris again. He smiled at her and pressed her hand too, and she blushed, holding her own hands cold and stiff against his, just touching as the dance required. She was relieved when the set brought them back to their original places, with Alderic facing her. The musicians swung into a couple-dance, and she saw Dom Garris start toward her purposefully; she grabbed at Alderic's sleeve and whispered, "Will you ask me to dance, Dom Alderic?"
"To be sure," he said, smiling, and led her out. She said after a moment, returning his smile as they left Garris staring after them, "You are not a clodhopper at all."
"No?" He laughed. "It has been long since I danced, save with the monks."
"You dance in the monastery?"
"Sometimes. To keep warm. And there is a sacred dance at some of the services. And some of the students who are not to be of the brethren go into the village and dance at Festival, though I-" it seemed to her that he hesitated a moment, "I had small leisure for that"
"They keep you so hard at your studies? Domna Luciella said that Darren looks thin and pale - do they give you enough to eat, and warm clothes?"
He nodded. "I am used enough to hardships," he said, and fell silent, while Romilly enjoyed the dance, the music. He said, as they separated at the end of the music, "You wear my flowers - I hope they pleased you?"
"Very much," she said, then felt shy again; had he put the dorilys into her basket as the invitation Mallina said it was, or was it simply a stranger's unfamiliarity with the countryside? She would have liked to ask, but was too bashful. But again it was as if he read her thoughts; he said abruptly, "Darren told me - I meant nothing improper, believe me, Mistress Romilly. In my country - I am a lowlander - the starflower, dorilys, it is the gift of the lord Hastur to the Blessed Cassilda, and I meant a courteous compliment in honor of the day, no more."
She said, smiling up at him, "I do not think anyone would believe you capable of any improper innuendo, Dom Alderic."
"I am your brother's friend; you need not say Dom to me," said Alderic. "After all, we have hunted and flown hawks together."
"Nor need you call me damisela," she said, "My brothers and sister call me Romy."
"Good; we shall be even as kinfolk, as I am to Darren," said Alderic. "Will you have some wine?" They had moved close to the refreshment-table. She shook her head and said ingenuously, "I am not allowed to drink wine in company."
"Shallan, then?" He dipped her up some of the sweet fruit-drink. She sipped it thirstily. After the romping dance she knew that her hair was beginning to come down, but she did not want to withdraw to the giggling girls in the corner and pin it up.
"You are fond of hawking?" she asked him.
"I am; the women of our family train sentry-birds. Have you ever flown one, dcani - Romy?"
She shook her head. She had seen the great fierce birds, but said, "I knew not that they could be tamed! Why, they can bring down a rabbithorn! I should think they were no great sport."
"They are not flown for sport," Alderic said, "but trained for war, or for fire-watch; it is done with laran. A sentry-bird in flight can spy out intruders into a peaceful countryside, or bandits, or a forest-fire. But it is no task for sport, and in truth the birds are fierce, and not easy to handle. Yet I think you could do it, Romilly, if your laran was trained."
"It is not, nor likely to be," she said, "and doubtless you know why, if Darren has told you so much. Sentry-birds!" She felt a little shiver, half pleasant, trickle down her spine at the thought of handling the great fierce birds of prey. "I think it would be no harder to train a banshee!"
Alderic chuckled. "I have even heard of that in the far hills," he said, "And banshee-birds are very stupid; it takes little craft to handle them, only to rear them from hatchlings and feed them on warm food; and they will do what you will, spying out game-tracks with the warmth left in the ground, and they make fine watch-birds, for they will scream terribly at any strange smell."
Now she did shiver; the thought of the great, blind, flightless carnivores trained for watchman-duty. She said, "Who needs a banshee for that when a good Rouser hound is as useful, and much nicer to have around the house?"
"I'll not argue that," said Alderic, "and I would sooner climb High Kimbi in my bare feet than try to train a banshee; but it can be done. I cannot handle even sentry-birds; I have not the gift, but some of the women of our family do so, and I have seen it done in the Tower, where they use them for fire-watch; their eyes see further than any human's." Soft strains of music began again and he asked, "Would you like to dance this one?"
She shook her head. "Not yet, thanks - it is warm, the sun coming in like this."
Alderic bowed to someone behind her, and Romilly turned to see Luciella standing there. She said, "Romilly, you have not yet danced with Dom Garris!"
he said scornfully, "It is like him to complain to my stepmother instead of coming like a man to ask me himself."
Romilly! He is heir to Scathfell!"
I don't care if he is heir to Cloudland Staircase or to Zandru's ninth hell, if he wants to dance-" she began, but Dom Garris appeared behind Luciella and said, with his plump smile, "Will you honor me with a dance, Mistress Romilly?"
here was, after all, no way to refuse without being really rude. He was her parents' guest, even though she felt he should dance with the women his own age and not hang around gawking at the young girls. She accepted his hand on her wrist to lead her out to dance. After all, he could not say or do anything rude in the full view of her father and her brothers, and half the countryside round. His hand on hers was unpleasantly damp, but she supposed that was not anything he could help.
Why, you are light as a feather on your feet, damisela- quite the young lady! Who would have thought it this morning, seeing you in your boots and breeches like a boy - I suppose all the young lads in the countryside are hanging around you, heh?"
Romilly shook her head silently. She detested this kind of talk, though she knew it would have made Mallina giggle and blush. When they had finished the dance he asked her for another, but she declined politely, saying she had a stitch in her side. He wanted to fetch her wine or a glass of shallan, but when she said she only wished to sit down by Darissa for a little he sat beside them and insisted on fanning her. Fortunately, by the time that dance was over, the musicians had struck up another ring-dance and all the young folks were gathering into circles, laughing and kicking up their heels in the rowdy figure. Dom Garris finally went away, sulking, and Romilly released her breath.
"You have made another conquest," Darissa teased.
"Not likely; dancing with me is like grabbing at a scullery-girl, something he can do without committing himself to anything," Romilly said. "The Aldarans of Scathfell are too high to marry into our clan, except for their younger sons. Father spoke once of marrying me to Manfred Storn, but he's not fifteen yet, and there's no hurry. Yet, though I am not high enough to marry, I am too well-born for him to seduce without reprisal, and I do not like him well enough for that." She smiled and added, "The worst thing about wedding with Cinhil, should he offer for me, would be having to call that great fat slug brother. Yet kinship's dues, I dare say, would at least make it unseemly for him to pay me more than the attention due a brother's wife."
"I would not count on that," said Darissa in an undertone, "When I was pregnant with little Rafael, last year, he came and sought me out - he said that since I was already with child I need fear no unseemly consequences, and when I chided him, he said he looked backward to the old days in the hills, when brothers and sisters held all their wives in common . . . and surely, he said, Cathal would pay him a brother's kindness and not care if I shared his bed now and again, since his wife was also big with breeding - I kicked his shins and told him to find a servant-girl for his bed if he could pay one to overlook his ugliness; and so I wounded his pride and he has not come near me again. To tell the truth he is not so bad-looking, only he whines and his hands are always flabby and damp. And-" she added, showing the dimples which were almost the only thing unchanged from the time when she and Romilly had been girls together, "I love Cathal too well to seek any other bed."
Romilly blushed, and looked away; reared among animals, she knew perfectly well what Darissa was talking about, but Luciella was a strictly-observing cristoforo and did not think it seemly to speak of such things among young girls. Darissa mistook her blush. She said, almost defensively, "Well, I bear children without much trouble - I am not like Garris's wife; she left no living children, and died in childbirth just before Midwinter. He has worn out three wives, Dom Garris, trying to get him an Heir, and I have marked that all his children die at birth - I have no wish to get myself with child by him or I should follow his wives into death, no doubt.
"My older sister went for a time to Tramontana Tower when she was a girl, and she said she had heard there about the days of the old breeding-program, when the Aldarans had some strange gifts of loran, but they were bound, in their line, to lethal genes - do you know what those are? Yes, of course, your father breeds his own horses, does he not? And Cathal has them not, but I think Dom Garris will leave no heir, so one day my sons by Cathal will inherit Scathfell-" Darissa rattled on.
"And you will rule the roost as their mother," said Romilly, laughing, but then Rael came up and pulled them into the set-dance, saying they had not enough women to make up a second set, and she dropped that line of thought.
The dancing and feasting went on all day, and before midnight The MacAran and Lord Scathfell and the rest of the older people, with their ladies, retired to rest, leaving the young people to their dancing and merry-making. Rael was taken away by the governess, also the protesting Mallina, who was comforted only by seeing that her friends Jessamy and Jeralda were also being sent to bed. Romilly was tired, and almost ready to go with the children - she had, after all, been awake before daylight. But Alderic and her brother Darren were still dancing, and she would not admit that her brother could stay awake longer than she could. But she saw, with a little sinking awareness, that Darissa was leaving the hall - pregnant as she was, she said, she needed her sleep.
I will stay close to Darren. In my brother's presence Dom Garris cannot come too near for comfort . . . and then she wondered why she was worrying; he had, after all, offered her no word out of the way, and how could she complain, after all, of a mere look? Nevertheless, the memory of his eyes on her made her squirm; and now she thought about it, she realized that all this day and evening she had been somehow, in the back of her mind, aware of his eyes on her.
Is this, then, laran?
I would rather not dance at all, I would rather sit here and talk about hawks and horses with my brother and his friends....
But Cinhil claimed her for a dance, and then she could not in courtesy refuse Dom Garris. The dancing was a little wilder, the music faster, now that the elderly and more staid people had left the hall. He whirled her about till she was dizzy, and she was conscious that his hands were no longer decorously on her sleeve but that he was holding her somewhat closer than was comfortable, and when she tried self-consciously to squirm away from them he only chuckled and eased her closer still.
"No, now, you cannot tell me you are so shy as that," he said, and she could tell from the flushed look of his face and the slight slurring of his words that he had drunk over long of the stronger wine at the high table, "Not when you run about with those lovely long legs showing in breeches, and your breasts showing through a tunic three sizes too small, you cannot play Lady Modesty with me now!" He pulled her close and his lips nuzzled her cheek, but she twisted indignantly away.
"Don't!" And then she said, crossly, "I do not like the stink of too much wine on your breath, and you are drunk, Dom Garris. Let me go."
"Well, you should have been drinking more," he said easily, and guided them in the dance into one of the long galleries that led away from the hall. "Here, give me a kiss, Romy-"
"I am not Romy to you," she said, and pulled her head away from him, "and if you had not been spying about where you had no right to be, you would not have seen me in my brother's clothes, which I wear only in the sight of my little brothers. If you think I was showing myself to you, you are very much mistaken."
"No, only to that haughty young sprig of the Hali’imyn who was squiring you to the hunt and hawking?" he asked, and laughed. She said, twisting her rumpled hair free, "I want to go back to the hall. I did not come out here with you of my own will, I just did not want to make a scene on the dance floor. Take me back to the hall, or I will shout to my brother now! And then my father will horsewhip you!"
He laughed, holding her close. "Ah, on a night like this, what do you think your brother will be doing, then? He would not thank you for calling him away from what every young man will be about, on Midsummer-Night. Must I alone be refused? You are not such a child as all that. Come, give me a kiss then-"
"No!" Romilly struggled away from his intruding hands, crying now, and he let her go.
"I am sorry," he said gently, "I was testing you; I see now that you are a good girl, and all the Gods forbid I should interfere with you." He bent and dropped a suddenly respectful kiss on her wrist. She swallowed hard, blinked back her tears and fled from the gallery, back through the hall and upstairs, where she bundled off her festival gown and hid beneath her warm quilts, sobbing.
How she hated him!