Isolde shoved impatiently at
the strands of hair clinging to her sweaty cheeks. The clatter of hooves
in the yard told her the men were back. She should go and see how they
fared, but her exhausted muscles resisted her prompting.
Worse than exhaustion was
the fear that sapped her strength and clouded her mind. She worried, for
some reason, that the dark, arrogant interloper in her quiet world would
not return from his night's adventure in one piece. Why she should fear
for Sir Albion she had no idea, save only that she did. Until she saw
him safe her nerves would not settle.
At last the refugees from
the burned farms and village were abed. All the wounded had been tended,
the hungry fed, the frightened children calmed. She wished with all her
heart she could sink into a hot bath, then slip between the furs on her
bed and stay there the rest of the day. Unfortunately she still had a
duty that would not wait.
One door at the far end
of the hall opened. Men entered quietly, without the shouting and
clatter soldiers were wont to use. The returning soldiers filed to
benches and sat, looking toward the kitchens with hungry eyes.
Isolde caught Gretta's
attention and motioned toward the kitchens. Gretta nodded and pushed
through the heavy door. No doubt Jack had bread and cheese enough to
stem their hunger until he could bring out something more substantial.
Then she recognized
Albion's tall form and graceful movement. Her heart leapt into her
throat as he removed his helmet and handed it to a slim redheaded lad
that could only be Young Hugh.
She lifted her skirts and
ran toward them as fast as the crowded hall would allow. As she
approached, Albion laid a hand on Hugh's shoulder and spoke in a soft
yet commanding voice. "First go let your grandsire know you are
safe. Then tend to my armor before you sleep."
Young Hugh dashed off to
obey as if God himself had given the command.
Isolde caught Albion
before he could turn away. "What news?"
The look he gave her
might have been carved in stone. "We caught them."
"And how many
injured? Were any killed?"
He shook his head.
"A few, but most of the raiders escaped into the woods. They seem
to know this country well."
"I meant of my own
people." She shot the best glare she could summon at him.
"What care I for the fate of outlaws? How many wounded have we to
tend, and how many more dead to bury?"
Before Albion could
answer, Sir Josce spoke from behind him. "Fortunately our losses
were light. Three wounded in all, two of your men and one of our own.
Two more of your guardsmen killed, I fear."
"I am sorry. I will
get my things and see to the wounded immediately." She hesitated,
then gave Josce a smile. 'Thank you, by the way, for returning Hugh. It
will mean much to his grandfather."
"You did not ask
after our foes." Albion's low tones warned her he would not be put
off in this. Worse, Isolde knew she did want to hear his answer.
"And who were
they?"
His words fell like ice.
"They were humans, and well trained. I suspect your friend, Conall,
had something to do with them."
"No!" Isolde
turned on him, all weariness washed from her muscles by pure fury.
"Conall could not do something this brutal. You know him not at all
or you would not say such things."
"I know war can do
things to a man he would rather not admit once it is done, lady. Your
beloved Conall may not be the paragon knight you see him to be."
"Conall McQuillion
may not be perfect, but he could not attack innocent people. He would
not! That kind of animal ferocity I leave to you Deryni and your tyrant
king!"
Albion's hands clenched
into fists. "Lady, you will pay for such words with your life if
you do not take care --"
Isolde knew she had gone
too far, but she could not stop. She was far too tired for sense.
"Or you will what? Take my family from me? Reduce me to chattel?
Thank you, my lord, but that has already been done." She tossed her
head in what she hoped was a gesture of defiance. "Now, if you will
excuse me, my lord, I have wounded men to tend and a father to
bury."
As she turned to leave,
Young Hugh dashed back to them, his face flushed from excitement.
"I have seen my grandsire, m'lord. I can tend your armor now."
Isolde gaped as Albion
nodded and gave Hugh a smile that seemed to light the room. "Well
enough, lad. But remember your first thought should be courtesy to the
ladies present. Give your lady your respect, then get you gone."
Hugh spared her the
barest nod and dashed from the hall.
"Just a moment!
Hugh!" Isolde barely had the chance to speak before the boy was
gone, taking Albion's helm with him. She turned her frustration and
confusion on Albion. "What was that all about?"
His smile warned her she
was not going to like his answer. "I saw the boy's skill last
night, and felt he needed a chance to better himself. So I took him into
my service."
"You what?"
Isolde shook her head. This was too much! "How dare you do such a
thing without consulting me? Hugh is vassal in the service of this
earldom, my lord. He is not free to come and go as he pleases."
"And as this earldom
now rests in the hands of the king, my lady, until you wed I am acting
in His Highness's stead." Albion laid a hand on her shoulder. His
warm touch seemed to sear through the wool gown and shift and blaze
across her skin like wildfire. "Trust me, my lady. The lad will do
well in my service."
He was trying to pacify
her. Isolde shook off his touch. "What will you teach him, my lord
conqueror? Murder? Theft? Rape? Will such lessons serve him better than
the love and wisdom of his grandfather? I think not.
"And have you no
thought at all for an old man who has no other family?" she
continued before he had the chance to answer. "Or are you entirely
careless of his heartbreak? After all, you have divided so many families
what is one more?"
She drew herself up with
all the dignity she could manage and gave the handsome Deryni knight her
most regal glare. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I am sure you
can see to your own needs."
The funeral mass was
brief, and the internment in the rough cut crypt more than grim. Albion
and Josce stood beside Isolde as she laid her father in the carved niche
at the back of a small chamber.
They had no piper, as
their only skilled player had followed Brandonn in the Haldane's service
and died with him that horrible day in Rhemuth. Instead Isolde tried to
fill the lack with her harp.
Unfortunately her broken
nail combined with an over stressed string at the most inopportune
moment. Just as Father Thomas blessed her father's body for the last
time her lowest string snapped. The raucous sound echoed horribly.
At last Father Thomas
left with the servants and crofters trailing after him. Chill damp
settled through her gown as Isolde stood, staring at the shrouded form.
Beneath the wrapping she could almost make out the shape of his arms
embracing his sword, the crooked line of his jaw where it had been
broken in battle against reivers when she was a small child. So many
little marks life left on him, so many memories covered by a shroud.
She could put off her
need for rest no longer. only as she turned did she realize Albion and
Josce still stood behind her.
"I thank you for
standing beside me, my lords," she said, realizing even as she did
how very tired her voice sounded. "If you will forgive me I must
attend to this string and then I will seek my rest. You shall not see me
again, I think, until tomorrow unless there is great need."
"Of course, Lady
Isolde." Sir Josce offered his arm. 'I would be honored to assist
you up the stairs. You look fit to drop on your feet as it is."
"Thank you, my lord,
but I can manage." Isolde was tempted to take his arm, for it would
feel good to use another's strength. But she knew there was one duty
still to see to before she sought her rest and it would be sooner done
without Deryni accompaniment.
Sir Albion held out his
hands. "Lady, if you will allow me I will change your string while
you rest. Though I have had little experience with the harp, I am
accounted a fair hand with a lute. The pegs look similar."
Gratitude washed through
Isolde at his offer, though she knew he would never accept it if he knew
how she planned to use the respite he offered. She usually knew well
enough if someone were trying to deceive her, and he seemed genuinely
eager to help. "I do thank you, Sir, and I would be glad of your
aid. There are spare strings in the case. If you would be so kind as to
put a rough tuning on it I will finish when next I pick it up."
Albion took the clairsach
in one hand and bent gracefully to retrieve the leather satchel it rode
in. His long fingers caressed the wood as he gave the instrument a quick
examination. "This is beautiful, my lady, and you draw its' heart
with your skill. I shall look forward to hearing you again."
Isolde nodded her thanks
and left the crypt. She headed directly to her chamber. Gretta was there
already, with the bedding turned back and a clean shift laid out for her
to sleep in. "Get ye between the sheets, M'lady," the
housekeeper ordered as soon as the door was shut. 'Ye'll not stir from
here for the rest o' the night, no matter what them foreign devils
demand!"
I thank you, Gretta. You
always are too good to me." Isolde felt many of the cares of the
past days slide to the floor with her mourning gown. "There is one
thing yet I need for you to do."
"Ye've only to ask
me, Mistress."
Isolde smiled, knowing
she would find no fight from Gretta. "Send someone to the forest to
find Connal. Ask him to come here around Compline. He will know the way
well enough. Then bring Hugh and Young Hugh here about the same time.
I'm not about to let that foreigner take Young Hugh, not if I can stop
him."
Darkness settled over
Derry like a velvet shroud. Albion sat beside a brazier, a broken harp
string in his hands. He spared Josce a glance. "Did you set
wards?"
"I did. Do you trust
me that far?"
"Aye, as I've not
much fear any will impede us this night. We must contact the king and
let him know what goes on here."
Josce turned to the
squire who stood waiting at the other side of the fire. "I thought
as much when you called Ivo in. Do you think we'll need to draw on him
to reach Festil?"
"I doubt it, but I
want to be certain. Our news is important enough to warrant extra
support." Albion motioned Ivo closer and laid the harp string
aside. "Let's get this done."
Ivo laid himself before
the flaming coals. He was experienced enough to know what was expected
as Albion and Josce positioned themselves on either side of him and
focused their attention on the flickering flames.
Albion cast his mind
toward Rhemuth, searching for Festil. In short moments his efforts were
rewarded. His uncle's presence touched his mind like icy steel.
*Well?* Festil's question
warned Albion the king was in no mood for disappointment. *Have you met
the wench?*
*Yes, Sire. We buried her
father this morning.*
*And when are you
returning here? I trust she is getting on well enough with Josce?*
Josce gave the king a
mental bow. *Sire, I feel certain she will willingly become my wife. I
am well satisfied.*
*And so you should be.*
Festil favored them both with a smile. *Bring her back and we will have
such a wedding many a lady will be most eager to become my tool.*
*As to the rest, Sire,
there may be a delay.* Albion gathered his courage and continued in a
rush, before he lost his nerve and angered his uncle. *It seems the
partisans are most active here. I thought to remain for a week or two
and see what could be discovered.*
*And what have you done
so far?* Impatience laced Festil's thoughts.
*We gave chase to some of
them last eve, and killed near a third of the party we caught. I want to
find their leader and bring him to your justice.*
*Good. See to it,
nephew.* Festil gave the impression of a nod, though Albion could not be
certain. *Just remember, you are to return to Rhemuth by the beginning
of December. Your own bride will be waiting you then.*
*Yes, Sire.*
*And, Albion,* Festal
added before they could close the link, *make certain Josce has his
prize well in hand. This I charge you, for much depends upon it.*
Then the link was broken.
Albion found himself staring at the flames, feeling like he'd been
treated no better than a servant.
He shook himself. What
was he to expect? Gratitude for doing no more than his duty to his king?
Besides, it was only thanks to his uncle Festil that he even lived to
see this day. His uncle had been more than generous.
Ignoring the sleeping Ivo,
Albion picked up the broken string. "Now that's done, I've another
chore to see to. Do you want to see what's going on with our
charge?"
Josce stared at him. From
the expression on his friend's face Albion knew he should be grateful
Josce wasn't armed. "Where did you get that?"
"From her harp, when
I offered to change the string. Where do you think?"
"You tricked
her!" Josce's fists bulged, white knuckled. 'You knew she was too
tired to resist you, and you played her for a fool. How could you?"
"Easily enough.
Besides, I've done her no harm. And providing she means to play us fair
she will never know I've looked in." Albion offered the strings to
Josce with the best form he could muster. "If you'd rather do it
yourself, go right ahead."
Josce stepped back so
quickly the backs of his legs struck the desk. The pile of parchment
drifted to the floor with a soft swishing whisper.
"Thank you, I've no
need to spy on the lady. And if you will do this you are not the man I
thought you were, Albion." He pulled open the door, then glanced
back. "And I thought you were better than Festil."
Albion stared at the
closed door for a long time. guilt and doubt ate at him. How could Josce
turn from him so fiercely? And, just possibly, could Josce be right?
He knew there were some
things no honorable man did. He also knew loyalty to his king was the
most important calling for a knight, whatever his birth. More important,
he knew the price a man could pay for any slight doubt the Furstan
family might have concerning that loyalty.
Surely nothing would come
of this. He knew Isolde had to be exhausted. No doubt she was asleep.
Duty demanded he make
certain. He faced the brazier and, with her harp strings across his open
palms, tried to see her face in the flickering flames.
Her image came without
effort, curling brown hair damp from a washing. Isolde looked pale, yet
her lips were set in a determined line he was coming to know well. And
she was not in her bed, though indeed she looked as if she had been
sleeping most of the day.
Isolde was speaking, her
voice low. A man replied. Albion deepened the connection, the better to
hear what was so urgent.
" . . . have you
thought this through thoroughly?" Albion recognized Conall
McQuillion's voice.
"I have not had time
to think much of anything over for long," Isolde replied. "But
something has to be done to stop this, Conall. I've never asked you for
anything before."
"M'lady, you
needn't." Young Hugh joined the conversation. "I'm not
bothered serving His Grace, really."
"His Grace?"
Isolde gave Young Hugh a fierce glare.
"Aye, m'lady. Sir
Albion is Duke of Tolan when he's at home." Young Hugh's grin
gleamed in the light from a glowing brazier.
"And by all rights,
Connal is Duke of Corwyn." She laid a hand on the boy's shoulder.
'You should be thinking of your grandsire, Hugh. He needs you here. That
must come first."
Albion wrenched himself
back from the trance and rose, dropping the harp string. Obviously the
lady had not the sense God gave a goose. She meant to defy him yet, and
he had no intention of allowing it. More, Connal McQuillion had pushed
his fortune much too far.
He nearly crashed into
Josce as he bolted out the door. Josce actually looked surprised to see
him. 'What's afoot?"
"Treason, I
believe." Albion strode down the corridor, not looking back. Josce
followed barely a step behind. |