by Gaelen Foley
She sent him a poignant smile at this reminder that he had no squire now to carry out such tasks for him. Thaydor went back into the pavilion and gathered up as much of his armor as he could carry in one armload. Clanking away, he carried it down the stone steps to wash off the caked-on blood and grime in the brook below the waterfall pool.
She shuddered at the memory of how wet and red and sticky it had been on the night she had found him. Then she shook her head, wondering how long it would be before he ended up like that again. How could the man refuse the help she was offering?
At least now she knew why. Of course, he was worried she’d end up dead, like his series of past squires, but there was more to it than that. He desired her, and it disturbed him.
She blushed and thrilled to the thought at the same time. His admission only made her want to go with him all the more. How could she bear to stay here, left behind, knowing he was out there, in danger?
What he felt—what they both felt—was natural enough. The attraction was no excuse for refusing her help when his life was at stake. With unknown enemies out for his blood, who else could he trust the way he could trust her? They shared the same beliefs, the same values…
She blew on the fire and poked at it in frustration, sending Silvertwig a morose look as her familiar flew over to her. Having witnessed their whole exchange, the fairy shook her head and folded her arms across her chest as she hovered in midair.
“Have you ever seen anyone so stubborn?” Wynne whispered, glancing around to make sure her guest was still down by the lower stream. “He thinks he can do everything himself. What does he think, that I’m incompetent? Just a helpless damsel?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes, while Silvertwig lifted her eyebrows as if about to say that Wrynne, actually, was often that stubborn.
Wrynne didn’t give her the chance. “Maybe I ought to remind the great paladin that I had the same basic fighters’ training at the Bastion as every other cleric and layperson. I even have some light armor,” she whispered, “and a weapon. Not that I’ve ever had to use it on a living thing. Target practice mostly,” she admitted. “But the point is, I can! I was trained for the armies of Light just like him, and I’m willing!”
She shot to her feet and set her hands on her waist, staring at Silvertwig in indignation. “Does he think me a child?”
The fairy shrugged.
“Or does he fear that if he lets me come along, I might try to seduce him? Dent his precious honor? Because that would be absurd.” She scoffed, blushing. “Yes, it’s true that Sons of Might and Daughters of the Rose are often encouraged to, um, marry. But what woman in her right mind would ever marry a knight and worry every day for the rest of her life? Besides, I’m bound by the same standards of behavior as he is. So what if he…fancies me…”
It was almost too wildly flattering a thought for her to wrap her mind around.
“It doesn’t mean we have to act on it. And honestly, even if he lost control, which I doubt would ever happen, I’d rather he ravished me—twice!—than let him go out there with who knows how many people trying to kill him and no one to watch his back!”
“Twice, eh?” Silvertwig chirped with a knowing grin. “Quite a sacrifice, mistress. Really big of you.”
“Oh, shut up,” Wrynne mumbled. “I didn’t mean it like that. He’s important to the whole kingdom. And to Ilios!” she insisted while Silvertwig snickered.
Scowling, Wrynne stomped off, red-cheeked, to catch a couple of fish for their meal.
By the time she had the trout cleaned and roasting on the spit a few inches above the fire, she had made up her mind that she was going to help Thaydor whether he liked it or not. Of course, there was no need to tell him so flat-out. Why alert him of her true intentions when he would only forbid it? She’d simply have to work around his protective nature.
It isn’t lying outright, she insisted to herself. That would have been a sin. But she was not above, well, finessing him a bit. Delaying full disclosure until it was more difficult for him to say no.
Mother did it all the time with Father, and while the Building Baron almost always blustered in the short term, he always realized later that his wife was right.
Just so would she handle Sir Thaydor.
And she had a fair notion of how to get the stubborn mule headed down the right path, too. He was a hero; let him help her, then. Poor, defenseless damsel that she obviously was in his eyes.
“Supper’s ready!” she called down to him from the top of the waterfall ten minutes later.
“Be right there!” he yelled back.
His handsome, chiseled face wore a troubled look when he joined her on the broad, flat boulder beside the stream where she had set up their picnic a few feet above the waterfall.
“Well, this is very pleasant,” he said with an appreciative glance as he sat down on the edge of the blanket across from her. “It smells delicious, too.”
“Wait until you taste it. Fish from right over there. Vegetables and herbs straight from my garden.” She nodded over her shoulder at it, then smiled at him.
“You spoil me,” he teased.
They said the customary prayer of thanks before meals, then Wrynne poured a wooden goblet full of the rustic local wine and handed it to him. “I only have the one cup. We’ll have to share,” she said with a pert smile.
“You first, my lady.”
“How gallant.”
He chuckled. “You did all the work.”
She took a sip and then handed it to him. “It’s not the fine Aisedorian vintage you’re probably used to, but it’s not half bad.”
“It’s good,” he said after taking a swallow.
They ate, enjoyed the food, and chatted about nothing in particular. When they had finished their plates, however, Wrynne poured them a second cup of wine, noticing he still had those indigo shadows lurking in his eyes.
The wine had loosened her tongue and dulled her inhibitions enough to pursue the matter. “So, tell me. What’s bothering you?”
She could tell he was about to deny that anything was, but when she offered a knowing smile, he frowned and shook his head. “It’s not a suitable topic for the table…even if the table is a rock.”
“We’re done eating. It’s all right now.”
He stared at her, his brow furrowed. “My armor,” he said. “So much blood. I can’t believe I’m alive.”
“’Tis a miracle,” she agreed, glossing over the how of it. “But why are you surprised? You of all people know the power of Ilios. He looks after his own.”
“Yes, I suppose,” he said, but he still looked confused. He took another swallow of wine. “That reminds me. I still have to write my letters to Eadric’s family and the warrior monks at the monastery about twenty miles from here, on the edge of the Scythe Valley. Could I possibly trouble you for two sheets of paper and some ink before we lose the rest of the light?”
“Of course. Come inside. I’ll clean this up while you get that over with.”
“Thanks.”
They rose, and he followed her inside, where she set him up at the table with writing supplies and a candle. Her bower seemed so much smaller when he was in it. His big, powerful body barely fit on her dainty wooden chair when he sat down to begin, but he insisted he was comfortable. She lit a couple of hanging lanterns around the place and took one with her when she went to clean up after their meal.
This was quickly done, though the cut on her forearm which she’d made for the Kiss of Life spell stung a little when she got it wet. Rolling her sleeve up higher to check the bandage, she shrugged off the slight pain and dried the dishes by the stream.
When she brought the dishes back inside to put them away, Thaydor was blowing a bit of drying sand across the first completed letter. “Making progress?” She crossed behind him and put the dishes, cup, and utensils away in the cabinet.
“The one to the monastery’s done. Now for the hard one.”
She caressed h
is shoulder before leaving him alone again. “You’ll get through it. Then you’ll have earned this.” She set his poetry book down on the table by his hand.
He smiled ruefully at her.
She resisted the urge to run her fingers through his golden hair. “I’m going to go weed my garden.”
“Have fun!” he called in a sardonic tone as she danced lightly out of the pavilion. “But don’t overdo it, now. All pleasures in moderation, my lady.”
She shot him an arch look over her shoulder and traipsed off to her garden, still smiling as she passed the grassy area where Avalanche grazed contentedly, his coat pearlescent in the gathering twilight.
She let herself in through the willow-lattice enclosure that protected her raised beds from rabbits and deer and other forest creatures. She was rather tired and it was getting dark, but she raised the lantern and forgot all about the day’s troubles as she perused the vegetable beds and the medicinal herbs, tugging out scraggly shoots of weeds here and there as she went. There weren’t many, since she tended to yank them out as soon as they appeared, but just being in her garden soothed her spirits.
Yet a heaviness still hung over her heart after the events of the day. All the suffering she’d seen. She’d given all she had and it hadn’t felt like nearly enough. And then there was the lingering horror of her stubborn attempt to gather up Eadric earlier today…
And still, all of that, as hard as it had been, did not feel like the true cause of her restlessness tonight.
As she looked around at her garden and then slowly scanned the lovely woods, where the night birds had begun to call and the fairy lights were beginning to twinkle, she realized the source of her bittersweet mood. She’d be leaving this place on the morrow and might never come back.
Her superiors had warned her that she would sense it when the time came for her to move on. They had said she’d feel a stirring in her heart that she would have to follow if she was to stay on the path of the divine will for her life.
She knew that time had come.
It was both scary and exciting. She had not been expecting this at all, and yet it was not as difficult as she would have thought to let it go. She’d been here long enough.
I have been very happy here, she thought, staring around at her peaceful abode, where she had learned so much about love and beauty and kindness and peace—the things that truly mattered in life. But it’s time to say goodbye.
Time to take what she had learned in her hermitage out into the wider world, where it could do some good.
The thought of leaving to start down some new, as-yet unknown path in life frightened her a little—until Thaydor stepped out of the pavilion and came striding toward her with a smile.
What on earth was there to be afraid of with the Golden Knight by her side? She was most assuredly not helpless, but just in case she ran into any trouble, she knew he’d keep her safe.
Well, then, she thought with a slight tremor at the momentousness of her realization. Saving the paladin from death appeared to have changed her fate, as well.
It seemed he wasn’t the only one who needed to write a letter to the Bastion. She’d have to let Mother Superior know that she was leaving…
“Do try to contain yourself from all this hilarity,” the big knight teased as he joined her in the garden. But he frowned when he saw the strange expression on her face. “What’s wrong? You don’t look like you’re having much fun, after all.”
She sighed and summoned up a smile. “All the weeds are already pulled.” Then she peered at the book in his hand and tapped on its leather cover. “Maybe you should try your way instead. Read me a poem?”
“I’d love to, if you’re sure you’ve given up on the weeding festivities?”
When she nodded in amusement, he sat down on a large rock inside the enclosure and opened the book. “Ah, here’s one. Are you ready?” He glanced at her, his blue eyes twinkling.
“I think so.”
He cleared his throat and read in a thoughtful tone:
“When the nightingale sings,
The woods waxen green,
Leaf and grass and blossom springs,
In April, to be sure;
But love is to mine heart gone
With one spear so keen,
Night and day my blood it drinks,
Until my soul cannot endure.”
He looked at her to see how she liked it.
“That makes you feel better?” she exclaimed with a saucy grin and a hint of a self-conscious blush to have a paladin reading her poetry. “Sounds a little depressing to me.”
He smiled wryly at her comment and continued:
“Sweet lady, I pray thee
For one gentle word of love
While I live in this dark world,
For thou alone art pure.
With thy touch, my sweet beloved,
My bliss thou couldst achieve;
A sweet kiss of thy mouth
Might be my only cure.”
Wrynne went very still, taken off guard by that last part. She looked warily at him, her heart pounding all of a sudden with the guilt of her little benevolent secret.
Does he know somehow about the Kiss of Life spell? I thought he was unconscious. Does he remember somehow…?
He avoided her gaze, perhaps abashed or perhaps merely contemplating the wildly romantic words. Or perhaps waiting for her to come clean on just how far she had gone to save him.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he murmured, glancing at her. “Perhaps a little overdramatic, considering some half-hysterical bard probably wrote it. Still, it makes me wonder…” His words trailed off, his eyes full of unspoken yearnings.
“Wonder what?” she asked softly, still unsure.
“What it must be like to love someone so much.”
Her tension eased at his sweet words. Relief flowed through her. He didn’t know. He just liked the poem. Quite a coincidence…if there was such a thing.
“It is very pretty,” she concurred as she sat down beside him. She couldn’t resist teasing him a little, though. “Who’d have guessed the fierce Golden Knight possessed such a romantic soul?”
“Don’t tell the Urmugoths,” he said drily.
“Or the dragons,” she added. “They’d never let you live it down.”
“Or the boys in the barracks.”
She laughed and clapped him fondly on the thigh as she stood up again and wandered back to her beds to hunt for any stray weeds, more moved by his chivalrous heart than she could say. If she did not distract herself—quickly—she might well be tempted to do something foolish.
She avoided looking at the beautiful man for fear he’d read her own daft longings in her eyes. Instead, she turned her attention back to a subject. Hmm, who can I get to see to my garden once I’m gone?
Thaydor snapped the book shut and followed her. “So, what are we growing, then?”
She pointed out the many vegetables, the few flowers, and then the medicinal plants. “Mugwort, chamomile, comfrey, lavender, agrimony, nightshade—”
“Nightshade? Should I be worried? They do say poison is a woman’s weapon.”
“May I remind you I am one of the few people not trying to kill you,” she pointed out in mock indignation. “And before you judge me a witch, allow me to explain that a tiny bit of poison is a crucial ingredient in many a medicine. Say I want to cure someone of worms—”
“Ugh, let’s not.”
She laughed at his grimace and changed the subject. She didn’t want to bore him. “Did you finish your letters?”
He nodded with a melancholy smile.
“You look like you need more poetry.”
“There’s only so much it can do,” he admitted. Then he sighed. “Another boy is dead and it’s my fault.”
She tilted her head back and studied him in the fading light. “Do you really feel that way?”
His simple shrug was far sadder than his easy smile of earlier had let on. He shook
his head and said nothing.
She took his hand, vaguely aware that she had started doing that quite often in their brief acquaintance. It had begun to feel almost second nature. She just couldn’t seem to help touching him. His hands were so big and strong and warm, and besides, she had already undressed the man, had she not? As his healer. But though she had mended his physical injuries, she could see in his wistful blue eyes that his heart was still hurting.
“I have an idea,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
She gave his hand a squeeze and then released it, leaving the garden enclosure. Dashing into the pavilion, she returned a moment later with two tiny, almost-spent candle nubs in her hand and a surprise for him rolled up under her arm.
“Here. Hold these,” she instructed.
He arched a brow as she gave him the stumpy candles, then she carried the lantern over to find a few large oak leaves. She picked them, then wove them together by their stems into what looked like two fairly sturdy little rafts.
She nodded toward the stone steps. “Come on.”
As the night’s darkness deepened from pearl gray to indigo, she led him down to the waterfall pool, holding the lantern up as she walked down the steps. On the flat flagstone area below, the pieces of his armor were still laid out to finish drying. Moonlight gleamed on the once-again bright steel and glistened on the rippling water.
Thaydor followed her over to the edge of the pool and joined her as she bent down, setting the lantern between them. She opened its delicate side door, took the wax nubs from him, and lit both from the flame within. She set each candle in one of the little green leaf-boats, giving one to him and taking one for herself. Then she nodded to him.
He stared at her, the tiny flickering light in his hand catching the blue fire in his eyes.
“Is there anything you’d like to say to honor Eadric’s memory?” she asked in a soft tone.
He shook his head, at a loss. Clearly, he had not expected this, had not realized what she was up to.
“I will, then.” Wrynne turned to the pool where the starlight danced, reflected in the water. She bent down, holding her candle-raft above the surface for a moment.