“Fine,” she said as agreeably as she could manage. Which wasn’t very much at all, but it was the best she could do.
“Good lad,” Vance said striding over and clapping her on the shoulder with enough force to stagger a nearly one legged girl, “now get yerself to the Wench before taking off.”
Aodhan just raised an eyebrow at her tone and gave a little half nod before turning around and taking off to go warm his hands by the fire.
Several long seconds past as the two teenagers stood staring at the adults, who were both warming themselves by the same fire, their heads together in some kind of discussion. Probably making plans while the figurehead masquerading as the leader was sent out of the way, Falon fumed.
She didn’t mind not being in charge. In fact as she was only a girl, she actually relished the idea of keeping as low a profile as she could and not getting anybody killed through her incompetence. But by the same token she didn’t like being sent off in the middle of the night with a lamed up foot—it just wasn’t fair.
“Wow, Fal,” Ernest said finally daring to hazard the silence with his obvious near awe enthusiasm, “ye’ll get to actually go up to the Castle? Ye might even get to go inside!”
“It’s a—” Falon started to correct him about it only being a Keep yet again before breaking off with a sigh, “Oh, let’s just go over and get my foot fixed,” she finally snapped.
“Gee, there’s no need to be such a tool, Falon,” Ernest said scornfully.
Falon just rolled her eyes in response, and did her level best to get over to the Healer as fast as possible. The last thing she needed was to be around any of the village males right then—they were really starting to get on her nerves right now.
“Ye’ll make sure to tell me if you see anything interesting, Fal,” Ernest finally said, unable to contain his excitement any longer.
“Sure, Ernest,” she sighed, and then realizing that what she thought was interesting and what a boy might like could be two separate things, she added, “what exactly would you consider interesting, Ernest?”
Ernest looked at her in surprise and then grinned.
“You know, just the usual,” he said happily, “gold, jewels and any swords, armor you happen to see.”
“Okay,” she said, realizing that wasn’t so much further than what she herself might be interested in that she wouldn’t have to pay any particular attention.
She was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when he added, “Oh, and o’ course any beautiful women ye just so happen to run across while yer in the Castle, ye lucky dog,” he said, letting go of her long enough to punch her arm.
“Right,” she said glumly. Iron monger and valuable objects had been just too easy an answer; now she had to report back on any interesting girls she ran across.
Chapter 13: Midnight Encounters
Falon scrambled off the ground and away from Healing Apprentice faster than a scalded cat. Just as she’d feared the Healing Wench had not been impressed with Falon for failing to report to Nyia as ordered.
So as punishment the Wench had sent Falon over to the younger woman straight away, so that Nyia could do the entire job.
With the older Healing Wench standing over her, Nyia had been every bit the proper apprentice healer, but none of that had stopped Falon’s skin from crawling at her touch. Which touch was of course necessary for the better part of fifteen minutes, and this time also included a partial healing of her black eye from where the pennant staff had struck her.
She had managed to beg off of a complete healing of the eye, claiming male pride in the ‘battle damage,’ but in reality she just couldn’t stand being touched for any longer than was necessary. She also feared her burning face during the healing had been misread by the Wench, who had been giving her an assessing look.
Moving as quickly as she could, Falon scrambled out of camp. Thinking she was home free, she had just started to slow her pace when Ernest came charging up behind her.
“What?” she asked cautiously.
“Are ye mad at Nyia just because she used to be yer girl?” Ernest demanded, a little wide-eyed. For two seconds, what he had said failed to compute and when it did, the slight wondering smile on his face making her want to slap him in the face.
Falon turned beet red but this time it wasn’t with embarrassment it was with burgeoning fury.
“What?!” she shrieked.
“Well you seem so upset over her going with first Kerry, and now Glaisne. It’s just that Duncan and I’ve begun to wonder if it’s maybe because yer a touch jealous.” he said slightly more cautiously.
“Me, jealous of that two-timing—” Falon cut herself short by virtue of biting her lip hard enough to bleed. “Get lost, Ernest,” she said flatly.
“But if it’s really so ye can trust me to keep yer secret, Fal,” Ernest said so earnestly that almost before she could stop herself. Falon’s left hand had clenched into a fist and she had started to raise it when he continued, “it’s just that Duncan’s a might interested, and he don’t want to be stepping on yer toes.”
Taking a pair of deep, calming breaths, Falon had to fight against the rage tinged humiliation of being questioned like this by a boy. “Anyone stupid enough to dip their wick in that honey pot deserves the crabs,” she said with icy precision, spoiling it only slightly with an angry foot stomp at the end for emphasis.
Finally looking like he realized he had made a mistake, Ernest quickly backed out of range. “I was just asking, Fal. Earth and Field anyways, there’s no need to be so mean,” he said, backpedalling as quickly as he possibly could, both verbally and physically.
“If Duncan’s fool enough to court her then by the Moonlight Lady he’s welcome to her,”’ she finished savagely before turning on her heel and stalking off to the side and away from the boy as fast as she possibly could. If only her sister Krisy could only see her now, Gentle Lady Falon would shrivel up and die! Clearly, there were some things that should never be put down in any letter or journal.
“Look, I’m sorry Fal,” Ernest called out after her, but this time he was wise enough to just let her go.
Making a rude gesture she had only ever seen the boys use on each other before, she increased her pace until she was out of earshot.
Still writhing on the inside and filled with more than a little barely-suppressed angst, Falon skirted around several different camps on her way to the keep. The first two she passed by had sentries walking the edges of their group, as if they were still in hostile territory. However, the third was filled with the sounds merriment and accompanied by a poorly played flute and even worse harp.
Intrigued despite herself and curious to see the differences between this camp and the others, she drifted towards their large tent and fire. Seeing a trio of women old enough to already have a passel of children dancing and jumping in front of the fire, she was intrigued. She had never seen a dance like this before. However, when they twirled around in the air fast to set their dressed spinning improperly high, she frowned.
When the still-spinning dancing women jumped in the air—baring for all the world to see a decided lack of small clothes—Falon gasped. Eyes darting around the confines of the campfire, desperate to look at anything except the sight of these women acting shamefully, her gaze snagged on a large man in a breast plate.
Face burning and wishing she could look away, Falon stared. It wasn’t the man or his armor that held her half-horrified gaze; it was the sight of his topless companion planting a series of sloppy, drunken kisses on his face, pausing only to take another swig from a flask that captivated her. Knowing it was wrong, but unable to stop, she kept looking even as she slowly backed away. It was only when their lips locked and the man’s hand crept up to cup the woman’s breast that Falon could take no more.
Turning blindly away from the camp, her night vision completely shot, she staggered out into the dark to regain her composure. How could any woman act that way, she wondered? Not only was it complete
ly inappropriate, but she might have been taken advantage of by one of those men! Although, upon a moment’s reflection, it occurred to Falon that maybe that woman had been there because she wanted such advantage to be taken.
Shaking her head and feeling more than mildly disconcerted, she hastened her step. She was too busy looking at her feet as she picked her way between patches of grass and already trampled in mud areas of the field to notice a person emerging out of the darkness. At least not until the other person was almost a man length away.
Jerking to a halt, she couldn’t suppress a small squeak of surprise from escaping. Realizing an instant later that she wasn’t being attacked, the young Squire’s girl quickly cleared her throat. “Yes?” she asked politely, doing her best to lower her voice back into a properly boyish register after her near fright experience.
A vaguely feminine chuckle sounded from the robed figure in front of her. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” said a voice as thick as slowly poured honey. The person reached up with both hands and slowly pulled back the hood, and revealed inside was the face of a woman with straw-colored hair and the reddest lips Falon had ever seen.
“Such a sweet sounding voice for a strapping young lad like yourself,” the woman paused, sweeping Falon with an assessing gaze.
“Thank you, Goodwoman…?” Falon replied hesitantly, not sure of the other woman’s status and feeling a little leery of being told she had a ‘sweet voice’. As far as she could remember, she had never heard another boy described as having anything of the sort. Still, she reminded herself firmly, that was back in the Wicks, who knew what kind of strange things I might discover all the way out here?
The straw-haired woman pulled back her lips, revealing a gape-toothed smile quite at odds with her otherwise clean and well-kept appearance. Despite herself, Falon winced; the woman must have not been able to reach the Healing Wench in time to save those teeth. She wondered what the other woman had been doing so far away from access to a simple healing spell.
“Oh, I’m no Goodwoman,” the other said with another gape toothed smile, “just another working Wench, the same as any other that’s come out to follow you menfolk off to war.”
Falon breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there, she was afraid the woman had seen through her ruse.
Then the woman stuck out a hand and Falon reluctantly placed her hand in hers, “I’m Missy, the Dirty Maid of Kempsrest,” the woman said forthrightly. Falon caught the barest hint of a flowery smell as she quickly shook the woman’s hand before stepping back.
“Err—Falon Rankin,” Falon replied, feeling a bit leery as she wondered why Missy was called the Dirty Maid. She seemed rather clean and fine smelling to Falon’s eye. Then she started as she realized that in her confusion she had missed something, “of, uh, Twin Orchards,” she finished, feeling like a complete and utter fool as she stumbled all over herself.
“Falon…that’s a strange name,” the woman said looking at her oddly, “I’ve never heard it before.”
“It’s an Old Blood name,” the teenage girl answered quickly, “a long line of warriors have carried it before me.” She most carefully did not add that that long line had been composed of females.
“Ah,” the Dirty Maid said with dawning comprehension as her eyes skittered over Falon’s face in the flickering firelight, “so yer a…pardon me, I mean of course ‘you’re’ a Half Blood then?”
“Yes,” Falon said shortly, curious if the other was going to hold that status against her and also wondering at the way Missy was working to maintain a higher class accent. Maybe it was a requirement of being a Dirty Maid, whatever that was?
“You’ve the look alright with that complexion, I just didn’t expect to see it on such a well-dressed young man, so I didn’t spot it right away in the dark,” the Maid smiled to take the sting out of it.
“Thanks,” Falon said, unsure if she should be thanking the other woman or not, but finding herself increasingly eager to move on.
“I see you’re feeling a touch uncomfortable,” Missy said good-naturedly, “so since yer—I mean of course, you’re so young, what’s say two coppers for ya?”
“For me?” Falon asked, genuinely taken aback at the thought of someone offering her money.
“It’s the least I can do for a young, fresh-faced warrior like yourself, newly arrived for the Muster,” Missy bestowed another gape-toothed grin upon her.
“Er—I suppose…”Falon said, feeling more and more confused by the moment. Then when Missy stuck out her hand, Falon felt like two kinds of fools.
“Maybe later,” Falon said tremulously, not exactly knowing where this was going, but feeling more uncomfortable by the moment.
The Dirty Maid frowned at her and pursed her lips. “I suppose the night is slow, so I could make a special, onetime exception in yer case and let you owe the pair of coppers,” Missy said, letting a little of her native accent seep through as she thought out loud. Then with a shrug she seemed to reach some kind of decision, “I’m sure a well-dressed youngster like yerself can scrounge up the clinks later.”
“What exactly would I be paying for?” Falon squeaked. Afraid that maybe this was some kind of holdup, where if she didn’t pay she was going to be accosted and robbed, she quickly scanned around the area for co-conspirators. But when no one emerged from the darkness between camps to leap on her and demand all her money, she relaxed fractionally.
“Oh just your standard tup; nothing fancy. I’d prefer a roll in the hay meself, but there’s not a whole lot of hay to be had ‘round here on account of all of the new horses…” the Dirty Maid trailed off as Falon’s face flushed a sudden, alarming shade of beet red, and the younger woman started backing up as she realized what was being offered.
With a sudden understanding of exactly what kind of Wench a Dirty Maid actually was, Falon leapt backwards as if scolded with hot water.
“I really need to report in at the Keep,” she gobbled over her shoulder as she turned to ran away. Full on retreat was the only thing in her mind in the face of yet another mind blowing misunderstanding all in the same night.
“I didn’t realize it was your cherry,” Missy called out much louder than Falon would have preferred her too, “if you change yer mind, remember there’s none better for a first timer than the Dirty Maid of Kempsrest!”
Ears so hot they burned, Falon took off so fast her feet were barely touching the ground. She later thought she could have won a village autumn harvest race if she only ran as fast as she did that night.
“A military encampment is no place for a young lady,” she exclaimed under her breath almost unable to believe all the various things she had learned so far—things that polite society never even talked about. Weaving her way between camps and dodging others wandering between them, she shuddered and only started slowing down when she came within easy throwing distance of the main gates of Lamont Keep.
If she had already discovered this much from a simple trip to the Muster Field, she dreaded to discover what else might lay in store for her. What horrors would she know after walking the battle field with a rusty old sword and a bunch of farmers her only company?
Some leader she was turning out to be.
Chapter 14: Reporting in: Gaining Admission
It’s a good thing I’m just a figurehead, Falon decided. It was becoming clearer and clearer with each and every day that a girl like her had no business interacting with the sort of people that went off to war. The meaning to the term ‘camp follower’ was taking on a new—and increasingly repulsive—meaning to her.
Stepping up to the gigantic wooden doors, she raised her hand to knock. A proper young lady had no business out here, and it was only duty that stopped her from running back home as fast as she could with her tail tucked firmly between her legs. Wondering if she would ever again be able to lay claim to the title of proper young lady, Falon realized she was standing in front of the very large ironbound doors with her hand raised, frozen halfway through
the act of knocking.
Flushing she had just started to draw her arm back to give it a powerful thump—or at least as powerful a thump as a teenage girl could manage when someone noisily cleared their throat from somewhere up above her.
“Ack,” she squealed, falling over backward in an instinctive reaction to the surprise. Once again lying on her backside, Falon propped herself up by her elbows and stared up above the gate.
“It’s no use knocking lad; no one will hear you. You need to pull on the cord,” said a man more than twenty five feet above her as he leaned over between the crenellations on the wall.
Staring bug-eyed at the guardsman atop the wall, Falon only reluctantly shifted her gaze back over to the door. Beside the door she saw a large pull rope set in the stone.
“Well, are you seeking entry into his Lordship’s Keep or not,” asked the Guard. Craning her head back, Falon looked up at him once again.
She had just started to open her mouth when the guardsman made a disgusted noise and began walking along the wall and away from her and the front gate.
Climbing back to her feet, she went back to the door and tenuously pulled on the rope. Hearing the loud tinkle of some kind of bell, she jumped backward in alarm. This time however, she managed to keep her feet.
“Stop being such a scaredy-cat. What are you a, woman grown or just a big, oversized ninny goat?” she quietly lectured herself in a stern quiet voice. She more than a little embarrassed at how easily she was being spooked lately.
The loud, scratchy squeal of metal on metal filled her ears when what sounded like a large metal bar was pulled back. Then a small, person-sized opening appeared in the ginormous gates of the keep.
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