I tried to tell myself it would not come to that. For one thing, Lord Shaine had just made a valuable ally by betrothing his daughter to the middle son of his neighbors. Lord Larol’s father would be duty-bound to add his strength to any conflict between the two other lords, for if Lord Shaine lost, then their own son would also lose his right to marry Auren and one day become chief of Lord Shaine’s lands. Besides, although Lord Shaine never seemed to trade on his connection with the king, still it might be a deterrent to open warfare if Lord Arnad lacked sufficient allies. There was also the strong possibility that his involvement in the matter could never be proven, and Lord Shaine would simply have to go on as if nothing had ever happened. It wouldn’t be the first time. Bitter feuds had bubbled under the surface for years, only to erupt decades later when someone finally made a misstep and gave an excuse, however slight, for the grievance to be addressed once and for all.
I felt as if I must do something or go mad with all the thoughts that waged war in my head. Carefully releasing my pressure on Lord Shaine’s hand, I stood and made my way over to the window. I stepped carefully so as to avoid making any noise that might disturb him. As it was, I almost tripped over the fringed edge of a rug I had barely noticed in the dimness of the room, but I caught myself in time.
Across the courtyard a bonfire burned in the night, angry orange and yellow flames licking at the darkness. For a second I watched, puzzled, wondering what on earth could be burning. Then I realized it must be the corpses of the false merchants that burned. Of course it was the only practical way to dispose of the bodies now that the ground had frozen solid, but still the sight bothered me. Thugs and killers they might have been, but in Farendon burning was reserved only for the corpses of animals. Even the lowest killer is allowed his place in the sheltering earth. Wintertime funerals were always preceded by a ritual fire burned on the final resting place—both to honor the gods and to soften the earth beneath.
But those dead men would not have such care afforded to them, and I turned away, more troubled than I had thought I would be over the treatment of these would-be killers. I was still young enough to be affected by the indifferent cruelty of men. I hoped that I would never grow so callous or cold that these sorts of things would lose the power to move me. Better to hurt than not to feel at all.
“Merys.” Lord Shaine’s voice was weak, but clear enough.
Immediately I left my post at the window and went to his side. Looking down, I saw that his eyes were open and lucid enough, though bright with pain. “My lord?”
“Was anyone else harmed?”
“No,” I replied. Somehow it did not surprise me that he was concerned for everyone besides himself. “You were the obvious target. But Ourrel and Marus and the rest of your men-at-arms made short work of the intruders.”
“Good men,” he said, and closed his eyes. When he spoke again, it was without opening them. “So once again you were there to patch up the wounded.”
“It’s what I do, my lord.”
“Still....” A long pause, and then he said, “You are necessary here. You do realize that, don’t you?”
Was this his way of rationalizing my enslaved state, or were his words a plea? Had he somehow seen the restiveness beneath my outward calm, realized that it was only a matter of time before I attempted escape through one means or another? Or had he somehow guessed at my feelings, and now tried to find the only words that would keep me here?
“I have done you some service, my lord, that is true.” As I spoke I laid my hand across his brow. His skin felt warm to the touch, but not abnormally so. Just as quickly I removed my hand. I did not want him to think that the gesture had been anything more than an attempt to ascertain his temperature.
“Much more than that, Merys, as you well know.” He opened his eyes, but instead of looking directly at me, he remained flat on his back, staring up at the stone ceiling. “Sometimes I wonder how we got along without you.”
Those words threatened to bring the tears to my own eyes. I blinked and glanced away from him, even though I knew at the moment his attention was not directed toward me. Willing a calm into my voice that I most certainly did not feel, I replied, “But you did—and well enough, from what I can tell. But I’m happy that I could make some difference.”
The phrase “…while I was here” floated in my mind even as I made my reply to him, but I hoped Lord Shaine wouldn’t notice that my sentence sounded rather unfinished.
Apparently he did not, for he made a slight movement on his pillow and then said, “It pleases me to hear that you are happy. This life has not been too difficult for you?”
In many ways, my life here was easier than it would have been if I had continued to practice my calling in the manner for which I had been trained. Here I slept in the same comfortable bed every night. I always knew I would stay relatively warm and well-fed, and I never had to worry about brigands on the roads. But at the bottom of everything lay the knowledge that I was not free to leave whenever I wished.
I forced a smile and turned back to him. “Not too difficult, my lord. But you should be resting, not talking.”
“Doctor’s orders?” he asked, and in the dim candlelight I could see a tiny lift at the corner of his mouth.
“Indeed,” I replied, my tone as severe as I could make it.
He gave a small chuckle and then winced. I was sure his stitches must have given him a twinge. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Somehow resisting the urge to reply, “I’m always right,” I merely smiled. I began to turn toward the table where I had set the candelabra, but Lord Shaine reached up and caught my hand. Startled, I paused, looking down at him.
“I am glad you are here,” he said simply. “Don’t ever forget that.”
My heart pounded at his touch. Not trusting myself to answer, I gave his hand an answering squeeze, then nodded. He released my fingers, his hand falling limply back onto the bed, as if he had had only the strength for that one small gesture.
But it was enough. I gathered my wits sufficiently to go and blow out the candles; the fire would provide illumination for a while, and what Lord Shaine needed now more than anything else was rest. He had shut his eyes again, and I could see he already drifted in that twilight between sleep and waking. Moving quietly, I stepped to the door and let myself out. Once I had shut it, I laid my cheek against the age-blackened oak for a few seconds, thinking of the man who slept within, feeling still the touch of his hand on mine. He wanted me here, needed me. I realized suddenly that I found myself understanding Merime for the first time.
I, too, had begun to realize that there were some things more important than freedom….
Chapter Eight
Midwinter came upon us quickly. Here in Seldd, the celebration of the ancient holiday did not differ greatly from its observance in my homeland. Merime and her kitchen staff busied themselves in a frenzy of baking and stewing, Ourrel supervised the decoration of the hall with greenery and flowers carefully dried the summer before, and everyone plotted to keep their gifts secret from their chosen recipients. This was no easy task, given the crowded nature of the castle and the way we were forced indoors, day after day, by the inclement weather. Indeed, the snow fell so heavily Auren fretted that her betrothed and his family would be unable to make the journey. Lord Shaine would play host this year, since the estate was to be young Lord Larol’s new home in the coming summer.
But come they did, arriving a day early in order to take advantage of a break in the weather. Their arrival sent the household into an even greater uproar, and even I was drafted to help with airing out rarely used chambers and making sure there was sufficient linen to accommodate all of the visitors. They came with a sizable train: Lord Larol, of course; Lord Marten, his father; Lady Yvaine, Larol's mother; a younger sister named Alcia; and a group of ten of their own servants. Of course there was no real need for them to bring so many of their own attendants with them, but I’d had enough experience with the nobles
of my own land to know that they continually played games in order to impress others with their wealth and standing. Although Lord Shaine probably knew to a copper graut the worth of Lord Marten’s estates, it was necessary for Marten’s family to appear as important as possible.
By this time Lord Shaine had regained his feet. The wound had taken no infection and healed cleanly, although he had been bedridden for the better part of a week before I deemed it safe enough for him to get up and resume his duties about the castle. No further words of a personal nature had been spoken between us. Indeed, as time wore on, I began to wonder whether those soft words had meant what I thought they had, and whether the touch of his hand on mine had been only a dream.
To be sure, I had had enough to occupy myself during those weeks. In addition to the extra work required to prepare for the Midwinter festival, one of the slaves had broken her ankle when she slipped on the kitchen steps, Elissa had contracted a putrid sore throat, and one of Master Breen’s falcons decided to rip open the cheek of the young slave who assisted in the mews. I poulticed and patched and soothed, dispensing medicines when I could and advising bed rest when no other cure presented itself. All were grateful for my care, and indeed they healed better and much more quickly than they would have without my intervention.
Sometimes I thought of Lord Shaine’s words to me. Although I knew that all of these minor hurts could have been survived had I not been here, at least I still could provide service, do something to help make these people’s lives a little easier. I tried to tell myself that it made no difference whether I plied my trade on Lord Shaine’s estate or about the countryside of Farendon. I had been trained to succor the sick, and that I did here.
Auren had improved steadily as well. She looked forward to the feast of Midwinter Night, for she knew her father had hired in a special troupe of musicians to provide dance music; I had advised that I thought she was able to begin dancing once again.
On that one night, master and slave would mingle freely in the great hall and celebrate the closing of the old year and the coming of the new. It had been so in my own home, though of course we had no slaves. But the servants had put aside their cares for that one evening and taken their turns on the dance floor. Even now I recalled the novelty of dancing with the boy who mucked out our stables and the tall young man who was the assistant cook. I didn’t know how much things would differ here, but Lord Shaine had made one thing clear: I was to be included in the celebrations.
Elissa and I had plotted together and made a lovely embroidered hood in deep brown wool, trimmed in mink, for Auren. The contents of the false trader’s packs had at least been some compensation for the injury they’d done to Lord Shaine, and he gifted me with some of their stores. I took the brown wool and a mink pelt for my gift to Auren. During the winter evenings, Elissa had stitched the fabric and then given it to me for the coiling embroidered design of leaves and flowers I picked out in warm green and copper threads. For Elissa I had embroidered two fine linen handkerchiefs, and for Merime I stitched a handsome new apron in bright blue linen to match her eyes.
I wished to give Lord Shaine a gift but was at a loss as to what would be appropriate. Despite his status, he wore plain, simple clothes. If one hadn’t known better, on first sight Ourrel might have been mistaken for the lord of the manor, since he always took care to wear well-tailored doublets picked out with embroidery or elegant trim. I hadn’t the means or the opportunity to buy his lordship anything, and that bothered me as well. In the past I had always possessed a fair amount of pocket money. The Order paid me an allowance, and often my patients would give me what they could in exchange for my services, even if it were only a few copper pennies. Because of this I had never wanted for anything I might need—and I always was able to purchase supplies and other necessary items as the need arose. Now, however, matters were quite different.
Telling myself that my lack of funds was of no consequence, I had finally out of desperation decided to give Lord Shaine a fine brooch of chased silver and amber that had ridden around in my satchel for several years. One of my patients had given it to me in payment some time back, but I’d never had the opportunity to wear it, as the piece was a bit bulky and masculine for my taste. At the same time, I hadn’t wanted to sell the brooch, and so it had traveled across Farendon with me, securely wrapped in a piece of flannel. Lacking any other more appropriate packaging, I kept it in its flannel but was able to secure a piece of red ribbon to tie around it and make it a bit more festive. Perhaps it would be considered inappropriate for a slave to give her master such an expensive and slightly intimate gift, but I had nothing else to offer.
But now all the preparations were finally complete, and I watched as Auren fairly danced with impatience as we waited in her chamber for the call to join the festivities in the great hall.
“It must be sunset,” she said, peering out the window at the gray sky outside. “How could anyone tell, after all?”
“It’s not yet the fifth hour of the afternoon,” I replied, after giving a quick glance at the hour-marking candle that sat next to her bed. “It will be here soon enough.”
She looked lovely, in a gown of warm, dark red that suited her honey-toned coloring. To celebrate her betrothal, Lord Shaine had gifted her with a set of cherry amber and gold jewelry. The blood-tinted cabochons glowed at her throat and in the carefully arranged masses of her hair, beautifully complementing the velvet she wore—yet another prize from the abandoned packs of Lord Arnad’s would-be assassins.
Truly Auren looked older than her fourteen years. I had been somewhat surprised that she and her young betrothed would be wed so soon, but it seemed it was the fashion to marry early here in Seldd. Neither my brother nor either of my sisters had married until they were at least twenty, but to be twenty and yet unwed in Seldd was to be positively hopeless. What Auren thought of me, still obviously free at the advanced age of twenty-five, I dared not think.
Auren turned away from the window with a sigh, obviously disgusted by my apparent lack of excitement. “You’d think you’d never been to a Midwinter ball before,” she remarked.
“I’ve seen my share,” I replied placidly. “Which might, if you stopped to think about it, account for my calm regarding the matter.”
“But a ball held just for you, to celebrate your betrothal?”
“I’ll admit I’ve not had that honor.”
Seeming to realize her misstep, Auren put out a hand, and said, “I didn’t mean it that way—”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” I took care to keep my tone light. “Don’t think I didn’t have the opportunity, my lady. It was only because I decided to serve the Order that I didn’t marry.” My words were only partially true. I had no doubt that my family would have secured a good match for me, if that had been how I chose to lead my life, but there hadn’t been anyone in particular who showed an interest in me.
“Of course,” she replied, and she appeared almost subdued. Then her expression grew brighter, and she added, “You are looking very well, Mistress Merys.”
I wanted to laugh, but instead received the compliment as graciously as I could. Once again I wore my wine-colored velvet gown, only a few shades darker than Auren’s, as I of course had nothing else remotely suitable. At least the color suited my warm brown hair and fair skin, though I had no jewels to complement the ensemble.
Poor Elissa did not fare quite so well, even though we had rushed to make her a new gown with the length of fabric that had been her own gift. All the household’s slaves had received yardage to make a new set of clothes, but it was stuff that had been rejected as being unsuitable to take to market, poorly dyed or with defects in the weave of the fabric. It was all serviceable and strong and new, if not exactly becoming.
Elissa’s gown was a dark green that contrived to make her look a little sallow, even though it could not detract from the delicate bones of her face. And at least it fit well enough, although privately I still thought she looked too t
hin.
At last we heard the jangling of the bell from the hall, Ourrel’s signal that all was finally ready. Auren practically threw open the door to her chamber and raced down the stairs, her flat-soled shoes making slapping noises on the stone throughout her precipitous descent. Elissa and I followed at a rather more sedate pace, although we attempted to move quickly enough so that Auren wouldn’t be completely out of eyeshot.
The hall was a riot of color and noise and movement. Swags of evergreen and pale waxberries decorated the dark beamed ceiling, hung from the walls, and trailed down either side of the great hearth. More candles than usually could be seen in the entire keep had been brought into this one room, and the heady smell of beeswax warred with the more toothsome aromas emanating from the kitchen. Young Lord Larol and his family were already there, clustered about the table against the far wall that gleamed with pewter goblets and dark glass vessels holding various vintages from Seldd and beyond.
Ignoring all propriety, Auren ran toward her betrothed, holding out her arms. I was glad to see that he ignored a disapproving look from his mother and took Auren’s hands, lifting them to his mouth and kissing each one in turn. In fact, I couldn’t help smiling as I watched Larol offer his affianced bride a cup of warm spiced wine, all solicitous attention. His parents might as well have been on one of the moons for all the regard he paid them.
“Oh, it is lovely, isn’t it?” breathed Elissa, as she looked around the hall in some awe. Then she hesitated, and I stopped to turn and look at her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Are you sure—I mean, is it truly allowed?”
Poor girl. She still couldn’t believe that for the Midwinter feast the household slaves were allowed to spend time with their betters. I supposed that, as the daughter of a freehold farmer, she had never had the chance to celebrate Midwinter in a lordly household such as this, and so she had no real concept of the idea that for one night at least she would be included in the doings of the more elevated folk. Some of the household slaves—such as Merime and her staff—of course had to keep at their work so that the rest of us might feast, but they would have a day of rest tomorrow, while others of the household handled their duties.
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