A Sterkarm Kiss
Page 29
Then the woman’s voice called, and Joe felt his hair prickle. “I am Elf-May, Entraya!” If only it was true! He felt, in that moment, that he loved, adored, Andrea. Another Elf! To talk again with another Elf!
He looked at Per and had never seen anyone so thunderstruck. In the next instant he thought he’d never seen Per look so afraid.
“Be it her?” Per said. Ever since word had been brought of the Elves sighted on the moor, he’d hoped that Andrea was with them, and sternly denied to himself that it possible, for fear of disappointment, for fear of a trick. And now, hearing her voice, it was almost as much of a shock as if he’d had no knowledge of the Elves’ return.
Joe opened his mouth to shout and found that the words of the 21st century no longer came readily to his tongue. He had to pause, and think, before shouting, “Andrea? Who is this?” His own voice, using those words, sounded like a stranger’s to him.
There was a long pause. Silence settled back among the hills.
And then the woman’s voice. “Joe?” It grew more excited. “Be that thee, Joe? Joe Sterkarm, from Carloel? Air day thu, Joe?”
A creak of leather, a thump of weighty hooves, and Per was gone from Joe’s side—and the rest of the ride moved forward, creaking and tinking, the slender ends of the lances whiffling in the air.
Per came around some boulder litter, and there stood a woman, with light-brown hair blown around her head and shoulders. She was dressed like an Elf, swathed in a large coat, but he knew the generous figure that lay hidden beneath the clothes.
He had meant to be cautious, to ask her what had been his last words to her, to test her, but as his horse picked its way closer to her, he saw more and more clearly: her anxious little face, with its clear pink skin and plump cheeks, the full mouth and the gray eyes with their scared stare. And he knew. He knew it was her, and she was alone, and had changed her mind, and given up the luxuries of Elf-Land for him. There was no need for tests or questions.
He leaned down from the saddle and set his lance down on the turf, then swung from his horse, letting its reins hang. He went to her, and she came to him, and as her warm solidity filled his arms and her head fitted, as if made for it, into his shoulder, tears came to his eyes.
When Andrea saw this Per swing down from his horse and come to her with his arms spread. His face was shadowed by his helmet, but that big bright smiled was unmistakable. This was her Per—and could only be her Per. She knew it. No one else had ever looked at her like that.
She was clenched hard against the iron plates of his jakke and enveloped in his thick smell of horses, sheep, dogs, peat smoke, and sweat. She tightened her arms around him, and who cared if the metal plates hurt? Hug him tight, press him right into her forever, and never mind if it hurts.
But there was a message she had to give. Struggling to lift her head against his hand, she said, “Per—”
His mouth pressed her lips against her teeth, his growth of stubble sandpapered her skin, the brim of his helmet bumped her head. Behind him, the Sterkarms jeered, laughed, and cheered.
When he broke the kiss, it was to press her head into his shoulder with his gloved hand and to hug her even tighter with his other arm. She was quite unable to speak. The warning could wait a minute more. She leaned on him and closed her eyes.
For there’s sweeter rest
On a truelove’s breast
Than any other where.
About the Author
Susan Price is the author of the Sterkarm series. Born in Dudley, West Midlands, in England, she went on to write the Guardian Fiction Prize–winning The Sterkarm Handshake (1998) after visiting reiver country on the borders of Scotland. To help her imagine the Sterkarm’s world, she drew on lifelong interests in history, folklore, and old ballads, as well as her hobbies of shooting with a longbow and traveling to the Scottish hills with her partner. Price continued the series with A Sterkarm Kiss (2004) and A Sterkarm Tryst (2017). Her other works include the novel The Ghost Drum, which won the prestigious Carnegie Medal. Price lives in the Black Country, in West Midlands, England.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1998 by Susan Price
Cover design by Drew Padrutt
978-1-5040-2098-5
This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
180 Maiden Lane
New York, NY 10038
www.openroadmedia.com
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