Crae nodded. Alarin was an earnest fellow, his eyes clear gray and a farmer’s tan evident on his face and hands. He was strong and stout, a good man, and a smart one.
“We’re racing time,” Crae said, keeping his voice equally as low. “I say this not so that you can talk it over in the ale-house, but that you know I am aware of our lack. We need fighting men, and we need them fast, with the crows on the move and any other attackers out there. So, we are going to train as we have been. And I will find additional fighting men, and with the high god’s blessing, we will be ready when the need comes.”
Alarin nodded, his face determined. He bowed, and Crae went on to the house.
Jessamy had greeted her brother, and they stood together at the fireplace, a cup of welcome already in Favor’s hands. Tevani was wild with excitement, jumping up and down. She caught sight of Crae and ran over to him.
“Lord Crae, Lord Crae! My uncle has come! He has the same name as Jori! Uncle Jori, come see Lord Crae! He gave me Hero!”
Jessamy gave her brother a glance, and Crae figured that she had already told him about his gift of the horse. Favor skimmed over Crae, his eyes lingering on the walking stick.
“Yes, I heard about that. Jessamy, I see what you mean, about the spoiling. Maybe it’s a good thing I’ve come.”
Jessamy had the grace to look abashed at that. Crae let the slow burn rise and fall within him. This was not the time to give his wife’s brother the trouncing he deserved.
“Come, the welcome meal awaits,” Jessamy said a bit hastily. “We give thanks for your safe journey, Brother. We can all talk later. Tevani, ask one of the housewomen to help you into your pretty clothes. Goodness, child, how did you get into so much mud?”
“I never know how it happens, Mama. I think mud likes me.”
Several days later, Crae was drilling his men under a bright, midsummer sky. There were no clouds, and the sky was deep blue. It was hot. Sweat poured off him and his men. Their wooden swords clunked dully.
He was furious. Favor’s men watched, and he could see them turn to each other, hiding comments but unable to hide their smirks.
He should have been able to ask Favor for help. But when he broached the topic, Favor had taken great pleasure in disdaining his request. “I do not wish to blunt my own men’s prowess by setting them at beginners.” Even Jessamy had looked at her brother, startled by his response. Crae had seen the way her eyes narrowed, but she had kept her counsel, though she seemed uneasy. A part of his anger was directed at her. She needed to help, and yet she would rather support her brother against her husband. No, against her home.
His men had grown unsure under the gaze of the audience, and Crae bit back a curse. Finally he shouted, “Swords up!”
Everyone halted raggedly, still another sign of their inexperience. Crae picked up his shirt where he had left it on the grass and wiped his face with it. He scanned his audience. Let Favor complain if he wanted to, but Crae was going to put his brother’s men to good use. He pointed at Breyan, Favor’s captain. “You!”
“My lord?” the man said, stepping forward. He finessed the respect due to a lord with his body language that said he answered to one lord only.
“You are Breyan, are you not?”
The man bowed.
“Come, show Trieve what Favor can do,” Crae said. He let a mocking tone enter his voice. Breyan bit back a laugh, and his men all gave a chuckle.
“With all due respect, my lord, but your men are not yet seasoned. It would not be good for them to fight us.”
“Oh, that’s not what I meant, Breyan.” Crae tossed aside the toy sword and picked up his scabbard where it leaned against the stone wall of the old barn. He drew it and it rasped out of the scabbard, a satisfying noise after the timid thunk ing of wood on wood. He waited. “Well? Or don’t you think that I can wipe that smirk off your face?” He hoped he could. He was worried about his leg, but he didn’t think the captain had anything on him. He was several years older and a bit thicker than Crae, even if he was an experienced fighter. And right now my anger will carry me when my leg fails me. He’d blood Breyan to make his point.
Breyan looked astonished. “My lord, I can’t—well, my lord wouldn’t allow—”
“Yes, I would,” came Favor’s voice. He had come out of the house with Jessamy. “You have my permission, Breyan. Captain to captain.”
Crae’s men rumbled, and a few stepped forward. He held up a hand and walked over to Favor. “Rather than lord to lord?” he said, loud enough for all to hear.
This time the silence was broken only by the sounds of the wind and the distant baaing of the sheep. Jessamy spoke up first.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t going to fight. I won’t allow it.”
“Of course not,” Favor said quickly, though Crae hadn’t missed how he had to swallow before he could speak. Crae was taller than he, and the man had a softness about him that spoke of too much wine and rich food.
“Are you sure?” Crae said. He shifted his sword. “Are you sure you don’t want to fight me?”
Favor turned pale, and his breath came fast. He gripped his sword hilt, though, and stepped forward gamely. “You forget yourself,” he said.
“Crae, stop this at once,” Jessamy said. “Jori, don’t.”
Favor sneered and made a great show of releasing his sword hilt. “For you, Jessi. After all, you are much to be pitied, for what fate has married you to.” He took her arm and made to lead her back to the house. She shook off his hand and turned to Crae. She was livid. Crae had seen her angry before, of course, but this was the first time he had seen her in full wrath. She had paled except for two points of color high on her cheeks. He stared back at her, matching her anger with his. Do not walk away with him, he thought. Do not, Jessamy.
Jessamy kept her eyes on him, eyes that were dark with anger. She gave him a full curtsy, her back rigid, bowing almost to his feet, the elaborate ritual speaking of her fury. And then she turned on her heel and walked away from both of them. After a moment of surprise, Favor followed at her heels, remonstrating, and she shook him off.
Crae watched her go, seething. He walked over to where he had left his gear, pulled out a cloth, and wiped his sword down, even though it had not been used. “Captain,” he called, sheathing his sword. Breyan turned to him with a watchful expression.
“Sir.”
“In Favor you follow your lord’s orders. In Trieve you follow mine. Laugh at my men again, and I will see to it that you are cleaning the stables and shearing the sheep in their place. Is that understood?”
Breyan was rigid with shock and growing anger. When he could finally speak, his voice was tight. “Understood.”
“Good. Then pick up a wooden sword, all of you, and fall in. We have a House guard to train.”
He watched his men join forces with Favor’s, and already the energy of the training center climbed tenfold. Crae watched and called out orders, and wished he could spar, the anger burning a hole in his gut. Better not to, he decided. In his mood he could easily kill someone, wooden sword or no.
Calyne approached him timidly later that evening when Crae sat alone in the great hall, cold air coming in from the imperfect glazing in the windows high overhead. He sat at the desk on the raised dais, going over the histories of Trieve and the accounts, a bottle of strong spirits at his elbow. He had not gone to dinner with the others. Instead, he called for his meal and sat with a few oil lights and a fire on the hearth to cut the chill. He knew he was sulking, knew that he lost what high ground he held in acting so, and still he got drunk and wished them all to hell.
He looked up at the housewoman’s approach. She bobbed quickly and then said, “Lord Crae, Lady Jessamy asked that you join her in her chamber.”
His first impulse was to say no. He could tell that Calyne thought he would, that or demand that Jessamy join him instead. Crae sighed and stoppered the bottle.
“Tell her I will be up.”
&nbs
p; Calyne bobbed another small curtsy and rushed off as if she had been reprieved. Crae closed the books and set them neatly away. This was Jessamy’s domain anyway, this desk with all of its accounts. She had kept them in Stavin’s absence. Trieve had prospered under her control. It would have been a sad thing for her to have left her home and her children’s home if the Council had their way last year.
Only by marrying Crae had she been spared that. He supposed it too much to ask that she offer him thanks. No, that was bitterness speaking. It had been hard for her to seek this salvation and harder still to accept it from him, and he understood that. She had never liked him or Stavin’s friendship with him and tolerated it only for her husband’s sake.
He kicked back his chair and grabbed his stick. He doubted that she was planning to apologize, so he might as well go and see what she wanted.
She sat nursing the baby boy in the low light by the fire and a few candles. Tevani already slept in a small bed next to the larger one that was Jessamy’s, and there was a cradle for the baby. The room was crowded and peaceful. Clothes spilled out of a large chest, hers and the children’s. The baby suckled sleepily, and Jessamy was herself ready for bed, her hair down around her shoulders and falling to her waist. She wore a nightgown with tiny buttons down the front bodice. It was half-undone now so she could nurse. A blanket lay discreetly over the boy and her breasts. Crae waited, leaning against the bed-post. She had summoned him; she could begin.
She watched him over her son’s head. Even in the dim light he could tell she had been crying.
“Thank you for not fighting him,” she said, her voice thick. Of all the things he had been expecting, that had been far from it. She caught his expression of surprise, and she gave a watery smile. “Crae, I’m no fool. He deserves a good thrashing, my brother or no. But if you fought him, win or lose, it would be very bad for Trieve. We are in a tenuous position here. No trained men and an upstart lord? It would not take much for the Council to decide they made a bad choice in you and seek to remedy it.”
She was right. She put into words what he had been sensing but hadn’t been able to articulate. What the Council had raised, they could cast back down. Just like that, they were thinking together. All of his temper vanished.
He nodded. “So what do you suggest? We need allies, men—” If they could not even get Favor as an ally, would any of the Houses come to their aid in the Council or otherwise?
“I will talk to Jori,” she said firmly. “He won’t go against me, no matter how much he dislikes you.” Crae acknowledged her openness with a wry smile, and she gave him one of her own. “And I think we can count on Terrick. I know that House. They are good and honorable. Their son may still live beyond the gordath.”
“And Wessen,” Crae said. It was his home country, and he knew the formidable Lady Wessen, Sarita’s mother. She had been the one who sent him off to lead her daughter’s guard, after all. At which I failed, he thought, but nonetheless, he felt the grim lady would have forgiven him, now that Lady Sarita was returned.
“Red Gold Bridge is perhaps not our ally,” Jessamy said thoughtfully. She dislodged Jori from her breast, hastily covering up her nightdress. She stood and laid the sleeping baby in his cradle. He cried out once and then sank into sleep, and Jessamy gave a sigh of relief. She kept her back to Crae as she buttoned her nightgown, and he allowed himself to admire her form under the nightdress, almost but not completely hidden under its folds. “Unless Sarita can influence Tharp.”
“What of Kenery?” he asked her. “Do you think . . .”
She snorted and turned around to him. “I would not trust Lord Kenery to hold my horse for me. Do you know what it took for me to argue him around? A bit of flattery and an appeal to his most false nature.”
Crae laughed out loud, then muffled it instantly, hoping he hadn’t woken the children. “I had wondered. I thought you just kept talking to him until he finally gave in.”
It was her turn to laugh, although more quietly. “There was something of that, I admit.” She began braiding her hair loosely. “So our allies are few, our enemies many. But that is the way of the Aeritan lords—how we do squabble.” She gave him a smile that was almost impish. “Welcome, Lord Crae, to your new family. So how much longer do you think it will take before we have a fighting force?”
“Months,” he acknowledged. “I need a captain, perhaps two. I can’t do it all myself. And we need men in all the villages.”
“Breyan is a good man,” she said. “He was in my father’s guard as a young man, and he took over when Jori became lord. Perhaps he knows someone among his men who could be a good captain. I’ll ask him.”
“Good,” Crae said. He felt a wave of relief and hopeful-ness. He never thought it would happen, but they worked together, at least for now. Perhaps it took her brother to make Jessamy see Crae in a better light. He wanted to take her in his arms—hell, he wanted to take her to his bed—but he knew better.
Crae stepped forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “We will get through this,” he said. “Trieve will survive.”
She made as if to say something but changed tack.
“It will,” she said firmly and formally. “We will. Good night, Lord Crae.”
Well enough. They were back to that. He still felt lighthearted, though, enough to tease her a little. He gave her a formal bow, lord to lady.
“Good night, Lady Jessamy.”
And then he left her to seek his bed.
Jessamy must have talked to her brother, because Favor sulked the rest of the day. Crae hadn’t had a chance to ask her if she had forced Favor into agreeing to ally with Trieve, but he suspected from the man’s attitude that she had been successful. Favor never looked at Crae the whole day. He drank hard at dinner, the good beer that was Trieve’s specialty wasted on him. Crae was beginning to wish that he could take his meal into the kitchen and at least enjoy the company there, when Favor finally spoke up.
“So, Captain,” Favor said sullenly. He glared up at Crae. “You have turned my sister’s House into quite an old barn. You give guesting to a crow. That is something new. What next? Marry him to my niece, perhaps?”
Crae looked at him through narrowed eyes. High god, how he hated the man. No alliance was worth this. “Someone needs to find out where they come from, who they are, and why they fight.”
Favor spat out a laugh. “They are lordless men, godless men. They are mad, filthy animals. They deserve to be killed where they stand. Instead, you bring one into your house—my sister’s house—and stable it in your kitchen.”
“Jori, shut up,” Jessamy said with deliberation.
“No, Sister! I have had enough of this. I’ve seen how he treats you. I’ve seen how he runs your house. He is an incompetent, common captain at arms, and he can’t even do that very well.” He sneered in Crae’s direction and at the stick propped against the table next to him. “Have you seen his men-at-arms? Farmers and shepherds all. Not a soldier among them.”
“That is because, Jori, all of our men-at-arms were killed fighting against the army you joined.” Jessamy glared down her brother. “So it could be said that you put us in this precarious situation.”
Favor blustered. “Well, if Stavin had not joined with Red Gold Bridge . . .”
He trailed off at the look on her face. Jessamy was pale, her face like stone.
“Don’t you ever disparage Stavin.”
“Jessi—”
“Don’t you ‘Jessi’ me! You never call me that except when you want something!”
“He gave guesting to a crow in your kitchen!” Favor’s voice was rising.
“It’s my house, Jori!”
“It’s. My. House.”
A part of Crae knew he spoke, but the words welled up from another source. He knew only that he stood, and the same strength he had gained from the high god overwhelmed him again. He put his fists down on the table and leaned over Favor. “Trieve is mine. I will keep this holding as befits it
s lord, and I will not be gainsaid. You are my kin, but never do you think, ever, that you have the right to question my rule.”
Favor shrank back. His throat worked convulsively, and Crae let his disgust creep into his expression.
“Are we clear, Brother?”
Favor just nodded.
“Good. Then, I have work to do.”
He pushed back his chair with one boot, grabbed his stick, and bowed to Jessamy, as lord to his lady. “My lady,” he said. She was furious, he could tell, but she graced him with a nod in reply.
For a moment, as he left them to the remains of their family dinner, he thought that it would be fun to set the crow loose and watch Favor run. Then he sighed. There had to be a way to get through to the man, and he didn’t just mean his wife’s brother.
The mountain light lingered long into the night in Trieve, the sunset remaining for hours over the jagged horizon, even as the first stars opened in the vault of the sky. Crae walked the perimeter of the house and barn, keeping quiet conversation with his smallholders as they readied for the night. The sheep were in the fold, the dogs keeping a careful watch, the cows in the byre. Crae turned to go back to the house and was surprised to see Jessamy come out to him, a wrap around her shoulders, her hair blowing about under her kerchief. Favor was nowhere to be seen.
“At last,” she sighed. “Both children sleep, and I have a few moments to myself. I talked to Breyan, and he said he had a few likely candidates for you, men who have been chafing under his command. You should interview them tomorrow.”
That could mean he was eager to rid himself of trouble-makers, but Crae understood. He had been a young man of that type himself—ready for his own command. It was how he came to Red Gold Bridge those years ago. It was a small step after that to taking his position under Lord Tharp’s rule. He would be there still, breaking heads and keeping peace in the stronghold, if Lady Sarita had not disappeared through the gordath. Once, it was all that he had wanted: his own command in a good House. His ambitions were few: adventure, love, and an honorable commission.
Red Gold Bridge Page 12