Daggerspell

  “Not in the least, and you don’t sound like a woman who feels herself shamed.”

  “Well, if anything, I still feel rather smug.” Lovyan tossed her head like a young lass. “And somehow my bard made me realize that it wasn’t Tingyr I loved, but the power of being his wife. We had some lovely weeks together. When I went home, I made sure that little Linedd knew who ruled in Aberwyn’s court. But I’ll admit to being quite nervous when the time came for my childbed. When they laid Rhodry on my breast, the first thing I looked at was his ears.”

  “Oh, no doubt.” Nevyn allowed himself a chuckle. “Are you ever going to tell Rhodry the truth?”

  “Never, and not for the sake of my rather besmirched honor. It’s simply that every man in Eldidd has to believe that Rhodry’s a true-born Maelwaedd or he can never rule in Dun Gwerbyn. I doubt me if my poor honest son could keep the secret.”

  “So do I. The lads got a fine honor indeed. My thanks for telling me the truth. It clears up a great puzzle. Aderyn’s been rambling about Westfolk blood in the Maelwaedd clan, and how it skips generations to all come out in someone, but that seemed more than a bit farfetched to me.”

  “And quite unnecessary,” Lovyan said with a small firm nod, then proceeded to change the subject in a way that made it clear she never wanted it raised again. “I wonder when Rhys will ride our way? He’ll have to give his agreement on the way I settle this rebellion. I suppose he’s already polishing a few nasty remarks to spoil his brother’s victory. You can’t know how hard it is for a woman to have two of her sons wrangling like this. Nevyn, do you know why Rhys hates Rhodry so much?”

  “I don’t. I wish I did—I’d put a stop to it.”

  This time, Nevyn wasn’t merely putting Lovyan off with cryptic remarks. Over the years, he’d done many meditations to discover if Rhys’s hatred was part of the tangled chain of Wyrd that Nevyn and Rhodry shared. It was no such thing, merely one of those irrational tempers that spring up between blood kin. At some point Rhys and Rhodry would have to resolve it, if not in this life, then in the next, but that, mercifully, would be no concern of his.

  There were other souls, of course, who were his concern, and that afternoon Nevyn went to Cullyn’s chamber. He found Cullyn dressed and out of bed, sitting on the carved chest by the window with his left arm in a sling. Cullyn was pale and so gaunt that the dark circles under his eyes looked like pools of shadow, but he was mending nicely.

  “How well will this blasted arm heal, do you think?” Cullyn asked.

  “I truly don’t know. We’ll have to wait until we get the splints off. It was a clean break, and you were too sick at first to move it much, so there’s hope.”

  “At least it wasn’t my sword arm.”

  “Now, here, are you still brooding about Rhodry?”

  “Don’t be a dolt, herbman. Jill’s safe and that’s an end to it,” Cullyn looked idly out the window. “But I’ve still got to eat along the long road.”

  So he did, and Nevyn felt an odd pang of sympathy for his old enemy, whose very life depended on how well he could use sword and shield. A broken bone was a hard thing to mend, even for someone with his lore, simply because splints and strips of cloth and rabbit-skin glue never really held the break perfectly immobile.

  “Well,” Nevyn said at last. “At least you’ll have all winter to recover. Rhodry will certainly give you his shelter till spring.”

  “True spoken. Our young lord’s got more honor than most. Will you be sheltering here, too?”

  “I will.”

  Nevyn felt like adding, “Cursed right I will!” He was going to be needed. Soon they would all be shut up together in a stormy Eldidd winter, and he doubted if Jill and Rhodry would be able to hide their love affair. After all, they were remembering a passion that they’d shared life after life, the memory close to the surface of their minds, where they’d merely found it but thought it new. Even without a shield, Cullyn would be a very hard man for Rhodry to best, especially when Eldidd law gave a father every right to kill the man who dishonored his daughter.

  The army stayed in Dun Bruddlyn for some days to bury the dead and let the wounded rest before the long journey home. Jill was pleased when out of respect for the dweomer, Rhodry had his men put Loddlaen in a proper grave rather than throwing him in the trench with the other rebels … but then, everything that Rhodry did pleased her, as if in her eyes he were a god come to walk among mortals. The memory of her night in his arms haunted her. Rather than ending her hunger for him, it had made it worse, like trying to douse a fire with oil. Yet she kept her bargain and did her best to avoid him. Another thought haunted her constantly, too: what if Da ever found out?

  Finally the morning came when they would return to Dun Gwerbyn. After she saddled her horse, Jill went to say farewell to Aderyn and the two elves, who were grinning at the prospect of leaving the lands of men for home.

  “Here, Jill,” Calonderiel said. “If ever you weary of Eldidd, then ride west and find us. The Wildfolk will show you the way.”

  “My thanks. Truly, that would gladden my heart, to see you all again.”

  “Maybe someday you will,” Aderyn said. “And if not, think of me every now and then, and I’ll do the same for you.”

  As they mounted their horses, Jill suddenly felt like weeping. She’d never known men she’d liked so well so fast. Someday I will ride west, she thought, someday. Yet she felt a little coldness around her heart from somehow knowing that the “someday” was a long time away, if it ever came at all. She waited at the edge of the camp until they’d ridden out of sight, then went back to her own people and to Rhodry, waiting for her at the head of the army.

  On the day that the victorious army returned to Dun Gwerbyn, Cullyn sat by the window, where he had a good view of the gates and the ward below. The day was wet, with a fine drizzle of rain that turned the cobbles below as clean and slick as metal, and the draft through the window was cold, but he kept his watch until at last he saw them filing in, the men wrapped in wool cloaks. At the head was Jill, riding a golden western hunter. Grinning in a gape of relief, Cullyn leaned on the windowsill and watched as she dismounted, threw her reins to a servant, then ran for the broch. Cullyn closed and barred the wooden shutters without a doubt that she was running to see him. In just a few minutes, Jill flung the door open and stepped in, pausing out of breath in the doorway.

  “What did you do? Run all the way up?”

  “I did. If you’re going to beat me, I want it over with.”

  Cullyn laughed and held out his good arm to her.

  “I’m still too weak to beat you. And I don’t even want to, I’m so cursed glad to see you alive.”

  When she flung herself down next to him, he hugged her gingerly, aware of the ache down his side from the healing wound, then kissed her on the forehead. She gave him a smile as beautiful as the sun rising.

  “Your old Da’s head is swollen these days, my sweet. So my lass gained the honor of the day, did she? I saw that horse you rode in. Was it a gift from the cadvridoc?”

  “It was.” Jill grinned at him. “And after the battle, I ate at the head of the honor table.”

  “Listen to you, you little hellcat.” Cullyn gave her an affectionate squeeze. “But I warn you, if I ever hear you talking about riding to another battle, I’ll beat you so hard that you won’t be able to sit on a horse.”

  “Don’t trouble your heart, Da.” Her smile was abruptly gone. “Oh, it’s splendid to sit here with you and share my glory, but I don’t ever want to ride to war again.”

  “Well and good, then. I suppose you had to see for yourself and learn the hard way. You’re too much like me to learn any other way.”

  When she laughed, he bent his head to kiss her, then realized that Nevyn was standing in the open doorway and watching them with an oddly frightened expression, quickly stifled. Cullyn let go of Jill and moved away. The old man’s stare was a mirror, making him see an ugly twisted thing that he’d hidden from him
self until that moment.

  “How do you fare?” Nevyn said. “The cadvridoc wants to see you, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t overtired.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Indeed?” Nevyn raised one eyebrow. “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine!” Cullyn snarled. “Jill, leave us alone.”

  “Da! I want to hear what his lordship says.”

  “I said go.”

  Like a kicked dog she got up and slunk out of the room. Letting her go, knowing how much he’d hurt her, made his heart ache. He was afraid to look at Nevyn.

  “You know,” the old man said. “There’s more than one kind of battle that a man has to fight.”

  Cullyn felt shame flood him like cold water, but mercifully Nevyn left without another word. Cullyn leaned back against the shutters and felt himself shaking. As soon as he was well, he told himself, he was going to ride out and leave Jill behind under Lovyan’s protection. It was going to hurt like poison, but it was best that way. He knew he could do it when the time came, because he’d be doing it for her sake, and if he died in his next battle, somewhere far from Eldidd, she’d never even have to know he was dead.

  “Cullyn?” Rhodry said.

  Cullyn looked up with a start; he’d never even noticed the lord come in.

  “How do you fare? I can leave.”

  “I’m fine, my lord.”

  Rhodry had never looked more like a lord than he did that morning, in his soft shirt embroidered with red lions, his plaid thrown back from his shoulders and pinned at one side with a jeweled ring brooch, his hand on the hilt of his finely worked sword, but Cullyn found himself thinking of him as a boy, and one he might have loved like a son. It was going to hurt to leave Rhodry behind, too.

  “Will you forgive me for taking Jill off to war?” Rhodry said. “It ached my heart to let a lass do my fighting for me.”

  “And who were you to argue with dweomer? You know, my lord, ever since Jill was a little lass, all she ever talked about was getting a chance at battle glory. I’m not surprised she grabbed her chance when it came. She always could lie like a little weasel when she wanted somewhat.”

  “Well, maybe so.” Rhodry looked sharply away. “But you truly do forgive me? It’s been aching my heart, wondering what you thought of me.”

  “Here, lad. It doesn’t become the noble-born to care one way or another what a dishonored man like me thinks of them.”

  “Oh, horseshit! You must have been dishonored once, or you wouldn’t be carrying that dagger, but what do I care what you did all those years ago? I came to offer you a place in my warband, and not just any place. I want you for my captain. It’s not just me—Amyr and the lads have been dropping hints, like, about how honored they’d be to ride behind you.”

  “Oh, ye gods, I can’t take that.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I—uh—it’s just not fitting.”

  “Nonsense!” Rhodry tossed his head. “I even asked Sligyn what he thought of the idea, and he said it was a cursed good one. You don’t need to worry about my vassals looking down their noses at you or suchlike.”

  Cullyn opened his mouth, but no words came. He could never tell Rhodry the real reason he wanted to ride away from the most generous lord he’d ever met.

  “Oh, by the hells, Cullyn! Are you truly going to say me nay?”

  “I’m not, my lord.”

  “Well and good, then. We can leave all the kneeling and fine words for when you’re better. Here, your face is white as snow. Let me help you up, captain. You’d better lie down.”

  Cullyn took the offered aid and made it safely back to his bed. After Rhodry left, he lay there and stared at the ceiling. Rhodry had handed him back the honor and decency he thought he’d lost forever, but he would know that he was unworthy, that everything was poisoned at the heart. Jill, Jill, he thought, how could I—my own daughter! He turned his face to the pillow and wept for the first time since he’d lain on Seryan’s grave, and this time, too, he was weeping for her and for their daughter.

  After Cullyn ordered her out of his chamber, Jill went down to the great hall in a sulk, but soon she realized that it was probably best that she be gone when Rhodry and Cullyn were together. Since the warbands were off tending their horses, and the noble-born in conference with the tieryn up in Sligyn’s sickroom, the hall was deserted except for a serving lass, desultorily wiping the tables with a wet rag. Jill dipped herself a tankard of ale, then stood by the warband’s hearth, where a peat fire smoldered against the chill. In a few minutes Rhodry came down the staircase and strode over to her. She loved watching the way he moved, with the graceful strength of a young panther. He made her a bow, then looked at her with eyes so hungry that she knew he was remembering their night together.

  “I’ve just spoken with Cullyn. I made him the captain of my warband.”

  “Did you do it for his sake or to keep me here?”

  “For his sake.”

  “Then I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lord.”

  “It hurts to hear you call me my lord.” Rhodry looked down and scuffed at the floor with the toe of his boot. “But I’m mindful of our bargain, one night and no more.”

  “Well and good, then.”

  Yet when they looked at each other, all she wanted was to throw her arms around him and kiss him, no matter who might see.

  “Mother’s going to offer you a place in her retinue,” Rhodry said at last. “Cursed if I’d have you waiting on table or chopping turnips out in the kitchen.”

  “Would you offer me a place in your warband?”

  “Do you want one? I will.”

  “I don’t. I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

  “I’d give you anything you wanted, if only I could. Ah, Jill, I’d marry you if they’d let me. I mean that. It’s not just some weaseling words from a dishonorable man.”

  “I know. And I’d marry you if I could.”

  Rhodry’s eyes filled with tears. He’s like an elf indeed, Jill thought, but she felt like weeping herself. Irritably he rubbed his eyes on his shirt sleeve and looked away.

  “Ah, ye gods, I respect your father so much! I think that hurts worst of all.”

  Rhodry strode off, slamming out the door of the hall. For a moment Jill thought of riding off alone as a silver dagger herself, but rationally she knew that she had to take Lovyan’s offer. The long road had come to an end, here in Dun Gwerbyn, where she would live close to Rhodry—but far, far away. All at once, she wanted to be with her father. She refilled the tankard, then took it upstairs. When she came in, he was lying on his bed, and something about his eyes told her that he’d been weeping. She assumed he was touched by the honor just paid him.

  “Is that ale for your old father?” Cullyn sat up and arranged a smile. “My thanks.”

  “Lord Rhodry told me how he honored you.” Jill handed him the tankard. “It’s so splendid. It’s about time someone recognized what kind of a man you are.”

  Cullyn winced.

  “Does that wound ache?”

  “A bit. The ale will help.”

  Jill perched on the end of the bed and watched him drink. She felt that she’d never loved him more, her wonderful father, who had his pride back to match his glory.

  Later in the afternoon, Lovyan summoned Jill to the women’s hall. The second floor of one of the secondary brochs, it was more a large suite than a hall, a sign that the tieryns of Dun Gwerbyn could support their womenfolk in luxury. There were separate bedchambers for Lovyan’s serving women, and a large half-round of a room with Bardek carpets, little tables, and carved and cushioned chairs in profusion. Lovyan greeted her warmly and led her to a chair, while Medylla offered her a plate of honeyed apricots and Dannyan poured her a goblet of pale Bardek wine.

  “I must say I never thought I’d have to thank a lass for saving my son’s life,” Lovyan said. “But I do thank you, and from the bottom of my heart.”

  “Her Grace is more
than welcome, and truly, you’ve offered me more repayment than I deserve.”

  “Nonsense. You have much to learn about life in a court, of course, but I’m sure you’ll do splendidly. The first thing we have to do is sew you some proper dresses.”

  Jill’s dismay must have shown on her face, because the three of them laughed gently at her.

  “Oh, come now,” Dannyan said. “You can’t go around dressed like a lad.”

  “Besides,” Medylla broke in. “You’re so pretty, child. Once your hair grows, and we’ve gotten you all turned out, why, you’ll have lads clustering around you like bees round a rose bush.”

  Jill stared blankly at her.

  “Child?” Lovyan said. “Is somewhat wrong?”

  “Well, Your Grace, I mean no disrespect, but don’t you all remember that I’ve killed two men?”

  They went as still as if they’d been turned to stone by dweomer. Only then did Jill realize just how completely her one victorious battle had set her apart from other women. Not even the powerful Lovyan would ever know what she knew, the bitter tangled glory of wagering your life against another’s and winning.

  “So you have,” Loyvan said at last. “I was assuming that you’d want to put all that behind you.”

  “I do, Your Grace, but I can’t—not so easily, anyway.” Jill began to feel like a horse in a bedchamber. “I mean no insult, truly I don’t.”

  “Of course not, child, and none’s taken,” Lovyan said. “But true enough, chatter about lads and pretty clothes isn’t going to amuse you the way it used to amuse the three of us. This is very interesting, Jill. Have you ever thought of marrying, by the way?”

  “I haven’t, Your Grace. Who would I have married without a dowry? Some tavernman?”

  “True spoken, but all that’s changed now.” Lovyan gave her a good-humored smile. “Your beauty and my favor are dowry enough for any lass. There’s many a rising young merchant who’d admire a wife with your spirit, and for that matter, many a landless noble lord who needs my goodwill. You wouldn’t be the first woman to win a title with her looks.”