Ruck turned sharply. He squinted, scanning the moor—and saw the flicker of yellow motion. "Nay, Your Highness. It be no more than a plover bird." He looked back at her, but she had already sagged to the ground again. One lock of her dark hair had escaped the golden net that confined it, flying across her cheek in the cold breeze. He feared she was sickening in her mind for her lover—she seemed so lost and bewildered.
"We shall not stonden here," she said. "We shall not wait for them."
"How wende we without an escort? My lady has nought e’en her maid."
"I say we shall not wait!" she exclaimed. But when she looked at him, it was a confused look, with no command in it. "I never thought—I ne meant not them all to go!"
Ruck made no answer. She was no more reasonable now in her reaction than Allegreto had been in his last night, like a wicked spoiled child who had taunted her playmates until they fled, and now could not fix between anger and tears. The fugitives had taken the animals but bothered to load nothing heavy in their haste. He unpacked a wooden cup and filled it at the ale keg. As she sat huddled on the bare ground, he squatted beside her.
"Will you break fast, lady?"
She accepted the ale, drank a few sips, and handed it back to him. He watched her shiver inside the fur mantle. It was cold, but not so cold as to make her shake in that way.
"It would be no great thing to finden us," she said in a troubled tone, glancing at the tent with its bright unnatural hues.
He drained the rest of the ale. "Forsooth, we are easy seen. It is best in this place to hiden such color, and layen doon and watch." He stood up and went to the tent. He was about to duck inside when she suddenly rose, slipping past him.
As he held back the drape, she emerged with the gyrfalcon on her gauntleted wrist. Her gestures had slowed; she moved softly with the bird as she transferred it. "Bring the block. Gryngolet will keepen watch."
Ruck obeyed, approving the idea. He shoved the spike of the cone-shaped block firmly into the sand.
Princess Melanthe established the falcon, crooning as she removed the hood. "’Ware for thy favorite," she murmured. "’Ware Allegreto."
The gyrfalcon stretched her wings wide, milky white, her bells tinkling. The bright, dark eyes focused briefly on Ruck and then beyond, fixing on the distance.
"Is a noble bird," he said, in spite of himself.
"Grant merci, sir." She seemed more composed now, not so shaken as she had been but a moment before. "I had her gift of a Northman." She glanced at Ruck. "He were near as tall as thee, but fair."
Her slanting look at him seemed to hold some message. This tall, fair Northman had been another of her lovers, he reckoned. He felt irritated and runisch. To give her a gift of such value had not occurred to him.
"He died in bed by a bodkin knife," she said, as if it were a piece of light gossip. "I believe his soul went into Gryngolet."
Ruck crossed himself in reflex at the blasphemy, but he did not rebuke it.
"If Allegreto comes, Gryngolet will knowen," she added enigmatically.
"Well for it." Not only her witch’s familiar, the falcon, but a jealous lover, too. He grabbed the handle of the chest inside her tent and hauled it out. "I can turn hand then, and gear us to wenden when we will."
Ruck went about his work moodily, with half an eye to the horizon. He rolled her furs and piled them on the chest outside, then kicked each of the tent pegs loose in turn. As the bright pavilion fell in on itself, he pulled off his gloves with his teeth and stuffed them under his arm, grimacing at the taste of metal and sand. He squatted and began to untie the ropes.
He looked up to see Princess Melanthe huddled at the other side of the cloth, engaged on the same task.
"Fie, madam," he said in astonishment, "I shall do the labor."
She was having little success with the tight knot. He stood up and caught the rope, pulling the stake from her hands.
"Your Highness, it be nought seemly," he said, vexed. He caught her elbow and drew her up. With a little force he guided her away from the tent, releasing her immediately.
"I ne like not this waiting," she said, holding her fingers clasped tight together. "When mayen we go?"
"If they return nought by morn, then we depart." He spread her furs on the log, searched inside her chest, found a book, and handed it to her. "One night be enow to spenden alone in the Wyrale."
He bent knee briefly before her, then stood up and went back to work, releasing the pegs and pitching the corners of the tent toward the middle, folding it together into a tight package. From the corner of his eye as he secured the ties, he could see her sitting upon the furs. The shivers caught up with her sometimes, making the open book shake.
"We wait for naught," she said suddenly. "If so be they have lost their fear of plague, they fearen their punishment too well to comen again."
He rose from binding the tent. "They fears, right enow. But in the cold light of morn a man reflects that he hatz both wife and child, and cares nought to liven outlawed from God and home." The corner of his mouth lifted as he stood straight, setting his hand at his waist. "Wherefore, my lady, he bethinks him of a story, of how the others fled, but he alone among them watz a brave man, and ran after, to bringen them back. But he lost his way in the darkness, and only now comes to us again as fast he may find us."
The reluctant shadow of a smile crossed her features. "The duke did say thou art a master of men."
He gave a slight shrug. "It is what I would do, were I one of them."
"Nay," she said. "Green Sire, thou wouldst not—for thou didst not run away to begin." She laid the volume aside. "But a gift thou hast, to read the hearts of lesser men."
He did not trust her compliments. "They are soldiers," he said. "More like to me than to my lady’s grace."
She turned her eyes to him, her eyes the color of purple dusk, and gazed at him as if she were only just seeing him for the first time. She had looked at him so once before, as she had