The smell of salt air and fresh fish is somehow slightly different than back home, even though both are on the coast. It is a wonder to me we share the same land. There are fewer smiles and warm embraces. Darker clothing but lighter skin. I suspect I’d be known as an outsider even without the mark of the king on my breastplate.
But one thing we have in common with these people is a love for the sea. Unlike the Highlanders and mountain men, both Voyagers and Southerners, as they call us, survive on the bounties the sea brings.
Following a path along the docks back toward the inn, where we’ll await Master Aldwine’s return, I stop and watch as a fisherman wearing a brown leather apron hauls his catch across the planks. He tosses a net up to a similarly adorned woman, and together they call orders to those still aboard the ship.
Another difference between us. I know of no women captains in Meria.
“Does the sight of a woman in charge of her own ship startle you so?”
I smell her before I even see her, the scent of lavender replacing all else. I turn and nearly lose my footing on, well, nothing. We stand on a dry dirt path that leads to the docks, nothing to become unbalanced over, except the sight of her.
“A Garra,” I blurt before thinking. The bright diamond on her nose identifies her.
I’ve met only one before, a woman who lives deep in the woods where the Terese River splits into two. All know she resides there, but few visit her for healing. I know of her only because Galfrid asked that we protect her. But this woman, the spectacularly beautiful, clearly defiant woman, stands before me with the small piercing in her nose conspicuous to all.
“So the rumors are true?” she asks.
“Rumors, my lady?”
“They say the Merian court is filled with men all praising each other for their esteemed maleness.”
An interesting depiction of my people.
“They say the Voyagers are willful and defiant,” I counter.
“And proud of it,” she responds. “I’ve also heard the king loves himself above all and his men have difficulty deciding who they adore more, him or themselves.”
This Garra is bolder than any woman I’ve ever met. For a man accused of smiling little, I do so now, more broadly than in recent memory.
“I’d not heard that bit of folklore before. But ’tis true,” I say.
“Why are you here?”
The question is flung at me like an insult. Instead of answering, I watch as the sun strikes the diamond in her nose, making it sparkle. It was always curious to me that this special group of healers, so hated by the Church, would choose to mark themselves so outwardly. Some call them witches, but most agree, connected by blood and taught by their ancestors, Garra are nothing more than highly skilled healers of the heart. The others I’ve heard of live in seclusion, in caves and huts deep in the woods, but this woman makes no excuses for herself.
“Why are you not hidden?”
Her laugh is not a dainty one, like the women at court. It is hearty and deep, though not at all amused.
“You’ve much to learn, Southerner.”
For all of this Garra’s bravado, she speaks to me for a reason. And I’d know that reason before returning to my men. The call of seagulls drowns out my next words, so I wait until they pass to repeat myself.
“Southerner. King’s man. Call me what you’d like, my lady, but it is you who approached me, not the other way around.”
Her intelligent eyes narrow. “I saw how you looked at her, as if she was a puzzle to solve.”
If there is a puzzle to be solved here in Murwood End, it is not the ship captain but the woman standing before me.
“We’ve no female ship captains in d’Almerita.”
It’s an honest answer, but she clearly dislikes it.
“Or in Meria,” she says, flinging the fact at me like an insult.
“True enough.”
“And how many women serve in the King’s Curia?”
“None.”
“You ask why I’m not hidden? Perhaps you ask the wrong questions.”
Her words echo a sentiment I’ve heard back home—a choir of voices that has grown louder since Edingham crowned their first queen. But none have ever spoken to me quite so openly, so brazenly, as this woman. I goad her, knowing I should not.
“’Tis not the Merian way to insult strangers. But I’ve been told Voyagers have formed their own traditions.”
“Ha! Been told? Have you not been so far north before?”
“Have you been to the other side of the mountains?”
The way she straightens her shoulders is answer enough.
“I am a mere blacksmith’s daughter, not a man who represents a king. Unlike you, who are so well traveled but seem only to know the customs of those who reside in the lofty castle walls of d’Almerita.”
My jaw clenches. I’ve faced opponents who’ve flung worse insults at me. Stared down well-armed soldiers intent on ending my life. Yet somehow this woman has inflamed me more than all of them combined. I nearly say something I’d surely regret, instead settling for a simple question. “What is your name?”
Her eyes narrow.
“You’re correct—I’m the king’s representative. If that means ’tis my responsibility to know all in the kingdom, I’d start with learning your name.”
Despite her low opinion of me, I bow and introduce myself.
“Lord Vanni d’Abella, Curia Commander to King Galfrid of Meria.”
Enjoying her momentary look of surprise, I add, “And I am indeed a stranger to these parts. I’ve been to Murwood End just once, as a boy, with my father.”
When her chin rises, I’m sure my Garra will not reciprocate, but she surprises me.
“Lady Aedre, daughter of Dal Lorenson, descendant of Athea.”
Athea, the first Garra.
The one who broke our kingdom, if the church is to be believed.
I let the name slip from my tongue. “Aedre, you may call me Vanni.”
She is unimpressed that I’ve offered her leave to use my given name. In fact, I am certain very little impresses Aedre, daughter of Dal Lorenson, descendant of Athea.
Myself included.
Chapter Four
Aedre
I should walk away.
We are healers, little one. Healers of the heart.
My grandmother taught me of love and attraction. When our ancestors’ remedies are needed, and when they are not. She taught me to trust myself, trust the knowledge of my ancestors and to pass on the belief in oneself to every person who will listen. Against my father’s wishes, she taught me enough to know that Lord d’Abella is dangerous to me, however much I hold him in contempt for his association with the king.
There’s no denying the way my heartbeat quickened when I first saw him earlier today. Or my excitement at finding him near the docks.
Both are signs of attraction. So I know better than to be standing here on the dock, trading barbs with him. And yet . . .
“What are you doing here?” I ask again. It’s been many years since the king sent men to Murwood End, and though we trade often with both Meria and Edingham, its nobles rarely visit our shores. Except for one reason.
“I am not at liberty to discuss it.”
He acts exactly as I’d expect a member of the Curia would.
No, not just any member. A commander. Skilled in battle, loyal to the king, not a man to be trifled with. But I’ve never been one to follow rules.
“Not at liberty?” I freeze when he takes a step toward me.
Aware of the looks we’re getting, I hold my ground. Although most of the Voyagers wear mail hauberk and chausses as he does, his brightly colored tunic, emblazoned with the Merian coat of arms, clearly marks him a Southerner. Fine fabrics for a fine lord.
“I make you nervous?”
Oddly, no.
I shake my head. “Curious”—for more reasons than I’m willing to name—“but not nervous.”
&nbs
p; That seems to surprise him.
“I’ve not met a maid like you before, Aedre.”
“There you are,” a familiar voice says as footsteps hustle toward us.
Damnation. Not now. Not him.
“Your father bid me find you.”
Agnar sidesteps a fisherman passing in the opposite direction, his gaze never leaving the commander. I’ve no more desire to introduce the two than I do to leave and return to the forge and inform my father about this discussion.
But I need to.
Nothing occurs in Murwood End in secret. From nobles and captains to freemen and fishermen, all will know of this conversation between the king’s man and me.
“My father can wait,” I inform Agnar, who looks at me as if he’s tempted to snatch me away at this very moment. Eyeing the commander suspiciously, he introduces himself.
“Agnar Haroldson.”
Lord d’Abella does not flinch at the clipped introduction.
“Lord Vanni d’Abella.”
I roll my eyes at their display, unable to say which of them puffs their chest out more than the other. Agnar, despite my having told him many times over the years we are more akin to brother and sister than husband and wife, asks for my hand often. Thankfully, it’s been some time, however, and he’s been lately spotted with the miller’s daughter.
It would be a good match. Both of them are kindhearted and pleasant to look at, and their children would come into the world blessed in many ways. If they marry, I will be happy for them.
But at the moment, Agnar is not thinking of the miller’s daughter. He glares at the Southerner as I did earlier. Though why I should feel compelled to defend the man, I do not know. And yet I find myself saying, “He is Curia Commander to King Galfrid.”
We know little of southern politics here—our trade with them is sparser than our dealings with the islands to the north—but we know the history of Meria. Of its structures, of its past. We know what led Murwood End to isolate itself by more than just geography.
And although there’s no love lost for the king, there’s no denying “commander” is a coveted title. This lord’s position changes everything. Agnar, a warrior himself, visibly changes at the news, straightening and losing some of his aggression.
“First commander, or second?” he asks, cocking his head. “Or are you the Knight Commander?”
All signal greatness. A king’s second is a skilled knight, indeed, and the Knight’s Commander leads the king’s men into battle. But the first commander is regarded as the one person in the kingdom most capable of keeping the king, and his people, safe.
“First commander.”
The way he says it sends a chill down my back. When Lord d’Abella looks at me, I know for certain he exposes my weakness as a Garra.
A love healer who’s never desired a man so deeply that naught else mattered. My grandmother always insisted I’d feel that way myself someday, and I finally do.
For the wrong man.
“Your men are within the Sailor’s Inn?” Agnar asks.
“Aye.”
“I’ve just left there. They said you are looking for Master Aldwine?”
Lord d’Abella glances at me.
Agnar’s words have shaken me to my core, but I don’t let it show.
“Go on,” I say, finding it easy to sound annoyed. “Agnar is a man. Certainly you are at liberty to tell him what you could not tell me.” Then I spin on my heel and walk away.
The commander calls for me to return, but I make my way along the docks, watching as a ship glides toward shore. Walking by villagers who bid a good day to me, and I them, I slip unseen between two stone buildings. One of them, I realize, is the inn where Lord d’Abella’s men reside, and I pull up my hood as a barrier against watchful eyes as I watch the ship grow larger.
Is it Kipp’s boat?
I pray it is not.
Stay away. They’ve come for you again.
As the ship veers closer, I see it is not his, which means my friend is still safely out to sea. But he will return soon.
And there can be only one reason the king’s men are here for him.
Chapter Five
Aedre
“Take this.” I shove a coin into the boy’s hand. “Give the smith a message.”
The boy’s eyes widen as he stares at the coin. This prompts me to give him another, knowing he sees too few of them in those small hands. “I am Aedre, his daughter.” A fact that he likely already knows. “Tell him I’ve been delayed but will return before sunset. Can you do that?”
He nods vigorously and runs away. I will still receive a blistering from Father, but at least he will not worry for my safety. Pulling the hood down a bit farther, I enter and look for them.
There.
Thankfully, their leader does not appear to have found his way back to them yet. Ordering a tankard of ale, I sit as close as possible with my back to two of the men. Courtesy of his wife, Sailor’s Inn is always well kept, if muddy near the doors on rainy days. Boards serve as tables, and high-backed settles and stools are scattered all around. Behind the long board where some sit to drink, shelves full of pewter dishes and earthenware mugs are stacked nearly to overflowing. On cool days, the stone hearth in the corner is lit, always surprising those who come from the south, unused to our cold, rainy days, even in the summer.
The others do not pay me any notice, and with luck, none of the Sailor’s Inn patrons will either. It is not at all unusual for a woman to frequent the dockside tavern alone. Though I suspect, from my understanding and from Lord d’Abella’s reaction earlier, it would be odd indeed in the south.
It doesn’t take long for them to speak of their objective. I’ve positioned myself in such a way that they’re all seated behind me. My view is of the innkeeper and his attendants, plus all manner of patrons, but I need not see the Southerners to hear them clearly.
“Will we stay?”
“His instructions were clear. We don’t return without him.”
Him. Kipp.
“Where do you think Vanni has gone?” the first man asked.
“Getting the townspeople to adore him, most likely.”
That was said with reverence, not malice. So people like this commander? And his men respect him?
“Will it matter if we cannot gain access to the man?”
A grunt greets his question. “It did surprise me to learn he’s so infrequently home.”
The remoteness of Kipp’s manor and infrequency of his visits ashore are well-known here but apparently less so to the men who would persuade him to return to his birthplace.
His instructions were clear. We don’t return without him.
Why has the king sent for him after all these years? Especially since Kipp made it very clear the last time they came he would never, ever return south.
“There he is.”
I spin around without thinking and then turn back in my seat quickly. Of course they’re talking of their commander and not of Kipp.
Did he notice me?
“Have you learned anything?” one of his men ask.
I can hear a shuffling sound as Lord d’Abella takes a seat, blissfully unaware of my presence. Thank the heavens.
“Only that the women of Murwood End are curious indeed.”
I’d not planned on drinking the ale, having merely ordered it to avoid suspicion. But I take a long sip, shaken by his presence. By his words.
“Curious how?”
“Does it matter? We’re here to find . . .”
One of the men, the commander maybe, clears his throat.
“They are much too forward for my liking,” d’Abella continues. An odd silence descends over the group, broken by him. “I met one in particular, the blacksmith’s daughter, who seems to have strange notions about the role women should play. As if they are equal to us men.”
The group laughs, and although it’s exactly the kind of remark that would normally move me to anger, I’m disappointed
instead. Despite the look he gave the ship captain, I’d hoped he would not be one of those men who see women as nothing more than property. Even here, in Murwood, there are those who are still influenced by Southern ideas. After all, Murwood End was originally founded by former Southerners.
“Mayhap she believes such things because she is not comely.”
I nearly choke on my ale.
“Nay,” the coxcomb says, “she is quite comely. More comely, in fact, than any woman I’ve met before.”
Stupid heart, that it would beat so erratically for a man such as this. If I thought his arrogance was bad, his thoughts on women are even worse.
“’Tis a fact?”
Again, silence. He does not answer. I resist the urge to spin in my seat, knowing Lord d’Abella is facing me. But I look forward to telling Kipp, when he does return, to sail back out at once and never speak to the king’s men, who want only to use him, I’m sure, for their own nefarious purposes.
“Aye, ’tis very much a fact.”
I do look up then, for the words are whispered into my ear. I did not even hear him approaching. My shoulders rise and fall in . . . anger? Nay. Excitement. I’m disgusted by the knowledge, but there’s no denying it.
“How long have you known I was here?”
The commander sits across the table from me, ale in hand. Did he say those things for my benefit? Knowing I was here? Or do I only wish it to be so?
“Since the moment I came inside.”
His gaze is much too intense.
“Because you are trained to notice threats to you and your men?”
He takes a swig of ale, slow to answer.
“Nay. Because a woman such as you could not escape my notice, even with a hood covering her head.”
I hate that his words affect me so.
Taking down the hood, I sip my ale to afford myself a moment to think.
“Strange notions indeed,” I mutter.
I am wholly unprepared for Lord d’Abella’s smile. Faint lines form around his amused eyes, and I know for certain he did say those words for my benefit.
The King's Commander (Kingdoms of Meria Book 1) Page 2
