“Half brother,” Lark grunted, as if she needed the reminder.
She knew his memories of Hugh were not always pleasant, for Lord Aldred had pitted the two against each other. It was a mutual enmity that she was trying to remedy.
“I have no dispute with Hugh, Mother,” her son averred. “He takes his responsibilities toward Morland seriously. I am even grateful to him that you are under the protection of Sterland Castle. But do not think that I too wish to be tamed by a wife.”
Lady Kathryn sighed. It was futile to try to change her son’s mind now. But it would matter not in the end; Larkin would have no choice. Fate would intervene, and he would lose his heart to one as strong as he. It was written in the stars, if she and Juliana had read them correctly.
Her son was astute enough to realize that the Queen had a motive for sending him away from court, and that she, his mother, was colluding in some scheme. She gave him her coolest gaze and narrowed her eyes to match his. “There was a time when you sought out another,” Lady Kathryn reminded him. “What was her name? Anna, was it not?”
“I tell you once more, she was nothing,” he stated, refusing to admit that the name still haunted him.
“Go,” Lady Kathryn ordered her implacable son. “Find some food and drink and leave me to my writing. You’ll soon be back at court.” He kissed her cheek before leaving her to her letter.
Lady Kathryn worked long into the night to chart the stars, searching for some portent of the future. She stopped only when the sky brightened with the new dawn. Two more nights she toiled, barely sleeping, barely eating. When at last she finished, she summoned her son, and whilst waiting for him, she reread her final words:
…I’m afraid there is no denying that the realm will face its greatest trials since the Great War. When this will occur, I have yet to discover.
As for the other matter, I have translated the runes from the dagger:
Black as Night this Blade is Forged,
Seeking Red in Stone and Blood,
Tempering Hearts in Field of Stars
I am sure this is prophetic. The ancient race had better methods than we in foretelling. And so, we must find Larkin’s match. Whether she is at Court or in some other corner of this realm, I know not. So much has been lost during the peace. The bloodline has been forgotten by all save those touched by it. Perhaps fortune will bless you in your own search of the Royal Archives.
My Queen, my sister, my friend, the day is not long away when we must divulge all that we know. Until then, keep an eye on my boy for me. He dwells yet on the girl named Anna.
Your loving sister,
Kathryn
Chapter Five—The Crossing
Anna awakened feeling refreshed. She was determined to impress Roger with an improved comportment. They broke camp early, and like the day before, her husband set a brisk pace. The misty shadows of the woods dissipated as sunlight filtered through the branches above, heralding the end of the forest, and so too the end of Chevring lands and her former life.
The trees gave way to fields of wildflowers of every color, and the road, for so long as straight as an arrow, now meandered at the whim of the low hills. As their trek steepened, the wide swatches of tall grass yielded to rockier terrain. On and on they rode.
To break the monotony, Anna attempted to draw Roger into discourse, but he seemed content to survey the never-changing scenery. She tried starting a conversation with the stable master, but he only replied with quick nods of his head, or “Yes, m’lady” and “No, m’lady,” and avoided meeting her gaze. She had hoped he would be friendlier, being a horse person. Perhaps he was loath to accept equine advice from a woman.
The landscape did nothing to help Anna’s sinking mood either. Gone were the stately hardwoods of the forest and hills. And the stands of aspen growing in the dells had given way to twisted conifers. Anna searched the horizon for something to take her mind from her growing lassitude. Finally, as they topped yet another hill, Anna beheld a beautiful open vale with a wide river snaking its way through.
They stopped when they reached the broad, easy-flowing water. Anna waited while Roger gave orders to his men before riding up to her. “We’ll cross here, and then take a short rest,” he explained. “The water is shallow enough even with the spring runoff. I assume your steed has forded a river before.” Before she could reply, Roger turned his mount and rode down the bank. Anna followed with ease.
Midstream, the water was clear, and the riverbed was scattered with smooth rocks as big as gourds. After crossing, she slid from her saddle and set Tullian free to graze upon the stray clumps of grass. There was not much to be found. It seemed as though the area had been well traveled of late.
So after leading her destrier downstream to find fresh grass, Anna sat on the bank. Hidden in the tall reeds, she removed her boots and stockings to sink her toes into the cool water. From where she rested, she could just see Gilles leading the mares and pack animals across the river. One of the packhorses stumbled on a rock and reared. Its burden came loose, falling with a great splash into the moving waters. Roger charged past the stable master, nearly knocking the man from his saddle, to retrieve their belongings.
Anna was too far away to hear, but she could tell by the way Roger was gesturing that he was furious. Gilles lowered his head. Then something happened so quickly that Anna wasn’t sure if she’d witnessed it at all. Roger struck the stableman hard and fast, catching him on the cheek and knocking him into the river. Her husband stiffened and scanned the area around him. Anna ducked further into the reeds. After drying her feet, she slipped on her stockings and boots, then hurried to find Tullian before rejoining the others.
Gilles was holding a wet cloth to a bleeding gash just below his eye. She dropped Tully’s reins and hurried to the cart, feigning surprise at Gilles’s injury. She could tell that he was badly shaken. “I have just the thing for that,” she said in a soothing voice. “Keep that cloth to your face. The pressure will slow the bleeding.” There was a tremor in the man’s hand, and she thought he shook his head at her. “Do as I say, Gilles, and we’ll have you patched up soon enough.”
As she walked back to Tullian, she ignored the curious looks from Roger’s men, caring little that they did not seem to approve of her actions. Gilles was hurt. What good was she to anyone if she couldn’t help with a simple injury? Anna pulled a small earthen pot from her saddlebag, fitting it neatly in her hand. She pivoted on her heel, and stepped right into Roger. She might have tumbled back if it were not for Tullian behind her. Her horse shifted his weight and set her aright.
“What are you doing, Aubrianne?” Roger asked. His men were observing the exchange with interest.
“Did you not see, my lord? The stable master is bleeding. My family has used this salve for years to treat small scrapes and cuts. Why, I’ve even used it on the horses.”
One of Roger’s men was overly keen on the conversation, so Anna lowered her voice. “I apologize, m’lord. I should have asked you first if I could help, but my mother taught me that one duty of a lady to her people is to treat the injured and sick. My mother—”
“You may help him if you wish, Aubrianne,” Roger cut in. “Do not take overlong.”
Anna hurried back to Gilles. The wound was shallow but long; Roger’s ring must have caught him, straight and clean. With a dry cloth, she delicately patted the area and was pleased to see that the bleeding had slowed. When she uncorked the earthen pot, Gilles eyed the small container with suspicion. He squinted, and his nose crinkled as if something rotten were contained within.
“This will only hurt a little. There’s not much I can do about the flowery smell, but at least it will keep the flies away,” she said, hoping to garner a smile from the injured man. He flinched. “You won’t even have a scar,” Anna promised, smiling as she dabbed at the cut.
“Thank you, m’lady,” he mumbled under his breath.
“You are welcome,” she replied, happy to be useful. She hurried ba
ck to where Roger held Tullian by the reins.
“I’m afraid you’ll not have time for refreshment,” he said, peering down at her from his saddle. “I suppose that comes with the responsibility of being Lady of Stolweg.”
Once seated securely in her saddle, she regarded her husband with a bright smile. “I’ll have to make do with dining atop Tully-boy. His gait is smooth enough even to pour tea, m’lord.”
Roger clucked his tongue, and his mount started at a brisk pace. Anna wasn’t sure if she’d said something wrong. No one made eye contact with her except for one soldier, and he stared at her with a sly gleam in his eyes. She frowned at him before looking ahead and nudging Tullian forward.
That day and the next four, they rode on. On the seventh morning of their journey, Anna rose early, packed her belongings, and went outside to find Tullian. He’d been well tended to and was already saddled. The group began its trek through the mountain pass that would lead them to Stolweg land. They rode single file on the narrowing trail.
To Anna, after the lush and verdant fields of Chevring, this landscape was horribly stark and menacing. The trees, at least those still living, grasped tenuously at the barren soil, their roots clutched white-knuckled on the craggy earth. The slopes rising on either side were a tangled mass of knife-edged rocks. Above, the outcroppings were sharp and cracked, like great broken teeth waiting for a meal. Now and then, small pieces of rock would come dislodged and skitter heedlessly down the banks, spooking the horses that were not of Chevring stock. Oddly, Roger and his men grew lighter in spirit.
“We’ve just crossed into Stolweg,” her husband told her. Anna gazed at the bleak scenery and had her first qualms about the success of his breeding program. If all of Stolweg was so devoid of vegetation, there would be little chance of the mares foaling.
To Anna, the unforgiving surroundings of this leg of the journey seemed interminable. The steady beat of horse hooves put her in a trance. So it came as a surprise when she noticed that the landscape had changed. The vegetation clung less desperately to the earth. Their group threaded its way for some time, single file, along the path, until Roger pulled to a halt for the midday break.
Anna excused herself to check on Gilles, taking her balm with her.
“Don’t be too long, Aubrianne,” Roger instructed. “I’m eager to start again.”
As she cleaned the wound and reapplied the salve, Gilles waited patiently, staring forward at the mountains. Perhaps it was because no one in their group apart from Roger had actually spoken to her that it came as a shock when Gilles said quietly, “Be careful, my lady, the path ahead is unsure.” His eyes darted to her husband before quickly turning back to her. “A careless move could prove dangerous.” Then he averted his gaze as if he’d said nothing at all.
It was late afternoon when they began their descent from the mountain pass. The land transformed; Anna was amazed at the beauty surrounding her. The steep slope, at first sparsely wooded, grew thick with trees and plants. She could hear the rushing of rapids, and once beheld a dazzling waterfall. The lush dells and sheltered canyons could provide year-round protection and nourishment for the mares.
“M’lord, Stolweg is breathtaking,” she declared, as they entered yet another forest. “There are so many places for the mares.”
“We are south of Stolweg Keep. As long as you confine the grazing to this area and to the east, you may come here as you see fit. The west can be treacherous, and you will heed me when I say do not venture there.”
Unabashed by his brusque warning, Anna asked, “How far to the keep, m’lord?”
“We’ll camp one more night before arriving at the castle next midday,” he answered.
The trail had widened enough that Anna was able to ride alongside her husband. Thick trees grew on either side. These were not the ordered woods of Chevring, however, but wild in their beauty. The forest floor was lush with ferns and shade-loving trillium. Thick vines, trailing with moss, climbed the massive trunks before hanging like ship rigging from the branches. Other areas were choked with brambles and underbrush. The route widened more, and the enveloping growth stretched open like a great mouth, spitting the travelers into a broad valley.
“Do you think Tullian has enough wind for another gallop?” Roger asked. “This valley boasts some old ruins that you might find interesting.”
“I think Tully is not used to such a tranquil pace,” Anna answered, and laughed for the first time in days, happy to be able to do that which she loved best.
“Good. We’ll stop at the ruins. Our camp is located near the tree line. My men will catch up to us while you explore the henge.”
“A henge on Stolweg land!” Anna exclaimed. “It must be very old.”
“It is. You may have noticed that we are keeping to the edge of the forest. The men will not admit that they fear the ruins. Superstitious, the lot of them.”
“You are not afraid, then?” Anna asked.
Roger smirked. “Why should I be afraid of boulders so ancient that no one remembers their use? Are you afraid, Aubrianne?”
“Certainly not,” she replied jovially, encouraged by Roger’s good humor. “I am simply respectful. My grandmother believed that there was still much power in such rings of stone.”
“She sounds superstitious to me,” he said, “like my men.” He kicked his horse into a gallop, leaving Anna to follow.
She was struck by his sudden change in mood; Stolweg must be good for his temper. As Tullian was straining to go, she leaned into his neck, and he lifted his front legs to paw the air before taking off after the other horse. Perhaps this time she could let Tullian show his true speed.
Chapter Six—The Stones
Roger scanned the clearing, admiring the efficiency of his men. He thought about the progress he had made. But it wasn’t the journey about which he mused. It was his life’s work, nearly done. To the northwest, his home of Ragallach had grown prosperous, and its keep had been refortified. He left the running of its castle to his late mother’s cousin, a witless man who followed Roger’s every command. Ragallach was truly under the thumb of one of Roger’s more capable captains. Ragallach thus secured, Roger had been able to marry Lady Isabel of Stolweg and now controlled the lands in the center of the realm.
Stolweg was a vast region, and strategically placed. During the Great War, the army of Nifolhad had been held at bay by the men of Stolweg and of Chevring, and never allowed to cross into Whitmarsh. Part of their defeat was due to their inability to navigate through the intricate landscape of Stolweg. Too accustomed to the broad, open expanses of Nifolhad, the forests and hills confused them and the waterways that turned back on themselves left them stranded in ravines and canyons. When the Nifolhadajans finally made it to the great basin surrounding Stolweg Keep, the Chevring riders on their war steeds and the Royal Guard, likewise mounted, were lying in wait.
Roger had spent the few years of his marriage to Lady Isabel exploring every inch of Stolweg. Once widowed, he’d wasted no time and looked to the south, to Chevring. Aubrianne’s father had been shortsighted indeed to accept so much coin. He would soon find that more than his daughter and a few mares would have to be paid. Roger’s men would insinuate themselves across Chevring. If Lord Gervaise did not like it, he would find his loan come due.
He turned his thoughts to Aubrianne and her dowry. Chevring horses were critical to his plan, and he would use her skills to reach his goal. She was a spirited girl. But as with horses, sometimes you had to break a spirit before you could control it.
As if considering a horse at auction, he analyzed her attributes in precise detail: high cheekbones; clear skin; a fine, straight nose, despite the unfortunate freckle on one side; well-formed lips, the lower being slightly fuller; and a cuppable chin, one with a small indentation that was most engaging. She would have to do something with all of that hair, however. Thick and wavy, the golden-brown tresses never stayed put. But her eyes, he decided, were her best feature: ashy brown and flec
ked with gold. Long eyelashes and delicately arched eyebrows completed the picture.
She was taller than most girls, with a body lithe and toned from riding each day. Her hips were narrow, he thought critically, but pleasantly curved. She would not have trouble breeding, if he happened to get a brat from her.
His new wife was both beautiful and spirited, the best of combinations. And she belonged to him.
That morning, they had made an earlier start than usual and rode steadily toward their goal until the sun began its descent into the western sky. When Roger suggested that his new bride and he gallop the rest of the way, she agreed before he could finish speaking. He knew the destrier she rode was superior to his own mount, but she tactfully allowed him the lead.
He turned slightly to see that she had gained on him. The wind whipped through her hair, pulling burnished tendrils from her braid. On either side, a rainbow of greens ribboned past: teal and emerald for the shadowed forests’ leaves; the pines and mahoganies of the trunks, so dark in places they were nearly black; and soft chartreuse for the spring meadow growing in the valley. Up ahead, he could just make out the gray megaliths as they rose out of the ocean of grass.
When Roger slowed, his wife pulled up next to him. She took in the lush valley, and he could see her measuring its worth in terms of the broodmares. He’d made a good choice marrying the Chevring girl.
It was only mid-spring, and already the wild grasses grew high, almost to the bellies of their horses, and they rose and fell in the breeze as if the meadow had breath. Patches of wildflowers spilled paintlike on a canvas of foxtail and meadow barley.
The stones towered above them, and they pulled to a stop. Aubrianne dismounted and gazed in awe at the megaliths. Great billowy clouds whisked overhead in the cerulean sky, and she reached for his arm to steady herself. “It makes one feel quite insignificant!” she exclaimed, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes.
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