by Miles Owens
Patting Abel’s arm, his wife rose, listened to Feldon’s report, squeezed the lad’s shoulder, and then approached Harred and Elmar. She moved with an understated grace that reminded Harred very much of her daughter.
This was an attractive, self-possessed woman, but the dark smudges under her eyes and deep lines etched around her mouth told of the burdens she bore. As the wind molded her cloak to her body, her brown eyes searched Harred’s face, clearly attempting to assess the character of the young man who stood before her. “I am Cyndae,” she said with a shiver in her voice, “wife of Loreteller Abel de Erian en Caemhan of Clan Dinari. May the blessing of the Eternal be on you for responding to our need.”
“I am Harred de Tarenester en Wright, and this ugly one behind me is Elmar de Tarenester en Stuegin. We are of Clan Arshessa, and we stand ready to help.”
A wave of relief passed across Cyndae’s face. She closed her eyes and nodded gratefully.
Elmar dismounted and strode through the swirling snow-flakes. “Dame Caemhan, I be sure the next two, three days, these mountains be trying to kill us. It be too exposed here on the trail. If we like to be breathing when this storm ends, we need to move to shelter.”
Cyndae brushed strands of hair from her face. “This has been an ill-fated trip. We would have been much lower by now except for this accident. Let me bring you to my husband. His leg pains him greatly. Fortunately, I have paste of poppy, and the tea from it has eased him.”
As she and Elmar went to Abel, Harred made his way though the swirling snow to Breanna. She watched his approach with a solemn expression. Snowflakes dotted her tangled black hair, mimicking a spray of white flowers. She had a smudge of ash across one cheek, and her lips were chapped and peeling from the wind.
He halted before her. Though disheveled and wrapped inside the heavy cloak, she filled his world.
“I knew you would come,” she said simply. Her eyes seemed to be memorizing every contour of his face.
His throat closed, and for a moment he did not trust himself to speak. “I knew that you knew,” he managed finally.
Her eyes teared. Then, with visible effort, Breanna steeled herself. Without another word, she turned and walked to where Elmar and Cyndae were tending to her father.
Abel Caemhan was drifting in and out of consciousness, the skin of his face taut.
Elmar squatted down beside him, lifted the blanket, and frowned when he saw how the swollen leg was stretching the breeches tight. He took his dagger and slit the fabric, revealing the bruised skin beneath. His frown deepened. “When we get him to shelter, I will make a brown moss and tangleweed poultice for his leg. After that brings the swelling down, we can set and splint it.” He glanced up at Cyndae. “Best you give him more swallows of that tea. Moving him now be bad, but to stay here be worse.”
Working with urgency, Cyndae, Breanna, and the two young ones gathered what could be brought of their supplies and placed them on the pack mule. Harred and Elmar made a litter from two saplings and a blanket, reinforced it with leather reins from the wagon, and placed Abel on it.
Elmar and Harred lifted the litter and led the group through the heavy snow toward the cave across the next ravine. Cyndae and the young girl rode double on Harred’s gelding with the pack mule’s lead line tied to rings in the rear of the saddle. Breanna rode Elmar’s dun mare, a small, graceful hand reaching out from the cloak to grasp the reins. Bringing up the rear was Feldon, bareback on the Caemhan’s wagon mule, his teeth chattering from the cold. Within moments, the disabled wagon was swallowed behind them in the gloom of the storm.
They reached the cave half a glass later. By the time they set the litter down inside the mouth of the cave, Abel was white-faced with pain and awake enough to recognize Harred. The loreteller made no effort to hide his displeasure. Harred ignored him and went out with Elmar while the Caemhans brought in supplies. Cyndae unwrapped a hot coal she’d brought from the other fire and started a fire with the dry wood that, thankfully, was still there.
Harred helped Elmar cut several green saplings to weave a frame for a barrier to enclose the mouth of the cave. Then Harred took the ax and told Feldon to come with him to gather fire-wood. While they worked, the lad told Harred that his mother had come down with lung fever right before Abel and his family arrived. She had lingered for two more days before finally succumbing, and that had delayed the Caemhans’ return. The boy appeared numb when he spoke about his mother. His father had died weeks before. Harred realized this wasn’t just a friendly trip with his aunt and uncle—the boy and his sister were going to live with Breanna’s family now.
Every time Harred brought wood inside the cave and stacked it next to the fire, he felt Abel’s eyes boring into him. Swallowing his anger, Harred told Feldon to bring in more dead wood, and went to bring the horses and mules into the back of the cave. That done, he went to help Elmar finish the panel.
It was snowing heavily now. The wind numbed exposed flesh in mere moments as they stood outside the cave mouth pounding the sharpened ends of the frame into the ground and wedged the bottom with rocks. Fighting the gusts, Harred helped Elmar stretch two of the blankets across the frame so they could stuff moss and leaves between them to give a bit more protection from the wind.
Breanna came out carrying a wooden bucket with a rope handle. She set it down, filled it with snow, and lugged it back. She and Harred exchanged a long look as she edged by the frame. Turning back to work, he found his brother-in-law’s eyes on him.
“More maidens than I’ve got fingers be hoping you approach them at the next Arshessa Maiden Pole,” Elmar said softly. “That’s where you best be looking.”
Harred sighed. “Breanna’s different somehow.”
“Yes! She be different because her bride price be already paid, remember? Besides, you see how Abel be acting. He’d as soon gut himself as be agreeing to a suit from you.”
“I know.” Harred stared into the cave where Breanna was emptying the snow into a pot over the fire. “But there is a way. Maybe.”
“A way to have a foot of Dinari steel be driven through you.” Elmar wove a rawhide string around the saplings and through the holes he’d stabbed in the blankets with his knife. “This between you and her, it be beyond my ken. You be talking to her two times, and you already risked dying for her once.” He gripped the blanket tightly as a particularly strong gust threatened to snatch it loose. “And that maybe still happen if you be taking that path.”
Harred grinned. “How could I be in danger with you guarding my back?”
“There’ll be no back guarding at a Wifan-er-Weal. Stop this foolishness now. Maolmin Erian still be her kinsmen lord, right? It be the next thing to suicide to face that man. Particularly since he’d only be fighting you after he be watching you fight four of the best warriors the Dinari have and seeing your technique.” He gave Harred a level look. “You be something special with a sword in your hands, but facing Maolmin Erian be an act any sane man should fear . . . ” Elmar’s voice tailed off when Breanna returned with the bucket to gather more snow to melt.
“I’ll be back,” Harred said as he went to help her. Elmar’s answer was lost in the wind.
Snow swirled, making it difficult to see. Breanna smiled at him when he approached. She allowed him to pack the bucket for her but then refused to let him carry it back. “You need to help Elmar.” She gripped the rope handle and made for the cave.
“You knew I was coming today,” Harred said.
She paused and lowered the bucket into the snow to rest. “Yes. It was . . . certain somehow.” She peeked at him then looked away. “I could feel you out there. I don’t know how, but I knew you were looking for me. I . . . ” She looked him straight on. “I wanted you to find me.”
Harred felt the impact of her direct gaze. She had kept it shielded from him since the wool sale. How he’d yearned for those eyes to engulf him once more. And here they were.
“I came for you here,” he said into her eyes. �
�Know that I will come for you one more time.”
She tilted her head, puzzled. “When?”
“Lachlann. The Dinari Maiden Pole. I will voice my suit for you, and when your father refuses, I will fight the Wifan-er-Weal.”
Emotions chased each other across her face. Confusion, realization, and something that looked entirely like longing. But then it was gone, and her features hardened. She shook her head. “That cannot be. Must not be.” She grabbed the bucket and headed toward the cave.
Harred watched her go, the cold seeping into his legs and through his spine. Then he trudged back and helped Elmar finish the frame.
Within the turn of a glass, the wild storm winds hit with impressive fury, shrieking and moaning. With everyone huddled under two blankets apiece, Elmar kept only a small fire burning, constantly cautioning them to husband the firewood and watching every new piece thrown on the flames with the eyes of a jealous lover.
“Better to be a little cold now,” he warned. “Later, if this be bad as I fear, we burn more wood for a bigger fire.”
The fire was adequate for the game of eyes Harred and Breanna played with each other across the flames. He and Elmar sat huddled on the hard clay floor with their backs to the woven sapling panel. Eddies of sharp cold still filtered in and chilled their backs.
The Caemhans were on the other side of the fire, with Abel propped up against the far wall, his broken leg stuck out straight before him. Since Elmar and Harred had set him down inside the cave he had adamantly refused any more of the poppy tea, perhaps determined to remain clearheaded. Earlier he had held a long, whispered conversation with Cyndae. Afterward the mother had looked knowingly at her daughter, then at Harred, and had smiled sadly.
Now Cyndae seemed to have picked up on what was happening between Breanna and Harred. Her worried eyes cut back and forth between the two of them, then at her husband.
“Clansman Stuegin,” she said warmly to Elmar as she rocked her sister’s little girl to sleep in her lap, “I have never heard of this brown moss and tangleweed poultice you are preparing. Are they found only in these mountains?”
At the sound of her mother’s voice breaking the silence, Breanna lowered her eyes from Harred’s, who cleared his throat and looked into the fire.
Gripping a pot of warm water between his knees, Elmar used the handle of his skinning knife to make a paste of the shredded mass of herbs from the supplies he had brought. “Be calling me Elmar. And yes—”
“I think it will be best to use proper modes of address,” Abel said. Feldon gave his uncle a puzzled look at the cold tone. “These are Lord Gillaon’s men,” Abel went on, “and less than cordial relations exist between our kinsmen at the moment. More,” he said, giving Harred a sharp look, “Breanna will be betrothed at the Dinari Presentation. Her bride price has been paid, and I will tolerate no interference with that.”
Elmar peered up from the pot and locked eyes with Abel. “I tell you this because you must not rightly hear Harred—Lord Gillaon’s rhyfelwr—when we first be at your wagon.” Elmar’s voice was dangerously soft. “He gave his word that we be ready to help you and your family. That be meaning, Loreteller, that he and I be putting aside clan rivalries and such until we be a-seeing you and your family safe out of these mountains.” He tapped the lip of the pot with his knife to emphasize his next words. “You be mentioning betrothals and bride prices. Can it be you question our honor? That you feel the need to protect your daughter from us after we give our word that we be here to help you and have risked our lives to do so?”
Harred glanced quickly at Breanna, who caught his look then dropped her eyes to her lap.
The silence lengthened.
Abel swallowed. “I . . . er . . . of course I do not question your honor. This is difficult and—”
“What be difficult about your wife calling me Elmar and believing we will respect your daughter?”
It dawned on Harred that he was a rhyfelwr, an advisor equal to a loreteller, and it was time to start acting like it. “Can we wash this pot clean and start a fresh stew?” he said earnestly. “Until we leave these mountains I am Harred, he is Elmar, you are Abel, and your wife is Cyndae. Agreed?” he said with a touch of command in his voice. And your daughter is an angel straight from heaven.
Abel exchanged glances with Cyndae, then nodded. “Yes, I agree.”
Cyndae tried again. “Elmar . . . please tell me about this poultice. It is brown moss and what?”
The tension eased as she and Elmar talked about healing herbs and their uses. Cyndae was well versed on the subject and related several uses Elmar had not known.
Harred watched Abel. The man’s face was still tight with anger or pain or both. Suppressing a sigh, Harred let his eyes drift again toward Breanna as the wind and snow roared outside.
She sat calm and neat, hands folded in her lap, staring into the fire, the flickering light playing across her features. As if feeling his eyes upon her, she looked up at him. The hint of sadness, of loss, in her gaze twisted his heart.
Glancing toward Elmar, Harred caught Cyndae’s gaze. She smiled ever so slightly while almost imperceptibly shaking her head, silently communicating the impossibility of any future between him and her daughter.
The wind howled the rest of the day and into the night. Elmar and Cyndae applied the poultice to Abel’s leg. Then everyone pulled blankets over their heads and tried to sleep.
Long after darkness fell, Harred remained huddled underneath his blanket, arms wrapped around his legs, knees pulled to his chin, staring into the fire.
The storm lasted until mid-afternoon the next day. Overnight the poultice had reduced the swelling. So, with Abel full of poppy tea, Elmar set the fracture and applied a splint to the leg.
The following morning dawned clear and bitter cold with a stiff north wind. Harred and Elmar ventured out and led the horses and mules through hip-deep snow to a sheltered area where the animals were able to paw down to the dried grass below.
Thawing out back inside the cave, Harred kept finding Breanna’s dark eyes resting on him, and a warm tremor coursed through his body each time it happened.
Cyndae proved to be a skillful cook. She took the supplies brought from their wagon and prepared mouth-watering meals. Every time Breanna brought Harred his plate, her hand managed to brush his. Her touch sent tingles through him. The first time it happened, he almost dropped his plate. Both Elmar and Cyndae were aware of this interplay, but Abel, full of poppy tea—Harred suspected Cyndae of deliberately keeping him so—remained unsuspecting.
The next day, the wind was less frigid. The morning after that, Elmar declared it safe to leave.
When they left the cave, the whole world seemed coated with white. The powdery snow had softened every angle and covered the landscape as if an infant’s blanket had been laid over it. A crow called from far away, its caw echoing across the hillside. Feldon led the way with his horse breaking through the fresh snow. Cyndae cradled the young girl, and Breanna followed, their horses and the mules packing down the trail for Harred and Elmar as they carried Abel in the litter.
It was a cold, wet, slow, and exhausting struggle, with frequent stops for both the lead horse and for the two Arshessas to rest. That night they made camp under a dense tangle of berry vines and mountain laurel over which the snow had formed a heavy roof.
A little before noon the next day they were overtaken by a small group of travelers heading in the same direction. Abel was taken out of the litter and placed in their wagon. By nightfall they were back in Maude.
With the rest of the Caemhans following, Harred and Elmar carried Abel up the stairs of the inn. Knowing that the date for the Dinari Presentation was approaching, Abel was anxious to be traveling on. He had contracted with the wagon owners to take them straight to Dinari territory. He had told his family to be ready to leave at first light. Harred and Elmar set Abel on a bed and turned to go. Breanna gave Harred a weary smile, then disappeared behind the closing door.
Elmar clomped away on the plank floor, but Harred stood there, numb. Under Abel’s watchful eyes there had been little opportunity to talk to Breanna on the trail, and last night he had been too exhausted to do anything but eat before falling into a dreamless sleep. Now he longed desperately for something from her before they parted. He had ridden out to save her from certain death, after all, and had saved her extended family in the process. Surely he could take away some token of her esteem. Something to acknowledge the mysterious connection they seemed to share.
Finally, he shook himself and went to his and Elmar’s room and collapsed into bed.
The next morning, he and Elmar ate in the common room. At least Elmar ate. Harred sighed and pushed his food around as he kept checking the stairs for the Caemhans. He had heard voices inside their room as he’d passed on the way downstairs, so he knew they had not left.
Elmar sopped the last bit of gravy with a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth. Eyeing Harred’s plate, he asked, “You be eating that or stirring it?”
Harred sighed and slid it over. Elmar ate with relish. Harred glanced at the stairs again, then took a sip of from his mug and sighed.
Finishing Harred’s plate, Elmar regarded his brother-in-law. “Let her go,” he said softly. “She be spoken for. You just be tying yourself in knots. Many other beauties be wanting a man like you. You still be Lord Gillaon’s rhyfelwr and the wagons not back safe yet, are they?”
Harred sighed again. Elmar spoke truth. Still . . .
Finally, Harred came to his feet. “Let’s go check on the horses.”
When they returned from the stables the Caemhans were outside the inn waiting for the wagon to be loaded. While two men lifted Abel onto the back and situated him comfortably, Cyndae motioned to Harred and Elmar and led them a few paces away.
