Cattra's Legacy

by Anna Mackenzie

  Risha tried to memorise their route through the building’s meandering corridors. Cantrel’s study, as best she could judge, lay one floor down on the opposite side of the keep.

  The seneschal glanced up from an overcrowded desk when Fretha delivered her. ‘Come in, Arishara. Sit down. I regret that Lord Donnel is not here to welcome you. Word of your arrival has been sent and he will, no doubt, return as soon as he is able. But in his absence we need not be idle.’ He straightened the papers that lay before him. ‘Have you the benefit of any formal teaching?’

  Risha’s chin rose. ‘My father taught me to read and write, and to add figures and reckon tithes,’ she told him, satisfied by the surprise that flickered over his face. ‘As well I can cook, milk, make cheese and tend crops. I am not very good at woolwork,’ she added, eyeing a tapestry that hung on one wall, ‘but Gorth has begun teaching me to use a dagger.’ Remembering the easy flight of the bolt that had snared River Maid, she added: ‘And I should like to learn to use a crossbow.’

  The seneschal coughed. ‘I will note it. For the moment, however, let us consider more sedentary skills. Could you, perhaps, read aloud for me?’

  Risha took the book he proffered and thought briefly of Pelon, who had ensured she could meet this, her first test, in LeMarc.

  The programme Cantrel set out left her no time to brood. Each morning she joined him in his study to learn ‘matters of governance’, which included accounting, copying scrolls and discussing texts on history, politics and philosophy. In the afternoon, with her brain stuffed to sluggishness, she spent an hour with Gorth and another with Harl, learning to use both knife and crossbow. After that came her least favoured part of the day, when Fretha endeavoured to instil in her the seemingly endless and unquestionable laws of etiquette and diplomacy.

  Only the nights were her own. Several times, unable to sleep, Risha had taken a candle and gone exploring, thus learning that, while most of the doors of the keep were open to her, those that led beyond were firmly locked.

  Guest or prisoner? Nonno whispered, echoing Risha’s own fears.

  Five days after her arrival in LeMarc, Cantrel was called away in the middle of their lesson, and Risha settled on completing her explorations of the keep. Her nocturnal wandering had confirmed that the third level of the building, where her own room lay, held private chambers, mostly empty, while the ground floor and basement hosted kitchens and servants’ quarters, storage rooms and the entry hall with its great fireplace and wide stair. On the level between were Cantrel’s study, a range of formal rooms and a long gallery. Judging it one of the places she was least likely to encounter Fretha, Risha set out to view it by daylight.

  One wall was filled with armoury which, thanks to Harl, she now viewed with an educated eye. Opposite, between the tall window arches, hung tapestries. The first few showed battles which she tried to place in terms of Pelon’s history of Elgard. Next came hunting scenes, a celebration that might have been a wedding or coronation set against a backdrop of majestic towers that she was pleased to recognise as Elion, then — Risha’s feet checked. The tapestry before her was unfinished, the half-worked frame showing a city of orange-roofed towers wreathed in sunlight. Risha shivered. She had seen it before, though only in her mind.

  The soft scrape of leather on stone alerted her and she spun about. A young man stood watching her. ‘The Lady Arishara, I presume.’ His tone conveyed a hint of mockery.

  She considered him. He was dark-haired and tanned, not tall but lithe. His clothes said he was no peasant, but his boots told of hard wear. As he strolled closer, light from one of the long windows lit his face and Risha started. ‘I know you! From Caledon. You were a prisoner.’

  ‘I was. The sergeant of the guard was unwilling to be convinced of his error. We came to an understanding eventually.’ He waved the memory away. ‘I greet you now as I was then unable.’ He made an elaborate bow, again leaving her with the feeling that she was being made fun of — not least because the sound of laughter seemed to tug at her, though she knew it was nowhere but inside her head. She glared at him. His blue eyes looked out of place in his tanned face — it was his eyes that she remembered.

  ‘I went in search of you as soon as I was free, but the traders had already left the city. They were nearly at Fratton by the time I caught up with them.’

  ‘You’ve seen Marit? How was he? And Geet? Was she well?’

  ‘There was a woman with them,’ he conceded. ‘She was a little surly.’

  Risha could well imagine it. She smiled. ‘And Barc?’

  ‘Barc.’ The young man spread his empty hands. ‘Like you, Barc proved hard to find. The man can be as elusive as smoke when he chooses. I gathered he disappeared when a bunch of soldiers turned up, searching for some girl who’d gone astray. Marit has become careless of his people of late.’

  Risha decided to change the subject. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘My pardon, lady! Your kinsman Timon, at your service.’ He made another mocking bow.

  On close inspection he looked scarcely older than Emett, but tougher and far less easy to trust. Beyond Torfell it seemed everyone was difficult to trust — just as Ganny had warned. Stifling the wave of longing that rushed through her, Risha turned to stroll along the gallery.

  Timon fell into step. ‘Have you been here long, my lady? I came directly from Fratton once I realised I’d lost you. I confess I did not expect that you would arrive first.’

  ‘Not by choice! I’m little better than a prisoner.’

  ‘A prisoner? But surely—’ He stopped. ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘I’ve not once been allowed outside the keep, and every minute is accounted for. I’m only here now because I’m hiding from Fretha.’

  ‘Ah. Do you ride? I could show you around LeMarc.’

  ‘I don’t know how. Muir said I might learn but—’

  ‘Perfect! I’ll give you lessons.’ He paused. ‘I don’t suppose you have a skirt better designed for riding?’

  Risha glanced down. ‘I’ve got trousers. They’re old but—’ The thought of escaping Fretha’s restrictive dress pleased her. ‘Could we go now? I won’t be missed for a few hours. I could change and meet you at the stables.’

  In her room she pulled Geet’s travel-worn trousers from her pack. They smelled musty with a hint of salt.

  Timon’s lips twitched when he saw her. ‘I doubt Fretha would approve.’

  ‘All the better,’ Risha answered, eyeing the waiting horses, one tall, the other short.

  ‘You shouldn’t mind Fretha. She’s not the ogre she seems.’ Timon reached for the pony’s bridle. ‘Come and meet Sugar.’

  Risha’s stroked the animal’s nose, enjoying the tickle of his breath on her palm.

  ‘Shall we?’ Showing her how to set her foot in the stirrup, Timon boosted her onto the pony’s back. ‘Have you ridden at all?’

  ‘On the way here, behind Muir.’ She wriggled in the saddle: it was more comfortable than clinging on behind and the stirrups helped her balance. She nudged experimentally at the animal’s flanks and he obediently moved forward. Risha clutched at the reins.

  ‘Not too tight. Here—’ Timon adjusted her grip. ‘He’s a docile beast. Pull this way to turn and — that’s it.’

  They made a circuit of the stable yard while Timon assessed her progress. ‘You take to it easily. Shall we try the outside world? I’ll put a lead-rope on, though I don’t imagine a creature of such venerable years would be capable of bolting.’

  Risha reached to pat the pony’s neck as Timon swung gracefully onto his horse. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded, unable to suppress a shiver as he guided her across the courtyard and into the dark tunnel beyond. As the horses’ hooves clattered on the cobbles a soldier appeared from the gatehouse. Risha’s heart began to thud but he waved them on. Sun streamed into her face as they emerged from the outer gate, the road to the harbour winding downhill on their left: it felt like weeks rather than days since
she’d walked up it with Gorth. Timon turned his horse away from the town, her pony following equably in his wake.

  Ten minutes later she was high above the harbour, the sea spread sleek and shining beyond. Risha gazed greedily. She hadn’t realised how desperate she’d been to escape the claustrophobia engendered by the citadel’s walls.

  Amused, Timon watched her. ‘Better?’

  He led her to a broad field bounded by trees, the hard-cropped turf quite unlike the lush mountain meadows around Torfell. Leaving his horse to graze, Timon had her walk her pony in circles around him, the leading rein in his hands.

  ‘Try a trot,’ he instructed, and she kicked the little animal gently. Obediently it broke into a bouncing gait that made Risha clutch for its mane. ‘Press in with your knees and take your weight on the stirrups — try to find your mount’s rhythm and match it.’

  They practised for an hour. Timon told her it was too long for a first attempt but gave way to her insistence. ‘You’ll regret it,’ he assured her cheerily as they turned for the citadel.

  His warning proved accurate. Her legs wobbled beneath her as she slid from the pony’s back. She reached for the stable railing as Gorth came striding towards her, face mottled with anger.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded. ‘They’ve been turning the citadel inside out hunting for you.’

  ‘We’ve been riding,’ she said weakly. ‘Muir told me I might learn.’

  ‘What in Sargath’s name has Muir to do with it? You’ve had Cantrel near apoplexy and Fretha’s—’

  ‘Fretha’s nothing but a bossy old woman! Timon assured me I wasn’t a prisoner but it seems he was wrong.’

  Gorth’s face changed immediately. ‘A prisoner? Risha—’ Noticing the young man observing his discomfort with interest, Gorth rallied. ‘We wish to keep you safe, no more. You should have told me how you felt.’ He turned his gaze to Timon. ‘Back five minutes and already making trouble,’ he growled.

  Timon raised his hands. ‘I meant none. When I found the lady hiding from Fretha’s latest lesson in courtly manners, I merely thought to help.’

  ‘You’ve not learnt responsibility during your travels then. You might have let someone know your plans.’

  ‘It was my idea,’ Risha interrupted. Hoping to deflect Gorth’s anger, she changed the subject. ‘Where is Muir, anyway? I’ve not seen him since we landed.’

  ‘He went north to fetch Donnel,’ Gorth answered. ‘And you,’ he poked a finger into Timon’s chest hard enough to force the young man back a step, ‘should be relieved they’re not yet back. Now, we’d best put the seneschal’s fears to rest.’

  Risha followed meekly and apologised to Cantrel, though not to Fretha. Instead she asked whether she might continue with riding lessons, and leave the citadel whenever she wished it, and be allowed companions of her own age. After some discussion, Cantrel agreed that accompanied by Gorth or Harl she might visit the town and harbour.

  The next morning her breakfast was brought by a young woman named Lyse, and Fretha’s lessons were replaced every second day by a riding lesson with Timon.

  14

  Lord of LeMarc

  Risha ducked low as she trotted beneath an overhanging branch. Like the land itself, the forests of LeMarc were dry, the tree canopy a dense cape of thin, crackling needles. Her pony’s hooves thudded along the narrow path and out into the open meadow. She nudged him to a canter. Sugar was old and slow but she felt safe on his back.

  ‘Come on,’ Timon urged, ‘set him at a jump.’

  Flicking his reins against his horse’s neck, Timon veered left, clearing a fallen log with ease. Risha followed. She misjudged the lift, losing her balance as the pony landed and tumbling painfully to the ground. Sugar pulled up immediately and circled back to nuzzle her.

  ‘Back on,’ Timon instructed. ‘Try it again at a trot. Keep your weight further forward.’

  Nursing bruised pride as well as flesh, Risha did as he suggested. After she’d cleared the jump twice without incident Timon nodded approval. ‘You’re making good progress.’

  ‘And I have the bruises to prove it.’

  He grinned. ‘It’s the best way, my lady. Do you never gain bruises under Harl’s tutelage?’

  She did. Harl had extended her lessons to include swordplay and she’d been left more than once with a reminder of the flat of his blade.

  ‘Of course, you could opt for extra lessons with Fretha instead.’

  Ignoring him she reached to pat Sugar’s neck.

  ‘Race you back,’ Timon offered.

  When they emerged from the barbican Risha was startled to find the courtyard filled with riders. She baulked at the bustle, then, with a lift of her heart, saw a face she knew.

  ‘Muir!’ She slid from Sugar’s back and dodged between the milling men. ‘You’re back! I followed your advice and Timon has been teaching me to ride. You’d not dump me from the saddle quite so easily now.’

  ‘Lady Arishara,’ Muir murmured, meeting her broad smile with a formal inclination of his head.

  Risha felt suddenly awkward. As Muir’s eyes flicked to the man who stood beside him she realised her mistake. The stranger was lean and roughly bearded but his air of authority was indisputable. She met his gaze, noting in his deep-set eyes and broad brow a familiarity she couldn’t immediately place.

  ‘Arishara,’ he said. His voice was warm but there was an intensity in his stare that felt almost like hunger. Conversations around them had stilled. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance at last — though I had not planned to do so in the midst of the courtyard.’

  She flushed. There was little doubt the man before her was Donnel, Lord of LeMarc. ‘I give you greetings, my lord,’ she said, dropping into a curtsey. Fretha’s lessons had not been entirely wasted.

  ‘And I am most thankful of it. Come, let’s go in. Cantrel appears eager to claim my attention, and no doubt we’ll both feel more at ease when refreshed.’

  Risha glanced at the grass stains on her jacket, newly supplied by Fretha. She supposed she should have been wearing the split skirt that matched it, but it was far more cumbersome than Geet’s old trousers. Cantrel cleared his throat and she hurried inside.

  Lyse was waiting in Risha’s room. ‘Oh quickly, we must get you changed,’ she cried. ‘You’ve no idea of the panic when Lord Donnel arrived unannounced, and you off somewhere on the mountain. Quick! You must get ready to meet him.’

  ‘I met him,’ Risha said equably. ‘In the courtyard.’

  ‘Dressed like that!’ Lyse shrieked. ‘Risha, what will he be thinking? What will Fretha say?’

  As Lyse went to hurry her bath water Risha dragged a brush through her tangled hair and considered what she had so far seen of the Lord of LeMarc. According to her father’s manuscript, Havre and LeMarc were traditional allies. Donnel, she decided, would make a better ally than enemy.

  By the time she was ushered to the hall, Risha fit better Fretha’s image of the daughter of a royal house. She had refused to allow Lyse to curl and torture her hair but it was neatly arranged in a plait that hung beribboned down her back and she wore her best gown, stiffly encrusted with embroidery, while her shoes would not have lasted a day in the mountains. She considered them scathingly as Fretha opened the doors.

  The men stood as she entered, Donnel looking her over appraisingly. He, too, had been washed and groomed, but looked no more or less the lord for that.

  ‘Arishara. Come, join us.’ He indicated the chair at his right. Fretha’s hand in the small of her back propelled her forwards. ‘Muir and Gorth you know, but you won’t have met Captain Kern.’

  Risha returned the man’s polite nod.

  ‘Tell me about your journey here,’ Donnel commanded, once the niceties had been observed.

  Risha glanced quickly at Muir’s impassive face. She’d already had time to regret her rash comment in the courtyard. ‘Muir escorted me without mishap. I had not previously ridden a horse, nor been in a ship. Sai
ling did not much agree with me,’ she added.

  ‘We had to run before a storm,’ Gorth supplied. ‘It was not the easiest of voyages, especially for a first.’

  Donnel grunted. ‘I am sorry for that. But you earlier mentioned a fall from a horse?’

  ‘I — it was my own fault,’ she offered. Donnel waited. Risha shifted uncomfortably. ‘I rode behind Muir and he … he had cause to set me down suddenly.’

  ‘Why?’

  She chewed her lip. ‘I grew impatient when he wouldn’t answer my questions,’ she said at last.

  Donnel raised his brows.

  ‘A misunderstanding,’ Muir murmured.

  ‘That led you to dump her from your horse?’

  There was an awkward silence. ‘I stabbed him,’ Risha conceded. ‘But it was an accident.’

  Donnel’s expression betrayed his surprise. He turned to Muir. ‘She stabbed you?’

  ‘A scratch.’

  ‘I’m sorry for it,’ Risha offered.

  Donnel threw back his head and laughed. ‘Cantrel tells me you’ve been taking lessons in martial skills from Gorth and Harl.’

  ‘I wish to be able to defend myself.’

  ‘Have you had need to defend yourself, Arishara?’ he asked conversationally.

  Risha frowned. He surely didn’t think that Muir — she shook her head vigorously. ‘No! Well. Not since Caledon,’ she added, compelled by his intent gaze to offer the truth. ‘There was a little trouble there. And we were attacked by bandits in Lindfell Pass when I was with Marit’s traders.’

  ‘Your journey has been more eventful than I would have wished.’ Donnel paused, rightly reading her reluctance. ‘But let us eat before the food grows cold. You can tell me more another time.’ He gave her an easy smile.

  Through the meal Donnel and Cantrel discussed LeMarc’s lands and people. It was proving a good season for farmers and fishermen alike.

  ‘Life seems easier here than in the north,’ Risha observed.

  ‘LeMarc is burdened by less unrest than elsewhere.’