by Amy Tolnitch
Padruig was indeed there, taking on two men at once, and from the expression on his face, having a wonderful time doing it.
“He was most worried about you last eve,” Freya said. “I have never seen my brother display such fear. Or such anger.”
“No doubt he considered the attack to be an affront to his rule, a message that the laird was too weak to protect his people.” Aimili knew she sounded more than a little petulant, but she was past caring. How could he kiss her like that, and then bolt like a panicked horse?
“Oh, nay.” Freya took her arm. “You did not see his face. ’Twas concern for you.”
Aimili refused to believe it. She had only to recall the way he’d abruptly pulled away from her, as if he’d suddenly discovered he’d gone mad. Rather than dispute the point with Freya, she just walked into the stables.
“Good morn, my lady,” Hugo called out. “We’ve just about got ’em settled.”
Welcome home, my friends.
A chorus of responses flooded her mind, and Aimili put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile.
Topaz, a mare ever anxious to fill her already expansive belly. Could you please tell that man that I am near to starved?
Ruby, another mare, who, no matter how many times Aimili reassured her, was always convinced she would be turned out or sold to some horrible place. Th… thank you, my lady. Oh, thank you. I can tell that this place will be very fine.
She paused at Argante’s stall. Across the walkway, Loki stared unblinkingly at the mare, who ignored him completely. Argante, how do you fare?
I am fine, but for that…beast who will not stop eyeing me as if I am naught but a bowl full of honey and oats.
He is most anxious to become better acquainted.
Hmph. I know exactly what he wants, but he’s going to have to wait a few more days.
Loki let out a long sigh and dipped his head.
Aimili gave Argante a pat and moved down to halt at Zara’s stall. Freya leaned against the wood and clucked. “Come, girl.”
Ever regal, Zara turned and eyed them.
You have a new friend, Aimili told her.
Zara walked over and stuck her nose out for a treat.
Freya stroked her head. “What a pretty girl you are.”
The girl has a good eye, Zara told Aimili.
Aye, but she is not a skilled rider yet.
Freya giggled. “She licked my hand!”
“She likes you.”
“Where did you get her, Aimili?”
“From an acquaintance of Father’s. He knew I was looking for an Arabian mare to add to my breeding program. Zara is from the Outremer, though I know not exactly where.”
“So far away.”
“Aye.” Aimili rubbed Zara’s nose. “I have only had her just over a year.”
“Have you bred her?”
“Not successfully yet.”
Freya sighed. “Her baby would look like a wee angel.”
“Why don’t you give her a brush? I need to make sure the rest of them have safely arrived and have been put in their new stalls.” Be nice, Zara.
Why would I not? The girl is sweet, and I need to rid my coat of the dust of travel.
Aimili smiled. Perhaps Freya and Zara were a good match, she thought. Certainly, they were both beautiful, knew it, and indulged in more than a bit of vanity, though each was good-natured enough that one didn’t mind. Aimili wandered down the stable walkway, trying to listen to the horses but finding her thoughts returning again and again to her enigmatic and increasingly infuriating husband.
Freya was clearly mistaken. She wanted to think of her brother as he once was, wanted to think of him as embracing the marriage, but it was all a lie. Aimili made herself take a deep breath and push back the pain. There was nothing to do but make the best of it.
She ended up standing in front of Tor’s stall. He lifted his head and pushed his nose into her hand. Tor was a young, bay stallion for whom she had high hopes. Even at two years, he showed promise to be a powerful combination of strength, speed, and intelligence. How is my handsome boy?
Hungry.
You are always hungry. I hope you will be happy here.
’Tis a nice stable, and Hugo seems a good sort, but…
But?
Can you not sense it, my lady? ’Tis in the very air. Something is not right here.
It always surprised Aimili how perceptive horses could be. Of all of them, with perhaps the exception of Mist, Tor was the most sensitive. Aye, there is darkness here, but I have not discovered the source. She fingered the hilt of the dagger she now wore hidden beneath her tunic.
We will help as we can.
My thanks. Once again, Aimili wished she could confide in Padruig, but he would dismiss her feelings as nerves or something equally frivolous. It seemed to be her fate to have no one to confide in save her animals. Thank God for them at least.
“Aimili?” Freya called.
“Aye?”
“I am finished. I am going to help Efrika work on your gown. We shall be in the Ladies’ Solar.”
Aimili smiled. “Please give Efrika my thanks.”
“’Tis not necessary. You are family now.” Freya breezed out, after giving Zara a last pat.
Family. Aimili just stood in the walkway, overcome by Freya’s airy announcement. What would Freya say if Aimili told her the truth, told her Zara thought Freya sweet? What of Efrika? Would they accept her, or turn away in fear, making a sign against evil?
She couldn’t take the chance. Other than Morainn, only one person had ever discovered her talent. Aimili could still see Una’s expression as she backed away, horrified to find that her good friend could communicate with a beast. Never mind that because of Aimili’s ability to do so, they had avoided being attacked by one very menacing, very hungry wild boar. Una had run back to the village as if Aimili had transformed into some wicked creature more frightening than the boar. Within a fortnight the family moved to another estate held by Aimili’s father, and Aimili had never seen her friend again.
Nay, not a friend, not in truth. Surely a truehearted friend would be shocked, maybe uneasy at first, but ultimately accept that Aimili was simply different. Wouldn’t she?
My lady, what is amiss?
She’d forgotten that she still stood next to Tor’s stall. I would never give up the chance to talk to you, but sometimes it is a burden, as well. Most other humans are fearful of what they do not understand.
Other humans? But you are not fully human.
What? Aimili whirled to stare at Tor, who snuffled in a pail for some leftover oats. What are you talking about? Of course I am fully human. I simply have an… unusual talent.
Are you sure?
Yes!
My mistake. I assumed you must have inherited your ability from someone… special.
Aimili chewed on her lip. She’d never really thought about the source of her ability. It had just always been there, and for a long time, she thought it was perfectly normal, though none of her siblings exhibited the same gift. The very thought of Wautier finding himself being addressed by his horse and actually understanding him brought a smile to her face. Her pompous brother would probably faint dead away.
Had her mother such an ability? Try as she might to remember, Aimili could not. She’d been but three years of age when her mother died, her memories barely a kiss of affection in her mind.
Aye, you are mistaken. ’Tis a gift from God. At least, that’s the way Aimili had always thought of it, though she knew others, like Una, would attribute the source as something evil.
“Aimili!” a voice shouted. “Come quickly!”
She ran out of the stables to find Pythia, one of her mares with foal, in a full-out panic. Hugo had hold of her reins, but the mare was rearing and trying to run backward. Her eyes were wild, the whites showing, her nostrils flared, and her ears were pinned back flat to her head.
As Aimili neared them, Pythia kicked out with her left leg a
nd caught Hugo in the stomach. With a grunt of pain, he stumbled back and dropped the reins.
Pythia bolted back, but there was nowhere to go. Her rump slammed against the rail and she let out a high scream.
Aimili crept forward. “Easy, girl.”
“Be careful, my lady,” Hugo shouted.
Pythia snorted and shook her head. D’Ary stepped up next to Aimili. “She’s hurt,” he said.
Easy, girl. Everything is all right. You are safe. Very slowly, Aimili picked up the reins.
The mare was so agitated she didn’t respond. She jerked her head up and nearly tore the reins out of Aimili’s hands.
Aimili tightened her hold and braced her body. “Easy now, Pythia.” Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Padruig approach.
“What happened?” she asked anyone.
Hugo answered her. “Didn’t want to go into the stable. Fought me somethin’ fierce, and ended up hitting the rail so hard it split and cut her. Made it worse.”
Let me go, my lady. Please.
It is all right, Pythia. I promise.
No! Danger.
Aimili was so startled she nearly dropped the reins herself. She tilted her head around to view the mare’s rump and saw a stream of blood. “Come on, girl. We will take care of you.” She gave a little pull on the reins, but it was like trying to haul a large, living boulder that had dug its heels into the ground.
“Why not put her loose in the ring for a bit?” D’Ary suggested. “Let her calm down.”
Though she hated to give in, Aimili could see the wisdom in his idea. The last thing Aimili wanted was for Pythia or her foal to be hurt because Pythia did something stupid out of fright. “Come, girl.” She started walking away from the entrance to the stables. You can go in the ring for now, but I need to see to that cut.
Send me back.
I cannot do that. This is my home now.
I don’t like it.
Zeus is already in a stall.
Pythia let out a sigh and followed Aimili, though with obvious reluctance. Aimili knew the mare had a soft spot for Zeus. When they were out in the pasture, they stood with their heads close together like an old married couple. Or at least how Aimili imagined an old married couple might behave.
She glanced toward Padruig, who stood watching her with his usual guarded expression. The child in her resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. “Good girl,” she told the mare as she led her into the ring and removed her bridle.
“I shall fetch some water and ointment,” D’Ary said.
“Thank you.” As Aimili slung the bridle over the rail, she searched for Hugo. He sat on an overturned barrel with one hand to his chest, the other holding a cup.
“Are you all right, Hugo?” she called.
He nodded. “I’ll be fine, my lady. Mare caught me in a rib, but ’tis not broken. Not the first time.”
Aimili spared him a smile.
“Not sure what set the mare off, though,” he said.
“’Tis a new place. She is likely more fretful with being in foal.”
Carrying the foal has nothing to do with it.
Aimili concealed a smile at the disgust in Pythia’s tone. You must trust me. I know there is a darkness that hangs over this place, a threat. I will find out who he is.
I am afraid.
Aimili rubbed the mare’s withers. I understand.
You are afraid, too.
No. The image of Queen Sebilla arising from the depths of the loch sprang into Aimili’s mind. Maybe a little, she corrected.
Pythia’s skin shuddered beneath Aimili’s fingertips, as if a chill slithered down her spine.
D’Ary appeared with a pail of water, and a crock. He murmured to the horse and stroked her before putting a wet cloth on her flank and wringing the water into her wound. “Silly girl,” he said.
“She is more settled now. ’Twas a good idea you had, D’Ary.”
He looked up and grinned, a flash of merriment in his gaze as if he knew she suspected him of knowing very little of horses. “Thank you, my lady. I am pleased to be of service.”
Aimili rolled her eyes at the subservient tone of his voice. “Save the servant routine, D’Ary. It doesn’t suit you.”
He only laughed and smoothed ointment onto Pythia’s cut.
From outside the ring, Padruig stood and watched Aimili gentle the horse. His conjecture about the woman herself outweighed his suspicions about her relationship with his new stable hand, and that was saying something. Damn the man and his familiarity.
The image of Aimili and the wolf in the woods burned in his mind. He’d told himself that she couldn’t possibly be communicating with the beast. Such a thing was impossible.
He’d told himself the same thing when he’d spied her with Cai one afternoon, the wolf bounding and yipping about her heels, with Aimili laughing as though Cai had made a jest. Probably at his expense.
But now, well, he could tell himself he was imagining things all day long but it didn’t make it true. That horse looked at Aimili as if it understood her perfectly, even when Aimili was not speaking aloud.
Had her father known? Was that why he was so eager to foist her onto a man like Padruig, a man who would be hesitant to cause more turmoil in his clan by setting his wife aside?
It made a strange sort of sense, he decided as he watched Aimili and D’Ary walk out of the ring, looking very much like a well-matched team. It explained the rare quality of her stock, her reputation for breeding and training top-quality animals. It also explained her affinity for the forest, and her lack of fear. Why be fearful when you can call on the animals to aid you?
Padruig wasn’t sure if he should applaud her or run.
She stopped when she neared him.
“Is the horse all right?” he asked.
“Aye. Just a bit nervous.” Her voice could have carved through solid ice.
“Good. The others?”
“Fine.” She turned to go and Padruig suppressed a groan.
“Aimili.”
She paused.
“How do you feel?”
“Much better.”
By the saints, if she were any more formal he would imagine himself at the English court of that weakling, John Lackland. “Be careful. I dinnae want you going about alone.”
Aimili frowned and started to speak, but D’Ary came up beside her. He smiled at Padruig. “Worry not, Laird. I am honored to guard your lady.”
“Surely you have duties in the stables,” Padruig said through a clenched jaw.
“Lady Aimili’s safety is more important. Do you not agree, Hugo?” D’Ary asked the stable master.
“Of course.”
“And,” D’Ary added with a shrug, “as Lady Aimili is most often in the stables, I shall be able to perform much of my work anyway.”
“How convenient.”
“Aye.” D’Ary seemed not to notice at all the fact that by now Padruig was glaring at him. Or maybe he did.
“See to it, then.” Before he could make an utter fool of himself and challenge the man for no clear reason, Padruig stalked off.
“A fiercesome man, your husband,” D’Ary remarked to Aimili. “I believe he is jealous.”
Jealous? Aimili laughed before she could stop herself. “Nay.”
“Hmm. I would be if I were wed to such a beautiful woman.”
“Did you suffer a blow to the head earlier that I missed?”
“I am simply stating the truth. Do you not see yourself as beautiful?”
“Morainn has always been the beautiful one.”
“Morainn?”
“My younger sister.”
“Ah, yes, I have heard mention of her.”
“Oh?”
“’Tis said she is a comely lass, indeed. Does she enjoy embroidery?”
“Excessively.”
“Supervise the kitchen in preparation of delicious fare?”
“In detail.”
“Ensure the hall is cleanl
y swept of refuse?”
“Every day.”
“Clothe herself in fine silk bliauts to set off her delicate coloring?”
“With superb taste and refinement.”
“Perfection, then.”
“So everyone tells me.”
D’Ary put his hand on her shoulder, and Aimili felt that odd tingling again. “I am sure that your sister is a fine woman, but all of that sounds rather boring to me. I prefer a woman who differs from what is expected.”
Aimili narrowed her eyes. “Are you flirting with me?”
“I could if it would make you feel better, but nay. I am simply pointing out that there are different concepts of perfection.”
“Morainn is not much of a horsewoman.”
“Know how to use a dagger?”
“For eating only.”
“Not a sword, surely.”
“Oh, heavens, no. ’Twould get caught in her skirts.” Aimili felt the beginnings of a smile curve her lips.
“Och, ’tis a shame. The lady is not perfection after all.”
Aimili turned to look at D’Ary, her heart lighter than it had been in a long time. “Why do you aid me?”
He leaned close and winked. “I like you, my lady. I can assure you such a tender emotion does not often strike me.”
“’Tis my good fortune, then.”
“Aye. More than you know.”
Chapter Eleven
After the incident with Pythia, Aimili was forced to admit, if only to herself, that between her injury and Padruig’s bewildering behavior, she had had enough. She made her way back to her chamber, feeling weighted down, her steps slow and careful. By the saints, how weak she’d become, she thought in disgust.
The back of her head throbbed with a constant, though minor ache, but most of all she simply felt exhausted. She climbed up the steps to her chamber, bracing against the cool stone walls as she ascended.
When she entered her chamber, it was empty. Though Cai invariably found his way back before nightfall, he spent most of his days out prowling the countryside or trying to filch food from the kitchen. Aimili smiled as she thought of the big wolf and Cook playing their game of Cai trying to be sneaky and Cook pretending that she was horrified at having him underfoot. Aimili had seen Cai more than once happily sprawled out under Cook’s worktable, patiently waiting for scraps of food to fall and Cook slipping him some when she thought no one was looking.
