“No willing wench and so I came home,” he said, thrusting hard, grunting with evident pleasure at her distress, “to my wife, who owes me her wifely duties.”
Caught between fury and despair, her head ringing from his blow, Delae resigned herself to endure. She fought off the urge to weep, remembering all too well Dorovan’s gentle touch, the sweet pleasure of him even as her husband grunted his way to satisfaction like a pig, spilling his seed inside her.
His body went lax as his pleasure loosened him.
With a wrench of her body, she shoved him off to send him tumbling to the floor. His flesh hit with an ugly smack as his head bounced off the stone with a sound like a rap of knuckles upon a ripe melon.
Rolling off the bed, she raced for the sword behind the door as he staggered to his feet.
She looked him in the eye as she pointed the sword at him.
“Get out and keep out. That’s the last time you touch me, Kort, or the next time I’ll gut you.”
“You’re my wife,” he snapped.
“So, suddenly you’ve remembered?” she shouted furiously. “Get out of my room and keep to your own. Or by God the next time you awaken you’ll be shorter by a few inches.”
She let the blade of the sword drop just enough to indicate what she meant.
His face blanched and his eyes narrowed.
Delae lifted her chin. “Get out or I’ll gut you where you stand and hang for it. Then what will your parents do? Where will your drinking and gambling money come from?”
He eyed her with a sneer.
“I had to do you in the dark to want you anyway,” he said and slammed out.
If it hadn’t been for the memory of Dorovan, the words would have hurt more, but they still pained her.
Delae bit her lip to hold back the tears, listening intently until she was sure he’d returned to his rooms and then she slipped down the hallway to the guest room where Dorovan had spent his first night.
She curled up around his pillows, pretending they were him and cried herself to sleep.
Miles away Dorovan awoke in the night, troubled by thoughts and dreams of Delae, his friend-of-the-heart. Rubbing his hand over his heart, he went out to the veranda and looked out over the railing at the sleeping Talaena Enclave spread around him, the smallest of the Enclaves and the most insular.
Delae was in trouble, something pained her. He had the strongest feeling she needed him and although it was very likely that whatever troubled her would be well over by the time he reached her; he also found he missed her presence.
Travelling that distance would grow easier with time and he would have to take care not to raise questions with his absences. In truth it was likely none would notice or question. It wasn’t their way.
Still, it wouldn’t do for anyone to find out who he went to see, more so if anyone found out he made love to her, however much they were friends-of-the-heart. It was forbidden with one of the race of men; however less fertile Elves were as a race.
It would take only care but he needed her and it was clear she needed him. Badly at the moment.
Charis awaited him at the stables. They had to take the short cut across the Gorge but it would still be a day or two before they reached Delae’s isolated homestead.
Chapter Seven
It took a long hot bath and a lot of scrubbing before Delae felt clean again. She only dared bathe while Kort was occupied with his parents.
She didn’t even attempt to hide the bruise on her face although his parents pretended it wasn’t there. No one else dared speak of it. Kort scowled at the sight. She simply went about her business, although it pained her deep in her belly to walk after his attentions the night before. It was as if she were bruised inside.
Knowing Kort, she ordered Morlis to take all of the best animals over to the lands of one of the smallholders. The last time Kort appeared he’d ridden off with her prize stallion to sell as riding stock. It had taken two weeks to get it back and she’d been lucky to get the animal before he’d been gelded.
Kort had sold him for a fraction of what he’d had been worth.
Petra held a cold piece of meat to the Delae’s bruise to ease the pain.
“Why is he here?” she whispered.
“Either I’m not sending him enough coin,” Delae said with a sigh, “or he’s spending it too quickly. Otherwise, I don’t know.”
She didn’t dare offer him more money to leave either or he’d be convinced there was more she wasn’t giving him, that she’d been holding back from him.
Which of course she was.
Over the course of the day many of the folk of the homestead reported Kort skulking and poking about as if he looked for something. He was short-tempered and angry - so much so that most of their people actively avoided him.
There was an air about him even Delae found disturbing, as if he were on edge for some reason.
If she didn’t know better, she’d have said he was frightened. But what could he be frightened of here? There was no one to challenge him except her. Yet he was clearly nervous and irritable, even more so than usual. It was disturbing and unsettling.
She knew better than to ask, it was unlikely he would tell her.
In disgust, Kort slammed his knife down at the food offered to him for dinner.
“Tasteless slop,” he snarled. “I get better in the slums of Doncerric.”
Most days Delae ate alone, save when Dorovan had been here. It was only on the rare occasions when Kort was here that they ate together as a family. It was a sham, a sop to convention, but it kept the peace and Delae couldn’t deny the benefits of it.
Not this time, though.
Lifting her eyes to him, without a glance at his mother and father who well knew this was the best the homestead had to offer, Delae said, “Then why don’t you go back?”
“I should,” he shouted and threw the bowl at her as he stormed away from the table, taking the jug of wine with him.
The bowl glanced off the arm she threw up to protect her face.
As angry as he was, she took care not to sleep in her own bed that night.
Still, she didn’t get a peaceful night’s sleep either.
“Lady,” Hallis whispered, “milady, wake up, I been keeping guard, keeping watch, he’s gone and found it…”
Stunned, furious, she shot to her feet, terrified and nearly in tears.
If he had, she’d kill him.
“Go to bed, Hallis,” she said, quietly and, snatching up the sword, ran down the hall.
“Might have known this was where the bitch hid her money,” Kort muttered, holding a single candle, pulling the bag from the hidden niche in the wall.
Quietly, from the doorway Delae said, “And if you take it, we’ll starve.”
He spun, furiously, reminding her suddenly and startlingly of a maddened boar with his bloated face.
She fought the urge to weep, to beg.
“Where is it? There should be more!” he demanded.
“Supplies were needed,” she said, begged. Pleaded. Fighting sobs. “We bought them. Half, Kort. Take half and go. I’ll send you more as soon as we have it. Half, no more.”
“Or what?” he snarled.
She looked at him. “Or you try to get past me and one of us dies. I’ll take my chances with King Hastan, thank you very much”
“Hastan and his Dwarven bride with their half-breed son,” Kort said. “At least he’s prettier than you. Think you can best me?”
There were tales of Dwarven women who were as big and bulky as their men but Delae knew better. In truth they were small, warm and lovely. Delae had been lucky enough to meet the Queen of Riverford two summers past when she’d bought one of Delae’s tapestries.
She only answered his last question.
“A sword in the gut?” she said with a careless shrug, “you’ll be just as dead, it will just take longer. Or, I might slip…”
The sword tip dropped a little, toward his second most-prize
d possession.
His jaw tightened in fury but her eyes stayed level with his.
Dumping the coins on the bed, he swept up half, his expression bitter and angry.
She made certain to stay out of his way, her sword up and on guard as he left but she followed him warily to be certain he was, indeed, going.
There was an air of desperation and fear about him.
Watching, she saw him go into the stables and ride out on the horse he’d ridden in on. Frowning at his haste but in some relief she watched him ride out through the gates as if hellhounds were after him.
As a precaution, though, she set guards to watch in case he came back for more.
She didn’t tell anyone he hadn’t gotten even half of her stash of coins, knowing better than to put all her eggs in one basket. Especially where Kort was concerned.
Delae fell to her knees, the precious coins in her lap and wept with relief.
This much at least, was safe.
It was a blow all the same, as it made a significant dent in their funds. Things would be tight, very tight, if the winter was too harsh. As it looked to be. She would have to ration food far earlier than she’d hoped and their solstice celebration would be chary, too.
Nor did she sleep in her own bed that night either, as a precaution. She wouldn’t have her sleep interrupted so again anytime soon.
Chapter Eight
Daylight couldn’t come soon enough for Delae. With no sign of Kort she had the animals brought back to the stables and sheds.
“It’s your fault,” Cana shouted, charging down the quadrangle. “It’s your fault Kort left so quickly.”
“And his fault if we starve through the winter, Cana,” Delae said back, just as sharply, “for lack of the grain to feed us. There will be little meat this winter as we may have to sell one of the cows. No milk, no cream, no cheese, either, if we do.”
The furious woman came up short at the threat. No milk for her bread and honey each night? She turned and stomped away in a huff.
Delae closed her eyes, pressed her fingers to her eyelids as she took a deep breath. With a shake of her head, she turned back toward the great room.
“Pay no attention to her, Delae,” Petra said, stoutly. “And we can do on half rations.”
With a smile, Delae patted Petra’s comforting hand on her arm. “For all my words to Cana, it’s not so bad as that yet, Petra, we might simply have to butter the bread a little more thinly for a time until I’m sure.”
A breath of a relief burst out of the aged little woman. She loved her bread soaked in cream and honey as much as the old bitch did.
With a small chuckle, Delae went on her way.
Her fingers drifted over the tapestry on the loom, remembering… Her throat tightened as she sat before it and chose her threads. In her thoughts was Dorovan’s lovely deep voice, telling her about life in Talaena, of how beautiful it was. She could only imagine it but some of it she set into the threads of the tapestry she wove, smiling as afternoon light slowly gilded the room in light.
That smile didn’t last long when she heard the first cry of alarm from the yard.
The first shout had Delae racing for the doorway, some instinct telling her that this, this, was what Kort had truly feared.
Morlis had spotted the black-clad riders coming and now ran to try to shut the gates, calling for help.
Damn you, Kort, what have you done? she wondered as she spun and ran for her sword.
Petra and Hallis rushed down the hall toward her at the shouts from the yard.
“Bar all the entrances, Hallis, Petra,” Delae said, snatching up her sword, fighting back her fear. “Go as quickly as you can. Get water heated and bandages ready. Go.”
Frightened, Petra said, “What is it, Delae?”
“I don’t know,” Delae said, as they heard another shout of alarm from outside. “But it’s bad. Bar the doors behind me. Your lives on it if you don’t.”
She ran, her skirts flying.
It was too late.
The riders hit the rapidly closing gates hard with the speed of their arrival, sending Morlis flying as the wooden gates slammed against his body, flinging him backwards.
Dan came running from the forge, a hammer and a piece of heated iron in his hands to face a dozen men on horseback, all armed with swords, some in leather armor.
The horses and riders milled around in the courtyard, disturbed by the smell of the hot iron, turning for the oak and iron-clad doors to the great room.
Where Delae stepped out with sword in hand to face them.
Behind her, she heard the bar on the door fall into place with a solid chunk.
There was no retreat, but if she didn’t win here retreat was not an option. A part of her wanted to weep, but she couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
“Dan - get Morlis,” she said calmly, seeing her hostler sprawled by the gates, shaking his head to clear it. She turned to the men before her. “The gates to the homestead itself are barred. Name your business here.”
She gave a significant glance to Dan, whose eyes widened at her words, knowing the doors would have to be battered open. He nodded, keeping his eyes warily on the intruders as he went to Morlis.
The leader of the invaders looked at her.
“You won’t gain entrance,” she said. “What is your business here?”
“Do you even know how to use that?” he asked, glancing at the sword.
A week’s lessons from an Elven Swordmaster…better than nothing by far, and certainly better than many of these who would know only how to hack and slash.
“Well enough to cut the first one or two who try me,” she said evenly. “Who wants to go first?”
The leader burst out in laughter as he eyed her.
Beyond him, Delae could see Dan help Morlis back to the barn before releasing him so he could close the stable doors as well. Dan gestured to the women and children, including his own Lucie, sending them into the miniature fortress that was the forge. Morlis quietly drew the doors shut behind him. All the smallfolk were safe and secure.
Now she was truly alone.
Dan shut the outer doors behind him, mallet and steel in hand, to guard the entrance and to aid Delae if he could.
His loyalty and courage touched her.
“Again,” she said, as much to keep their attention on her. “What is your business here?”
“Is this the homestead of landowner Kort?”
Kort.
She closed her eyes. She might have known. Now she understood his fear, his anxiety. He must owe a great deal to engender this result.
“You just missed him,” she said. “He left only hours ago, heading south and west. If you leave now you can probably catch him.”
With a roar, the leader burst into laughter.
“I like you,” he said. “You’re a feisty wench. It must be the red hair. You must be the bitch he speaks of? His wife? Is that you? Are you his wife?”
“There’s nothing for you here,” she said, evenly, in answer, “just go.”
Behind him, she saw Morlis reach out for the door to the hayloft and draw it closed. At least they wouldn’t fear fire.
“Kort owes my some money,” the leader said.
“A pity,” Delae said. “He should know better than to lend it to drunken gamblers. There’s no money here, Kort took it all.”
The leader looked around at the homestead, only then noticing doors that had once been open were now shut and Dan standing guard at the forge.
“As I said,” Delae repeated. “There is nothing for you here. Kort has every coin we had. If you leave now, you might catch him.”
It would serve him right to face the consequences of his actions for once. Or perhaps he could ride fast enough to outrun them.
Eyeing the closed and barred courtyard, the leader turned to her. “Somehow I don’t think so. You seem a smart woman. Too smart to let him take it all.”
Delae swore softly in her mind but took a pa
ge from the Elves - from Dorovan - and kept it from showing on her face.
If they took the money, it was die now or starve later. Even if they sold all their stock - if these didn’t take them, too - barring a miracle they would simply starve the next winter instead. And Kort would still be out there between waiting for more…or coming back for what little remained.
There was nothing else to do but brazen it out.
“I repeat,” she said, “there is nothing for you here. Just go.”
With a shrug, the leader said, “There is always you. Better a bird in the hand. Sell you to the slave markets and we’d get something at least. You’re a little thing but bold and pretty enough with that red hair. If nothing else, you’ll fetch a hefty price.” He smiled. “I’d be first in line to break you in. You’ve got spirit.”
Just the thought sent a shudder through her although she didn’t show that either. Or how utterly terrified she was.
She would fight, though, because she must.
With a shake of his head the bandit signaled to his men.
“Get the doors down,” he commanded. “Take her.”
Delae looked at Dan, holding one hand low, praying he’d listen as his muscles bunched.
It was likely they’d both die here but those they loved might not.
The riders dismounted, pushing their horses out of the way. Delae never took her eyes off the leader as two of his men headed toward her. The others gathered together laughing and shoving each other as they turned toward the doors to the great room.
If they did break in, they’d be sadly disappointed to find only two old men and two old women inside. Kort’s mother and Delae’s servant.
But they were Delae’s. Her responsibility. She set herself as the two men neared and then she nodded.
Dan charged with a shout, mallet and heated iron swinging.
It was a distraction and all she needed.
Delae ran and spun, her wrists locked as Dorovan had taught her. She felt the impact of steel against flesh and bone, as sharpened steel sliced effortlessly through flesh. Her mind shied away from the thought and from the shower of blood that drenched her skirts even as she turned to the next, ducking beneath a swing that might have taken her head off.
Not Magic Enough Page 6
