by Brenna Lyons
“Tilbrand, hold,” Gawen thundered. He bolted across the open area in the training building, while his younger cursed brothers scattered in his wake. Gawen hit Tilbrand with a straight-arm to the chest, sending him crashing to the ground while he swept the troublesome, curly-headed child between them onto his shoulder.
Jörg took one look at Gawen’s scowl and turned from the encounter, running for the safety of the group by the wall.
Gawen nodded as he left. He tightened his grip on Regana as she tried to kick her way down. “Stop it,” he grumbled at her.
Tilbrand found his feet again.
“Disarm,” he ordered the unruly boy.
Tilbrand glared at him, but he sheathed his weapon. “I only wanted to teach them a lesson, Gawen,” he fumed. “You let her run wild. She shouldn’t even be here.”
“You shouldn’t be antagonizing the little ones,” he countered. “If you left them to themselves,” he smiled a crooked smile, “they wouldn’t be forced to prove who is better trained. At least they understand teamwork.”
Tilbrand darkened in anger. “This is the warrior’s training area, not a play area for little girls who need leading strings,” he shot back. “You should have Eberhard’s daughter nurse for you.”
Regana fought his grip, trying to exact her own retaliation for that remark.
Gawen crushed her to his shoulder with one huge hand. “Regana is my responsibility, no one else’s. She will stay here under my care.”
“Yes, she will,” Sibold assured them, calmly walking to them, a disapproving look etched on his ancient face.
Gawen sighed as Regana stilled then shrank closer to him. At least she had the common sense to be afraid of the master trainer.
He raised an eyebrow at Gawen. “Take Regana outside to wait for me,” he instructed.
“Yes, Sibold.” Gawen ground his teeth at Tilbrand’s smirk; but from the indulgent look Sibold tossed after the tiny girl, he guessed whose side the master trainer would ultimately take — as usual.
In the treeline, he set Regana on her bottom. “Stay there,” Gawen ordered as he sat beside her.
She raised her chin a notch, but she sat fairly still, a miracle in the making! Gawen took in the dirty face, red cheek, and the mussed hair critically before sighing and retying the thong that held her hair back. Regana fidgeted and shot him an annoyed look that warned of her intent to flee such ministrations, but she let him smooth her hair.
She looked to the doors of the training area nervously. “Is Tilbrand in trouble?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Gawen admitted.
“He should be,” she decided angrily.
“So should you,” he reminded her.
“For what?” she demanded. “He struck Jörg for no reason.”
“And you struck him.”
Her face darkened. “Only in defense,” she protested weakly.
“It is not your place to discipline the trainees. It is mine. All you did was anger Tilbrand. That’s why he struck you.”
Regana nodded quietly.
“Now, Jörg may be censured as well. He struck Tilbrand in defense of you.” And downed the older boy easily! Tilbrand — at fifteen and half again as tall as Jörg was — never saw the punch that knocked him flat.
Her eyes widened, and she looked at him fearfully. “Jörg won’t really get in trouble, will he?” she asked.
Gawen sighed. “I don’t know. That is Sibold’s choice.”
Regana nodded miserably and curled under his arm for comfort. Gawen pulled her into his lap. At barely eight years old, she was less than half his height and tiny, even for a girl. But, her stature hid more strength than Tilbrand had bargained for.
Gawen smiled as he wrapped her in his arms and smoothed her hair. Regana had always delighted him, unless she was frustrating him or scaring him to death. He had never seen a little girl like her before. Gawen sobered slightly as he realized that was at least partly his own fault.
Abbo seemed to have abdicated all parental responsibilities the day Regana was born. When he walked out the door, he never came back as a father for either of his children. Marcwi lived long enough to nurse and waste-train her daughter, but she was never the same animated woman Gawen remembered. She died when Regana was too young to remember her. For all that he was alive, Abbo was as much a stranger to his daughter when he died shortly after his son reached sixteen.
That left Regana almost exclusively in her brother’s care. As much as Gawen enjoyed caring for Regana, he wondered if he was doing right by her. She had no females to model after, and some of the things she picked up from the young warriors were wholly inappropriate. Already, he had to correct some of the more colorful phrases she had been introduced to. Regana was learning to fight by watching the boys, and by earning her lumps when her brother’s back was turned.
Her closest friend and confidant was Jörg. His father had died before he was born, and his mother was at a loss for raising such a spirited and headstrong child. She leapt at the chance to have Gawen guide him, as Sibold requested, and Jörg had attached himself to both Gawen and Regana immediately. The two were inseparable. From the first time they met, any trouble one was in, the other was sure to be involved somehow.
Gawen worried about them playing in the woods between the houses, but he soon learned that nothing in the wood would dare hurt them. Whether they were blessed or simply too spry to be caught aside, he was surprised he hadn’t gone gray prematurely dealing with them. Neither of them seemed to have any concept of the dangers around them.
Sibold smiled as he started toward them. Gawen wondered how he, Sibold’s stone-chosen replacement and a military leader, had somehow become a nursemaid to all the children, but he supposed being responsible for them in battle and when they were walking the edges of madness had to start somewhere.
“You were always good with her,” the master trainer commented warmly.
“If only she would listen,” Gawen noted in exasperation.
“You do not follow orders well, young lady,” Sibold scolded her while studiously hiding a smile.
Regana looked at him shyly and buried her face in Gawen’s chest. Her brother sighed. Regana almost always treated Sibold this way when it was obvious to everyone that the master trainer was akin to a faithful servant to her every whim.
“I don’t understand it. She fears you for no good reason,” Gawen complained.
“She doesn’t fear me. She is fearless,” the old man replied in admiration. “Regana?”
She peeked at Sibold, and he smiled.
“Did Tilbrand hurt you?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Sibold touched her bruised cheek gently. “You must become a lady soon, you know.”
Regana scrunched up her nose in distaste. “I don’t want to be a lady,” she informed him stubbornly.
Sibold laughed. “What would you like to be?” he asked.
“A warrior,” she decided.
“That, I cannot grant, though you might make a better one than some of those boys,” he teased.
Regana smiled in response.
“No, you must learn to be a lady. Look on it as doing battle.”
“I thought you wanted her to stay here?” Gawen asked in confusion.
“I do. Kethe and Evfemia could come here to instruct her. I’m sure you can impart household arts.”
Gawen darkened. “I can, but I’m not sure she will learn it.”
“She will if I tell her to,” Sibold stated with a warning note that Gawen rarely heard where Regana was concerned.
The girl nodded solemnly, knowing that no one balked that tone with Sibold.
“See? She will behave for the older girls.”
“I will believe it when I see it,” Gawen muttered.
“She will, and someday she will wed a warrior,” Sibold commented fondly.
Regana made a sour face at the idea. “Is Jörg in trouble?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject.
<
br /> Sibold sighed. “I put him to work to keep him out of trouble, just as I am doing for you.”
“But, it was Tilbrand’s fault,” she challenged.
Sibold smiled at Gawen. “I told you she didn’t fear me.” He met her eyes sadly. “Jörg must learn control, Regana. I know he believes he was only defending you, but he must learn to control his urge to fight before it controls him.”
“What about Tilbrand?” she demanded.
“He has a special duty,” he assured her.
Gawen raised an eyebrow at the old man. “He does?” he asked archly.
“I decided that Tilbrand has no appreciation for the sacred duty of those he must protect. Striking a defenseless child, a girl—”
“Defenseless?” Gawen laughed harshly at the thought of it.
“He pulled his blade, Gawen,” Sibold reminded him.
He sobered instantly. “Yes, he did,” he whispered, pulling Regana firmly to his broad chest.
“He won’t do it again. I have stripped him of his weapons until the next new moon.”
“That’s more than two weeks away.”
“You’re right. For that period of time, he will be responsible for our two youngest children.”
“Ditrich and Jörg will keep him busy,” Gawen decided.
Sibold shook his head. “No. I meant Jörg and Regana,” he explained.
Regana sank further into his chest. “We don’t like Tilbrand,” she pleaded with Gawen quietly.
His breathing seemed strangled. Regana was his responsibility, no one else’s. “I don’t like this, Sibold.”
“He will not hurt them. I guarantee it.”
“If he does, he will answer to me,” Gawen promised.
“Only after I’ve finished with him.”
* * * *
Regana sighed and dropped her sewing into the basket at her feet. She leaned on the wall and watched Gawen training with Wil.
“What is wrong?” Kethe asked, her blue eyes darkening with concern.
“I hate sewing,” Regana moaned.
“You hate everything,” Evfemia remarked.
“Not everything. Just everything a lady is supposed to do,” she countered, kicking her feet at the long skirts in annoyance. The skirts were another of Sibold’s ideas for turning her into a lady. Her face was washed, her hair neatly bound, and Regana hated every minute of it. She sighed once again. “I’ll never be a lady.”
“You won’t be if you don’t try,” Evfemia noted.
“Doesn’t a lady do anything interesting?”
“Like what?” Kethe inquired.
“Never mind. I’m going home. If I don’t move, I’ll go mad,” she decided.
Tilbrand met her at the doorway, looking forbidding. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Home. I can find my way,” she assured him.
“No, you don’t. I’m responsible for both of you. You stay or you both go.”
“Fine,” she answered from between clenched teeth. Regana turned on her heel and stormed to Jörg. “Come on,” she told him.
“I have to—”
“I’ll help you tomorrow,” she cut him off cleanly.
“Sibold won’t allow it,” he protested.
“Tilbrand won’t let me leave unless you do, too. Walk home with me and come back once he leaves. Please, Jörg.”
Regana knew the moment she won. His scowl turned into a crooked smile, and he snuck a glance at Gawen before grabbing her hand and pulling her to the door a little faster than her skirts allowed comfortably. They tripped out past Tilbrand, Regana giggling at the end of Jörg’s arm and gripping her basket of sewing. She loathed sewing and wished she could throw it off the highest peak.
“Come on,” Jörg ordered Tilbrand in good-natured amusement. “We’ll take up as little of your time as we can,” he promised.
Tilbrand grunted his agreement and started walking, the two of them at his heels. Regana fought her skirts most of the way. It seemed she was constantly tripping over them or getting tangled in the hem. Several times, Tilbrand turned to give her dirty looks.
Finally, she retaliated. “If you want me to handle my skirts, carry the basket,” she demanded of him.
“Have Jörg do it.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, he is keeping me from falling and hurting myself. You can do one or the other.”
Jörg met her eyes in surprise.
“Give me the basket,” Tilbrand barked.
Regana raised an eyebrow at Jörg as she handed the basket to the older boy. “Told you,” she assured him.
“Come on,” Tilbrand demanded. “If I have to play nurse, at least I can do it inside.”
Regana looked at him in shock. “You’re not staying,” she decided. “Just see me home. I’ll be fine there.”
“That’s not what Sibold ordered.”
Regana shot a seething look at his back and started hiking her skirts into her belt in annoyance. Jörg looked at her in dismay, and she motioned him for silence. She cut her path in a diagonal and shot silently onto a footpath through the trees. Regana knew Jörg would follow her, so she didn’t waste time looking to see that he did.
They didn’t make a sound, when Tilbrand realized they were gone. They didn’t slow their escape, when he roared out an order for them to return. He had no chance of ever finding them now, and Regana was determined not to let anyone order her life like this.
When they reached the great Oak, Jörg passed her up onto the lowest branch without breaking stride and followed her up into the thick cover higher up. They listened to Tilbrand searching below in amusement and moved in from the dense leaf cover to lounge on the thick branches near the trunk when he was gone.
“Why are we doing this?” Jörg asked her quietly.
“I’m tired of everyone else’s plans for me. I don’t want to be a lady. I hate it. I hate sewing. I hate the long skirts. I hate sitting around. I hate everything about it.”
“You like cooking,” he noted.
“Gawen cooks. That’s not strictly something ladies do,” she countered.
“I guess. So, why this?”
“Tilbrand! Do you really want to spend the day with him lording over us? I don’t.”
“Sibold ordered it,” Jörg rationalized.
“I’m not allowed to be a warrior. I don’t have to listen to Sibold.”
“I do,” he breathed, looking worried.
Regana chewed at her lower lip. “You’re right. You should go back. You’ll get into a lot more trouble than I will.”
“Are you kidding? Tilbrand will kill me. Besides, if I leave you up here in long skirts, Gawen will kill me.”
“They’re tucked up. I’ll be fine.”
His eyes lit in mischief again. “This is too much fun,” he admitted.
“Good. Then, we’ll stay here.”
“How long?”
“Forever,” she replied in a wistful voice.
“We’ll starve.”
“Okay. Evening meal, but forever sounds better,” she decided.
“Why?” Jörg asked as he changed position to face her and laid back.
“Do you know why they want to make me a lady?”
“No. Not really,” he admitted.
“They want me to marry a warrior,” she confided as she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Can you imagine me married to Tilbrand or Wil?”
“Stand down,” Jörg complained in mock offense. “Not all warriors are bad. I’m a warrior. You don’t seem to mind my company.”
“You want to marry me?” Regana asked pointedly.
Jörg darkened. “Well — no. I don’t want to marry anyone, actually.”
“Neither do I.”
“I know.” Jörg hesitated, as if he couldn’t decide how to proceed. “But, they keep telling us we have to someday.” He furrowed his brow. “I have an idea.”
“What?” Regana asked suspiciously. “I’m not going to a convent,” she warned him.
“I told you, I don’t want to marry anyone,” she reminded him.
“Neither do I, but we have to marry someone. Why not marry a friend I can climb trees with?”
“That’s not a bad plan,” Regana mused.
“Give me your word,” he demanded quietly.
Regana reached her knife out of her belt and sliced a shallow line down her right palm. She handed him the knife solemnly.
Jörg took it, his expression fierce. “You want to take a blood oath?” he asked. “Are you sure?”
“Why not? I can’t imagine ever marrying one of those other boys.” She shrugged.
He nodded and sliced his own hand. Jörg handed the knife back and clasped her palm to his own. “It’s an oath,” he assured her. “We marry no one but each other.”
* * * *
“Gawen,” Tilbrand called him in annoyance.
Gawen took in his red-faced fury in concern and darted his eyes around the training area. He cursed solidly as he made his way to the boy. “Where are they?” he asked in exasperation.
“If I knew that, they’d be here — preferably bound and gagged.”
Gawen nodded in understanding. He’d considered that option on more than one occasion. “What happened?”
“They slipped into the woods and ran,” he reported.
“Near my lands?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me. I know where they’ve gone.”
“How?”
“Six years of practice,” Gawen spat.
Tilbrand bit back a smile at the thought. “Should I tell Sibold?” he asked seriously.
Gawen sighed. “You better. I’m sure he’ll have words for them, and his presence just might save that pup from me.”
When they reached Regana’s tree, Tilbrand looked into the branches in confusion. “They’re not up there. I already looked.”
Gawen smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Regana, show yourself! If I have to come up after you...” he let the warning hang.
“Oh, Gawen,” she complained. “I just wanted some peace.”
“And Jörg?” he asked pointedly.
She slid into view, laid across a high limb, smiling innocently as a sprite. “I dragged him along,” she admitted. “I refused to go back, and he knew you and Tilbrand would kill him if he came back without me.”
