Maids with Blades

by Glynnis Campbell

  After supper, Rand disappeared briefly. When he returned to the hall, he was accompanied by none other than the two players from the fair, their faces still garish with paint.

  Miriel frowned. What the devil were they doing here?

  With a wink at Miriel, Rand directed the kitchen lads to move some of the tables to make space for a pleasant diversion. Then he introduced the players to the folk of Rivenloch.

  The entertainers, Hob-Nob and Wat-Wat, with a flamboyant flourish of their arms, saluted the high table and took to the makeshift stage. Within moments, their unbridled antics had the hall erupting in uncontrollable laughter. Soon even her father was chortling in delight.

  When Rand returned to the table, Miriel leaned toward him, astounded. “You hired them? But how did you…? What…?”

  He smiled and whispered, “’Twas insurance, in the event your father refused me your hand. What man can say nay when his belly is rolling with laughter?”

  Miriel grinned. He was clever, her bridegroom. And eager to please. Chivalrous. And kind. And handsome. And utterly irresistible.

  But she supposed she’d have to resist him for the moment. After all, it would be inappropriate to seize her beloved Rand by the tabard, throw him onto one of the trestle tables, tear off his trews, and have her way with him with all the folk of Rivenloch for witness. No matter how tempting the thought.

  She settled for holding tight to his arm, resting her cheek fondly against his shoulder, and listening to the wonderful rumble of his laughter as he chuckled over the playful fighting of Hob-Nob and Wat-Wat.

  At the end of their long performance, Lord Gellir naturally invited the players to join him at dice. They enthusiastically agreed, and soon the wagering turned fiercely comic as Wat-Wat began stealing silver from Hob-Nob’s pile and Hob-Nob kept thumping him on the back of the head.

  Miriel knew her father would suffer great losses tonight at the hands of the two sly knaves. They were not only experts at sleight of hand, but they talked circles of logic around the men at the table, leaving them scratching their heads and handing over their coin.

  But she hadn’t seen her father so happy in weeks, and she didn’t want anything to dim that happiness. Perhaps it was worth the loss of a few coins for the joy that blossomed in Lord Gellir’s eyes as Wat-Wat and Hob-Nob battled over the single piece of silver they’d just won off him.

  As if he’d read her mind, Rand squeezed her hand in reassurance and murmured, “I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t lose too badly.” Then with a sweet kiss to her brow, he bade her good night and moved to the gaming table to join in the wagering.

  Miriel would have preferred that he carry her up to her bedchamber, toss her onto the pallet, throw up her skirts, and give her a proper good night. But he was a man of conscience and good heart, and there was much to be said for prudence, particularly when she seemed to have so little of late.

  Besides, as soon as she rose from the table and headed for the stairs, Sung Li followed her.

  “Miriel.” He snapped like a hound at her heels. “Miriel.”

  Miriel didn’t bother to acknowledge the pesky servant. She was still irritated with him.

  “Miriel.”

  Miriel opened her chamber door, tempted to turn about and slam it in his face.

  Then Sung Li reached out to grab her arm, muttering one of his inscrutable declarations. “He is not who you think he is.”

  She could have pretended she didn’t know who Sung Li meant, but it would have been useless. Instead, she bit out, “And you are not who I thought you were.” She stood nose to nose with Sung Li. “I thought you were my faithful servant, my respected xiansheng, my friend.” She jerked her arm out of Sung Li’s grasp. “But you’ve been nothing but rude to my bridegroom ever since he arrived.”

  Sung Li raised his chin proudly. “What I do, I do for your protection.”

  “Protection?” She rolled her eyes, then pulled Sung Li through the doorway into her bedchamber, closing the door against those who might overhear. “Sung Li, you are ever telling me that I’m a child. How do you expect me to grow up if you insist on protecting me?”

  Sung Li listened in silence.

  “I don’t know why you hate Rand so,” she continued. “But I know he is a good man. He will make me a fine husband. He has been patient with my father and kind to my sisters. And as horrid as you’ve been to him, he’s even been civil to you.”

  Sung Li stared at her a long while, his black gaze intent and probing, his mind probably a thousand miles away, until Miriel was forced to look away in discomfort.

  Finally, he spoke. “You are right. It is time that you make your own future.”

  Miriel blinked in astonishment. That was the last thing she expected from Sung Li. The stubborn old master never admitted he was wrong.

  “But there are things I must reveal to you,” he said, “very important things that will help you to steer your destiny.”

  Miriel nodded mutely, still reeling from his concession.

  “The two fools are not as foolish as they seem,” he intoned.

  “Hob-Nob and Wat-Wat?”

  “They are strong and agile and clever.”

  “What do the players have to do with Rand?”

  “He hired them, did he not?”

  “Aye, but—”

  “And they are winning much coin this night.”

  “As does everyone who wagers against my father.”

  “Which by now Rand of Morbroch knows.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Your betrothed hired the players to rob your father of his silver this eve. Tomorrow, he will leave with them, and they will split their winnings.”

  “What?” She was tempted to laugh, so preposterous was Sung Li’s accusation.

  “He will not return again.”

  “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever—”

  “You do not remember him from before,” Sung Li reminded her, “when he claims to have fallen in love with you.”

  Miriel bit her lip. She wanted to gainsay Sung Li, but what he said was right. Indeed, no one at the tournament remembered Sir Rand of Morbroch. Indeed, he’d fabricated the entire tale. Suddenly her chest felt weighted, as if a heavy lump of lead congealed there.

  “He did not come for you, Miriel.”

  “What are you saying?” Her lungs constricted, making it hard to breathe. “That he came to Rivenloch to rob my father?”

  Sung Li’s silence was telling.

  “That can’t be true.” But in her mind, she knew it was possible. He could have used the pretense of courting her simply to gain access to the gaming table. And he could have freely promised her marriage if he planned to escape with his winnings, knowing full well it was a promise he’d never be compelled to keep. The possibility sickened her.

  Yet why would such a man resort to thievery? He clearly was well funded enough to own a fine blade and a magnificent horse, to suffer gambling losses over the past week, to purchase a ring for her at the fair.

  “He’s a noble knight,” she insisted, though she knew that was likely a lie.

  “Are you certain of that?”

  She couldn’t meet Sung Li’s eyes. “He introduced himself as Sir Rand of Morbroch.”

  “And Hob-Nob introduced himself as the King of the Faeries.”

  Miriel felt as if she scrabbled for purchase on a rapidly crumbling wall. “Who but a noble knight could wield a sword so well?”

  Sung Li narrowed his wise eyes. “Certainly not the meek daughter of a Scots lord,” he said pointedly. “Nor her aging maidservant.”

  Miriel had to concede—Sung Li was right. One couldn’t judge by appearances. But neither could one make rash assumptions.

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. I know Rand. He is a man of honor. And he loves me.” To her dismay, despite the conviction of her statement, her voice cracked over the last words.

  Sung Li’s face looked suddenly old and weary, as if h
e’d aged ten years in the span of a few moments. “I tell you, he will betray you.”

  That wasn’t what Miriel’s heart told her. Her heart said that Rand cherished her, that their souls were inextricably intertwined, that he would never do anything to hurt her.

  “You’ll see,” she told Sung Li. “Come morn, the players will take their leave, and all of this will be remedied. Rand will still be here. He wouldn’t leave me.”

  For a long while her words hung in the air, sounding more hollow and desperate with each passing moment.

  Sung Li at last acknowledged her with a nod, then turned and reached for the door. Though his back was to her, she could hear the command in his voice. “’Twould be a foolish thing if The Shadow tried to steal the players’ silver in the morn.”

  The thought had never occurred to Miriel. She supposed she was too caught up in the horrifying possibility that Rand might betray her to think of The Shadow and what might become of the players’ winnings. “Foolish?”

  “The three of them together make a formidable foe.”

  “There will be only two,” she insisted. “Rand won’t go with them.”

  “Yet on the morrow it will happen. The Night will swallow The Shadow.”

  Miriel gulped. “What do you mean?” This time the prophecy chilled her blood.

  His explanation was as obtuse as his prediction. “Swallowed by the night, the shadow disappears.”

  That was true, she supposed, from a standpoint of pure logic. But Sung Li’s soothsaying was never that simplistic. As she reconsidered the symbolism, a startling possibility invaded her thoughts. God’s eyes, by Night did Sung Li mean death? Would The Shadow die tomorrow?

  It was impossible to imagine. The Shadow was untouchable, escaping every encounter, unscathed. No one could catch the elusive thief, much less deal a killing blow. The Shadow was indestructible.

  Yet Sung Li seemed very serious about his prediction, and he was never wrong. Miriel had to pay heed to his words. “I’m certain the outlaw won’t do anything foolish.”

  Sung Li hesitated, as if he wished to say something else, then decided against it. Without another word, he opened the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “You are right,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “You are no longer a child. You do not need an old man to guard your sleep.”

  With that, Sung Li bade her good night and left her chamber.

  Miriel should have felt a heady rush of independence. At last Sung Li had recognized her for what she was—a grown woman. But instead, her heart suffered a twinge of sorrow.

  Something had forever changed between the two of them. Miriel was no longer the student. Sung Li was no longer the master. They had come to a crossroads where they had to take separate paths.

  But if Miriel had known at that moment that because of her insistence on Rand’s innocence, she might never set eyes upon her beloved xiansheng again, she would have chased after Sung Li and insisted he spend this fateful night by her side.

  Unfortunately, love had made her blind.

  Meanwhile, Miriel tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep for the troubles tormenting her wakeful brain.

  Damn it all! It wasn’t fair.

  She adored Rand. He was everything she could hope for in a husband. He was perfect for her. Witty and kind, intelligent and attentive, brave and deliciously wicked, he was just the sort of man who understood her free spirit. He made her feel alive and respected and cherished. She sensed he was a man who could eventually accept her for the warrior maid she was.

  Now Sung Li had planted an ugly seed of doubt in her mind, a seed that might grow and bloom into utter betrayal.

  She hoped for once her xiansheng was wrong. She prayed that there was nothing to fret over, that it was only a foolish fear on Sung Li’s part, that tomorrow she’d wake to find Rand breaking his fast by the morning hearth, his face lighting up at the sight of her.

  She prayed it was so. For if it wasn’t…

  God save her, she’d trysted with the man.

  Chapter 21

  The sun’s face was fully above the horizon now. Miriel had lain abed as long as she could. Despite a fitful night of little sleep, her bones grew restless along with her thoughts, insisting she rise.

  She supposed Sung Li wasn’t going to come to her chamber for taijiquan this morn. Maybe he expected her to do the exercises alone from now on. Whatever his intentions, she’d already waited too long to begin. Her family would wonder what had become of her if she was further delayed.

  Still, her step was reluctant as she descended the stairs, and her heart fluttered, whether with anticipation or dread, she wasn’t sure. Would Rand be in the great hall as she’d imagined, with a cup of ale and an oatcake, greeting her with a wide grin? Or would Sung Li’s prediction come true—would he have left the keep, never to return?

  It was far easier to wonder than to face the truth.

  Summoning up her courage, she took the last step into the great hall and glanced toward the hearth. Several castle folk were gathered there—her sisters and their husbands, Sir Rauve and Lucy Campbell, a few Rivenloch men, half a dozen knights of Cameliard—sharing a light repast and talking in the soft voices of morn.

  But Rand was nowhere to be seen.

  The breath froze in her throat, chilling her hopes like winter frost settling upon a rose.

  “Miri!” Deirdre called. “Finally up and about?” She winked. “Not even wed yet, and already you’re lying abed till noon.”

  Miriel couldn’t even summon the smallest of smiles in response. She perused the small gathering again, praying she’d somehow overlooked Rand’s presence. But he wasn’t there.

  A tiny lump of misgiving hardened in her throat.

  “Is something wrong?” Colin asked.

  She bit her lip. It was foolish to make rash assumptions, she knew. The castle was large. Rand could be anywhere. Still, dread drained the blood from her face.

  Pagan frowned in concern. “Are you all right?”

  Miriel glanced up, at Pagan, at Colin, at all of them. She couldn’t tell them the worst of her fears, that Sir Rand of Morbroch, her betrothed, had betrayed her.

  Besides, she had no real evidence he’d left with the players, only Sung Li’s prediction and a nagging fear in the deep recesses of her mind.

  She managed a shaky smile. “Have you seen Rand?”

  Helena, as usual, assumed the worst. She placed one hand on the hilt of her sword. “What’s he done?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?” Helena would fight at the drop of a gauntlet. No doubt she’d enjoy pummeling Rand if she believed he’d hurt Miriel. It was comforting, though unnecessary.

  “Aye,” she said with a forced shrug. “I just wondered where he was.”

  Sir Rauve, one arm around Lucy’s shoulders, volunteered, “I think he went to see the players off this morn.”

  He’d said it so offhandedly that at first Miriel didn’t feel the impact of his words. When they finally sank in, her smile faltered, and she felt a nausea slowly build in her throat.

  Deirdre furrowed her brow. “Do you feel well, Miri? Do you want an oatcake or—?”

  “Nay.”

  “You look ill,” Helena said frankly. “Could you be with child?”

  Miriel glanced sharply at her. That was a terribly personal thing to ask, and the others scolded Helena for her meddling, saving Miriel from having to answer.

  But what if she was with child, God help her? Would she bear a bastard?

  Somehow she found the strength to ask Sir Rauve, “Did he say when he’d return?”

  Rauve chuckled. “I expect he went to seek a rematch with The Shadow.”

  Colin shook his head in amusement. “Ever since the outlaw gave him that silver coin, I think he’s been craving another chance at him.”

  Pagan muttered into his ale. “I hope he doesn’t get too badly hurt.”

  “The Shadow has never hur
t anyone,” Helena said.

  Deirdre smirked. “Though he may deal a bruising blow to Sir Rand’s pride.”

  A feeble hope sprouted in Miriel’s breast. Could that be why Rand had gone with the players? Was he only hoping to meet up with The Shadow again? Of course! It made perfect sense.

  A wry smile of irony curved her lips. Today he’d be disappointed. But as long as he returned faithfully to her, she’d gladly console him for his lost chance at glory.

  Indeed, her blood quickened as she thought of what form that consolation might take.

  Her fears soothed somewhat, she managed to stomach a bit of oatcake and busied herself about the great hall, mentally planning her wedding feast. Doubt still lurked like a thief in the corners of her mind, but she swept past, ignoring its presence.

  The deception worked for a while as the morn wore on. But when the sun drew high overhead, and still Rand didn’t return, Miriel found that the lurking thief had begun to whisper taunts from the shadows.

  He’s left for good.

  You’ll never see him again.

  He’s betrayed you.

  You were a fool to trust him.

  And when by afternoon, still there was no sign of him, the doubts began to be murmured aloud throughout the keep by the castle folk.

  “You don’t suppose something has happened to him?”

  “The Shadow never hurt anybody. Not seriously.”

  “Perhaps he lost his way back.”

  “Maybe the players rolled him.”

  “Aye, the two wily lads probably knocked him on the skull and cut his purse.”

  “Should we send someone out to look for him?”

  “Nay. He’s a grown man. He’ll come back. You’ll see.”

  Miriel was determined to hold on to hope, no matter by how fine a thread, but her heart told her they were all wrong.

  Rand hadn’t encountered The Shadow. He hadn’t been robbed by the players. Nor had he lost his way.

  By the sinking in her gut, she knew Sung Li had been right. Rand had betrayed her. He’d betrayed them all.