Donnel's Promise

by Mackenzie, Anna

  No one opposed — perhaps, Risha decided, they were a little awed by the girl’s budding confidence.

  Donnel did not attend the session. Gorth sat at Risha’s side as advisor for LeMarc, Bruer and Talben for Havre. Harbin’s counsel was claimed by his cousin, though the men barely spoke to one another. Risha found the new Lord Westlaw difficult to read — which was perhaps why his mother and son were currently under Donnel’s protection, providing some surety against the duchy of Westlaw breaking the fragile peace.

  ‘Will you ride with us to Fratton and see Ciaran settled?’ Margetta asked, at the session’s end.

  Risha shook her head. ‘Fenn brought us across the lake; we left our horses in Havre. And it’s been too long since I saw Cantrel. I hear he’s been feeling his age this past winter.’ Though both claims were true, neither was her main reason for avoiding Fratton.

  Margetta smiled placidly. ‘Then you will receive the gift I sent all the sooner. It is rightly yours I think.’

  Further discussion was pre-empted by Quilec, puffed up and pompous with indignation. ‘I trust you understand the weight of responsibility placed on you.’

  ‘Indeed Lord Caledon,’ Margetta said, ‘a burden you have shouldered nobly these past months.’

  Pushing past Quilec’s bodyguard, Risha took Ciaran’s hands. I had wanted to see you free.

  It is of no importance. I suspect Fratton will suit me. I seem to have little interest in the world these days.

  ‘Ciaran, I am very sorry about Athan. You have suffered too much loss.’

  The woman smiled thinly. And now avenged it. It is an accomplishment I am proud of — I do not regret paying for it.

  You were absolved!

  Of one crime. I doubt many would absolve me of the other.

  Risha blinked at the unexpected confirmation.

  Vormer’s death was quicker than that he gave my husband or Lenora. She continued aloud. ‘Good luck, Lady Havre. I trust you fare well. Perhaps I may be fortunate enough to hear news of you now and again.’

  ‘I will write.’ And visit you.

  First speak with Talben. He can teach you more about the Gift than I, though it had been my intention that we discuss it together. ‘I regret that our journey to the northern marches did not go precisely as planned,’ she said aloud.

  ‘You have been a friend to me as to my mother. For that I thank you.’ Risha’s throat constricted. I wish we might talk properly. There’s so much I don’t understand!

  And time to learn.

  When the citadel came in sight Risha kicked Mica to a canter, Croft and her escort of guardsmen matching her pace. They had made good time from Merren Bay, the roads dried out by a week of settled weather that had ushered in spring.

  A bell rang in the watchtower heralding their approach. In the courtyard a group had gathered to greet them. There was a flicker in Risha’s mind of her first meeting with Donnel — whether memory or vision, it was difficult to tell.

  She flung herself from Mica’s back. ‘Cantrel!’

  The old man limped forward. ‘As usual, you go off for one purpose and return having achieved another entirely.’ His disapproving frown could not mask his pride.

  She hugged him. He felt frailer than she remembered, the shape of his bones clear through his skin. ‘How has the winter treated you?’

  ‘As they all do: I’m pleased to see spring that I might feel a little warmth in my old carcase.’

  ‘I’ll have Bruer’s engineer build you a bath-house. The one we’ve added to Havre’s castle has been so popular this past winter he is drawing up plans for another for the town.’

  She kissed Fretha’s weathered cheek, greeted Galyn and Anya, and returned Harl’s one-armed embrace. ‘I’ve missed you, old friend.’

  ‘Aye, well, the place isn’t the same without you, and hearing news of your exploits only makes it worse.’

  She looked up at the imposing façade of the Keep. ‘It’s good to be home.’

  Something flickered at the edge of her vision and she turned toward the stables. A boy stood there.

  ‘Clik!’

  ‘He came from Margetta,’ Galyn said. ‘She made us promise to keep his arrival a surprise.’

  Risha crossed the courtyard in rapid strides. Clik tolerated a minute of her embrace before wriggling free.

  Croft tousled his hair. ‘Good to see you, lad.’

  Clik pulled a slate from a bag slung at his hip and wrote in large, carefully shaped letters: ‘Welcome home’.

  Risha grinned. Clik gnawed his lip, laboriously shaping more words before pushing the slate into her hands.

  ‘From your friend Clik,’ she read.

  Tears pricked at her eyes. Clik looked alarmed.

  ‘It’s a good sign,’ Croft assured him. ‘Women get like that sometimes: crying when they’re happy. Makes it that much harder for us to understand ’em, as you’ll find out.’

  Risha laughed and dropped a kiss on Clik’s head. Taking the slate she wrote: ‘Thank you. From your friend Risha’.

  There was a sound from the building behind them. Clik tucked the slate in his bag, gripped Croft’s sleeve and towed him toward the Keep. When Risha made to follow he stopped and pushed her back toward the stable.

  ‘What, Clik? Did Margetta give you a horse as well? She must have, for you to have got here.’

  He rolled his eyes, gave her a final shove and returned to Croft. The guardsman shrugged. The group in the courtyard had drifted away — though not very far. Happy to humour the boy, Risha walked into the stable.

  It was cool within, the air rich with the sweet smells of hay and horse. She ran her eye along the stalls. Someone was standing in the shadows by the tack bench, hands busy with a harness. The smell of beeswax wove through the rest. Risha faltered.

  ‘Muir.’

  ‘Lady Arishara.’

  ‘I … thought you still in Fratton.’

  He said nothing. Margetta’s words and letter flooded into her mind, bringing colour surging into her cheeks.

  Muir studied her. ‘You’ve been crying.’

  She huffed a laugh. ‘That’s Clik’s fault.’ She was suddenly conscious of how dishevelled she must look. ‘His welcome letter made me weepy.’

  Muir wiped a tear from her cheek with the ball of his thumb. ‘We’ve been practising every day, but most of the credit for his writing lies with Margetta. And you.’

  The frustration of the winter months escaped. ‘Muir, why did you not write? I had any number of letters from Margetta and Kern. Even Emett wrote, and Barc. But not you.’ She stopped.

  ‘With all those, I doubt I could have added more to your news of Fratton.’

  ‘It wasn’t about news. It’s been months.’ She swallowed against a sudden constriction in her throat. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  A muscle clenched and unclenched in his jaw. ‘And I you, my lady.’

  She would not have it — or at least, would not have it unspoken. ‘Muir? Don’t do that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Become distant. And call me “my lady”, the way you do when you’re cross.’

  ‘I’m not cross.’

  ‘Can we not …’ She held his eyes. Her breath shook. They seemed to have been here before. ‘Can we not step across this gulf?’ She moved a little toward him.

  He swayed back. ‘Risha.’

  ‘Yes?’

  He wet his lips. ‘Margetta was not the only reason your father bid me stay in Fratton.’

  She frowned. She had no interest in thinking about her father, or Fratton.

  He took her hand, his thumb drawing small circles on her palm. Her heart began to skip erratically.

  ‘You are very young. And your father’s daughter.’

  ‘My father has nothing to do with this.’

  ‘No?’ His thumb stilled. ‘I am no one, Risha. A bondsman. A farm boy.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Hardly a boy. While you …’ He dropped her hand, his fist clenching at his side.

 
; ‘You’re not yet thirty! I hardly think that classes you as ancient. And if you would let my father rule your heart, I think it a thin thing indeed.’

  His smile flickered. ‘Your temper is not the most endearing of your traits.’

  ‘Reject me for that then, but not for my father.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘I am his bondsman.’

  ‘And I am a farm girl, a goat keeper. Donnel married for love, Muir, and it seems entirely possible he might do so again. He will not take this from me. Even if he tries, I won’t let him.’

  Reaching out she took his hand, turning it palm up between her own. She had always loved his hands. She pressed it to her cheek, her lips brushing the skin of his wrist. Muir made a noise in his throat.

  Raising her arms to his shoulders, she laced her fingers behind his neck. His hands lifted to her waist, neither pulling her closer nor pushing her away. She could feel his doubt, and his need.

  ‘Kiss me, then tell me you will walk away.’

  The space between them seemed to vibrate with tension. Still he made no move to bend towards her.

  ‘Muir, at least give me this.’

  He shook his head. ‘You torture me.’ His arms slid around her back.

  She brushed her lips against his. ‘Do I?’ Each quivering breath swayed her closer, till no space remained between the rapid beat of their hearts.

  He kissed her softly, then less so. She sank into the sweetness of it.

  Muir cleared his throat. ‘Do you think your father would believe that you gave me no choice?’

  ‘Well. Have you not often called me stubborn?

  Acknowledgements

  With grateful thanks to Hamish and Madeleine, without whose staunch support this book wouldn’t have reached completion. Thanks also to my first readers Jan Clothier, Madeleine Ross and Jessie MacKenzie; and to the meticulous Rebecca Lal, ever-supportive Barbara Larson and dedicated team at Random House.

  I would also like to acknowledge the support of Passa Porta International House of Literature in Belgium, who in 2013 awarded me a writing residency, and Creative NZ, who got me there. Though I was in Belgium to work on another novel (watch this space), a small portion of that precious time went into Donnel’s Promise. More significant than time was the renewed clarity of purpose the residency provided. For that I offer my heartfelt thanks to all at Passa Porta, and to Alexandra, Paul and Ann at Vollezele.

  About the Author

  Anna Mackenzie lives on a farm in New Zealand. She has two children, nineteen nieces and nephews, and nowhere near enough time. Donnel’s Promise, the sequel to Cattra’s Legacy, is her eighth novel. She wrote it in planes, trains, sun porches and offices, and beyond the windows of each she found the places in this story.

  You can follow Anna on facebook at facebook.com/annamackenzie.nz.author

  Or visit her website: annamackenzie-writes.blogspot.co.nz

  Also by Anna Mackenzie:

  High Tide, 2003

  Out on the Edge, 2005

  Shadow of the Mountain, 2008

  The Sea-wreck Stranger Trilogy:

  The Sea-wreck Stranger, 2007

  Ebony Hill, 2010

  Finder’s Shore, 2011

  Cattra’s Legacy, 2013

  Copyright

  The assistance of Creative New Zealand is gratefully acknowledged by the publisher.

  A LONGACRE BOOK published by Random House New Zealand 18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland, New Zealand

  For more information about our titles go to www.randomhouse.co.nz

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand

  Random House New Zealand is part of the Random House Group New York London Sydney Auckland Delhi Johannesburg

  First published 2014

  © 2014 Anna Mackenzie

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted

  ISBN 978 1 77553 546 1

  eISBN 978 1 77553 547 8

  This book is copyright. Except for the purposes of fair reviewing no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Design: Carla Sy

  Cover image: Ilina Simeonova / Trevillion Images ISA33361

  Map on p7: Anna Mackenzie

  Printed in Australia by Griffin Press

  If you haven’t yet read Cattra’s Legacy, prequel to

  Donnel’s Promise …

  Cast from the only home she remembers, Risha embarks on a journey to discover her father’s past.

  In her quest she finds allies — and enemies. Barc the trader, war-weary Cantrel, enigmatic Muir: all prove adept at playing more than one game. Caught up in the turbulent politics of a fractured kingdom, Risha forms unlikely allegiances — with river-runner Fenn, mute Clik and the swamp-dwelling Nan-Irem.

  In risking all for the sake of a girl she’s never met, Risha learns the hard way how to trust, when to run, when to stand and fight.