Dragons and Destiny

by Candy Rae

  Rilla sighed again, this time into her pony’s mane. He whuffled and lowered his head so that his left eye was at the same level as Rilla’s own. Go on, he seemed to be telling her, we’ve had a great time today. I’ve had a fine gallop in the hills; you’ve groomed me, fed and watered me, made me comfortable. I’ve fresh straw in my stall, hay in the manger and sweet-feed in my bucket. He nosed her, go on, tomorrow is another day.

  Rilla didn’t want to leave Lightfoot. She was at her happiest here in his stall at the end of the row of looseboxes in the long low stable. None of the other boxes and stalls were occupied, they would fill up as the guests arrived, their occupants tended to by the stable boys and girls. They didn’t have to do jobs in the inn, didn’t have to get washed (her father hated the smell of horse) and clothe themselves in a smart dress so that they could help with the hundred and one things required to provide comfort for the guests.

  The maids did the heavy work, but there were plenty of chores that would fall to the respective lots of Rilla and Zilla. Rilla hated it.

  Talan ran a fine inn, everybody said so. It was clean, comfortable and bug free, not like the lesser (and cheaper) establishment down the road and Talan charged accordingly. One of the ways by which he had gained such a good reputation was the personal service he provided.

  Only three of his and Zanda’s children remained at home, Zak who was his father’s right hand and the two youngest triplets. Zala was in Stewarton, happily married with children of her own. Tala had been a Journeywoman Technician for four years and had recently taken up a position under the Senior Master of the Technicians Guild. She also resided in Stewarton. Despite her parents’ protests Hilla had ‘gone for a soldier’ on her sixteenth birthday and had begun her two years officer training at the Garda Headquarters at Settlement.

  Zilla, thought Rilla as she gave Lightfoot one last pat and began her reluctant walk back to the inn, didn’t seem to mind helping to make their guests stay a pleasant one. She liked helping but then, Zilla enjoyed what her father called ‘the womanly tasks’.

  Zilla could sew a fine seam. Rilla’s were as crooked as a gnarled tree. Zilla hummed and danced her way through the daily bed making, dusting and sweeping. Rilla did her share with reluctance but with the determination and efficiency designed to get finished as soon as she possibly could; so that she could escape outside and feel the wind in her face, riding Lightfoot.

  Rilla knew that the bedrooms assigned as her share were clean, tidy and ready for their temporary occupants. She also knew that Zilla’s, just as pristine, would contain that little bit extra, fresh flowers (in the summer) in a bowl on the window-chest, pillows plumped up invitingly and a spring of spicy evergreen on top. Zilla was in charge of the best bedrooms, the ones reserved for the most important guests, the ones who wanted to pay that little bit extra for the personal touch.

  Rilla couldn’t put her evening chores off much longer, slow as her steps were. She arrived at the side door of the inn and opened it.

  As she hung up her jacket she could hear the cook shouting his instructions to the kitchen workers and heard her mother ordering the maids this way and that. Zanda sounded more harassed than usual and Rilla concluded that word must have come that someone important was on his way.

  This guess was confirmed with the appearance of Zilla. Zilla was, as usual, almost painfully neat and tidy, her blond hair confined under a snow white bob cap and her apron, worn over a deep green dress, was beautifully ironed.

  “Hurry up,” she said. “Father’s looking for you. Councillor Horatio Anders and his family will be here within the bell and he needs us.”

  “Couldn’t Maura do the needful?” complained a cross Rilla. “You know I’m not good at serving. I spill things.”

  He said both of us and we’re not doing the serving tonight, we’ve just to supervise.”

  “Supervise?” exclaimed Rilla, her face one giant question mark. “Supervise what?”

  Talan appeared at that point and frowned when he spied Rilla, who was still wearing her tunic and trews. He did however, bestow on Zilla an approving nod before he turned to Rilla.

  “You,” he ordered, “will go wash and get ready. I expect you back here within a half bell, dressed as your sister is.”

  “Yes Father,” Rilla replied and fled. One didn’t argue with Innkeeper Talan when he spoke like that.

  Two at a time she ran up the stairs, aware that Zilla was following, sent a resentful Rilla concluded, by her father to make sure that she did as he had ordered.

  “There’s hot water in the tub,” Zilla called after her as she climbed the stairs, one at a time. “I’ve laid out your dress. Have you got a clean pinny?”

  “Don’t know,” answered Rilla, divesting herself of her dirty garments as fast as she could and plunging into the tub. She heard Zilla rootling round in her half of the clothes press and then her sister’s despairing wail as she found only one clean pinafore and that all crushed. She shook the offending garment at Rilla. “I’ll lend you one of mine, there’s no time to iron it now. At least it’s one with no mends on it.”

  “What’s all the fuss about anyway?” asked the irritated Rilla. “Councillor Horatio Anders has stayed here before.”

  “This time,” said Zilla in an impressive voice, “he is accompanied by his wife and three sons.”

  “So?”

  “So, Father wants us both to make a good impression?” She added, “all are unmarried.”

  Rilla groaned. “I don’t want a husband. I wish Father would stop pushing us in front of every young man he approves of.”

  Zilla giggled. “It’s because of Zala. She’s made such a good marriage he wants us to do the same.”

  “Tala hasn’t and Hilla’s with the Garda.”

  “That’s why,” explained Zilla. “He’s proud of Tala but he doesn’t really approve, deep down.”

  “Well, I don’t want to marry one of the sons of Councillor Horatio Anders however nice they may be. He’s not a pleasant man. He has a face like a zarova and his sons are pribably the same. I don’t want to marry at all.” Rilla took the towel her sister was offering and got out of the tub.

  “Did you wash your hair?” asked a suspicious Zilla. “Father will be angry if it smells like horse.”

  “I like the smell of horse. Anyway, no time to dry it.”

  “Father …” warned Zilla.

  “Father won’t know; I’ll spray it with that perfume Zala sent you. He’ll not notice.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” murmured Zilla. With Rilla in this mood the youngest triplet knew better than to argue. “Hurry up anyway. I’ll go back downstairs. Clothes are on your bed and please make sure your hands and nails are clean. Father is sure to inspect and you know what happened last time.”

  Rilla did. Talan had been so angry that he had banned her from the stables for a full tenday. Rilla most definitely didn’t want that to happen again. She bent back over the tub, scrabbled around for the nailbrush and gave her nails and fingers a good going over.

  There, that should do it. It never did take Rilla long to dress. She buttoned the bodice with speed and donned the hated pinafore, tying the bow with little care. Zilla she knew would retie the bow right when she got downstairs.

  A last glance in the mirror as she pushed stray ends of hair inside the cap and Rilla flew down the stairs.

  The cavalcade of Councillor Horatio Anders clattered into the inn courtyard at Eighth Bell. Helping her mother to ready the private dining chamber, Rilla could hear the commotion.

  Zanda gave her daughter a stern look.

  “Remember, Rilla, behave yourself.”

  Rilla grunted but schooled her face into one of acceptance. After all, it was only one evening, and the three sons of Councillor Horatio Anders wouldn’t be looking at her. Zilla was the pretty one.

  “I don’t see how it matters if I’m here or not,” she contented herself by saying. “I’d be of more use in the stable yard.”

&nbs
p; Zanda sighed. “Your father wants the best for you both.”

  “His best, not mine. I know where he’s coming from. Zala made a good match, Tala’s settled in her career and so is Hilla I suppose but marriage isn’t the only solution. I don’t see why he’s got to fling us in the path of every rich and eligible bachelor who stays here. I don’t want a husband; I just want things to stay the way they are.”

  “You sound like Zilla.”

  “I don’t think Zilla thinks like that any more. She used to but even she accepted Hilla’s departure better than I did. She would be happy with a husband.”

  “What do you want Rilla? Don’t say to be a stable hand, your father won’t hear of it. You don’t want the Garda; you don’t want to teach; you don’t want an apprenticeship like Tala.”

  “No,” admitted Rilla.

  “Well, the alternative is marriage and now you’re telling me you don’t want that either.”

  “I want to stay here and run the stables,” cried Rilla passionately. “Why can’t you and father understand?”

  Zanda gazed at her recalcitrant daughter with exasperation.

  “That is not an option,” she said as she ushered Rilla out of the dining chamber. “We’re finished here. Go and help Zilla and remember to keep a pleasant face whilst the Anders party are here.

  “I’ll do it,” growled Rilla as she flounced out, head held high, “but it doesn’t mean that I have to like it.”

  So it was as she came out into the hallway that she came face to face with a stranger, a tall handsome young man of about twenty who gazed at her with interest and not a little admiration as she ducked past. When Rilla’s ire was up she became more than a good looking girl and uncommonly pretty.

  The next morning Rilla woke at her usual early bell and glanced over to where Zilla lay sleeping, her blond hair tumbling round her face in an areole of curls.

  Rilla had a lot to think about. Who would have thought that it should be her the eldest son of Councillor Horatio Anders was interested in and not her pretty sister?

  What a mess.

  Rilla sat up. For the first time in years she didn’t scramble into her clothes and go out to the stables to take Lightfoot for a ride before breakfast chores. Rilla needed to think.

  She had seen the young man looking at her the previous evening as she went about her evening tasks but had not taken much notice at first. Later on she began to feel uneasy. Not only his eyes had begun to follow her around, but also those of his father and later, all of the Anders family. No matter where she went, what she did, someone (usually the young man she had met in the corridor), was watching.

  To cap it all, as she and Zilla had been getting ready for bed, their mother had arrived at the bedroom door, fair bursting with the news that Councillor Horatio Anders had spoken to their father asking permission for his son to start to pay court-suit to Rilla with the intention of marriage if the two found themselves to each others liking. They had, Zanda had informed the horrified Rilla, even discussed the dochter (dower portion) that her father would be willing to promise.

  Zanda had ignored Rilla when she had tried to protest and left with the information that Councillor Horatio Anders and his family were to stay on at the inn for another two days and nights and that Rilla had better behave herself or her father would have something to say. Her father had arranged that she was to go riding with Julean Anders (Rilla had laughed aloud at the name) at Third Bell.

  Rilla had gone to sleep last night her head in turmoil. How could she get out of the ride?

  It was the law of Argyll that no person, male or female could be forced into a marriage not of their liking. In practice, although this held true with the poorer people, those who had reached a certain position in society, be it wealth or political standing did, more often than not, arrange marriages for their children. Rilla’s elder sister Zala had become betrothed to her husband after a scant tendays acquaintance. That marriage had been a success but Rilla knew that the chances of a similar happiness were few and far between.

  What could she do? Rilla felt that destiny was closing in on her, a destiny most definitely not of her choosing and one from which there was no escape.

  : There is you know :

  Rilla looked round, thinking that someone had entered the room without her knowing but no, she and Zilla were alone.

  “Hearing things,” she said aloud.

  : Yes. Me :

  Rilla frowned, there is was again.

  “Sitting here isn’t going to solve anything,” she murmured.

  Trying not to wake Zilla, who did not appreciate being woken up at what she called ‘that ungodly bell’, Rilla got up, gave her face and hands a cursory wash, dressed and exited the bedroom. She tiptoed down the stairs on stockinet feet holding her boots in her hands.

  She stopped on the last step but one and stared … at a pair of boots.

  The owner of the boots shuffled his feet.

  Rilla drew in a breath and held it. Looking at the boots Rilla realised that the inhabitant of the boots had to be male and the boots; they were, as Rilla realised, of fine quality, a gentleman’s boots; polished to within an inch of their lives and made of expensive black leather. This was no stable hand standing there nor any male inn-servant. Ostlers and stable hands wore sturdy boots and the inn staff, shoes. They also had no reason to stand at the foot of the stairs that led to the family’s private wing. It must be a guest and after her mother’s words the previous evening Rilla had a pretty good idea who the guest was. She mouthed a silent meow of frustration. Her mother or father, or indeed, her brother Zak must have told him that she always went down to the stables of a morning. He must have decided to waylay her.

  What could she do? She wanted to push past him, ignore him and run as fast as she could to the stables. Common sense told her this option was not a good one. She would only antagonise him, this unwanted suitor, what was his name again, for the life of her Rilla couldn’t remember and word would get back to Father about her rudeness. No, she decided as she let her breath out, she would jump down the last two steps, give him a fright, he really had no right to lie in wait for her like this. She could then take advantage of his surprise and confusion to make a cool apology and remove herself from his presence.

  It didn’t work out like that.

  Rilla did jump down the last two steps. She did land on the polished wood.

  She did surprise him, almost out of his skin if truth be known and she did get the satisfaction of hearing him utter a strangled exclamation.

  He smiled and laughed, a guffaw that he cut short as he realised how early it still was. He was in no mind to wake up the entire inn.

  He looked down at Rilla’s angry face. Gods, she is a pretty little thing.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked in a cross pseudo-whisper.

  “Your father said,” began Julean.

  “Said what?” Rilla stared at him with what Zilla described as her ‘withering look’.

  Unfortunately for Rilla, Julean wasn’t put off in the least. “Your father said,” he began again, emphasising the second word, “that you would be pleased to have some company during your morning ride.”

  “He did, did he?”

  Julean nodded. “He also told me that you know the area round here like the back of your hand. When I realised that we were staying here a few days I expressed a wish to see the area, I’ve never been this way before. He offered your services as a guide.”

  Rilla didn’t just look at him, she ‘looked’ and the angry glint in her eye was beginning to make Julean nervous. He flushed, but as Rilla was soon to ascertain, he was a difficult person to deter. At this time, his goal was to spend time with Rilla. He had been smitten both by her looks and the competent and efficient way she went about her tasks. When a large china tureen had crashed to the floor, dropped by one of the flustered maids she hadn’t turned a hair, although the blonde one had uttered a cry. Rilla had sent the maid for brush and shovel and swe
pt it up. Of the incident Julean’s father and the rest of the family hadn’t taken much notice but bored with the small-talk round the table, Julean had.

  An intelligent young man and one whose parents intended to see safely married and soon, he had become, during the last months, heartily sick of the pretty, eligible, but mostly empty-headed young ladies his parents, and others, had been placing in his path. Julean, and to a lesser extent his younger brother, were the ‘catches of the season’ amongst the well-to-do in Stewarton and every mother wanted her daughter to be the one who would pull a marriage off.

  Councillor Horatio Anders was a rich and powerful man and the grapevine had it that he would be appointed Head Councillor of Argyll within the year.

  Julean had rebelled and had refused to even consider the notion of marriage no matter what his angry father could do or say.

  As none of the ladies of Stewarton appeared likely to succeed in their mission, Councillor Horatio Anders had decided to take himself, his wife and family to visit his sister who was married to one Field Marshall Bruce Johnson Jones, Officer Commanding the Garda at their Headquarters at Settlement to see if a daughter of one of the officers might catch Julean’s eye. Alas for Councillor Horatio Anders, the visit had not been a success. He cut the visit short and headed home, deciding at the last moment to take the Southern Trade Route instead of cutting across country; the more direct (though more uncomfortable) route to Stewarton.

  He had never imagined that his recalcitrant son might be interested in the daughter of Innkeeper Talan. In point of fact, Councillor Horatio Anders hadn’t even realised until now that Talan had daughters of marriageable age.

  A daughter of an Innkeeper was not the type of girl he had in mind for Julean. Merchants’ sons married merchants’ daughters, tradesman’s, tradesman’s. It was the way it was. Talan however, had some standing in the ward. He was on the Town Council and although not rich, ran a large and prosperous inn. If Rilla was the only wife Julean would accept then Anders would make concessions. Better Rilla than one of the low-class women Julean consorted with in the more seedy areas of Stewarton.