by Karen Myers
He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Can we go home now?”
CHAPTER 34
“Keep an eye on him, Benitoe,” George said, from his seat in the back of the high open wagon with the rest of the luggage. Benitoe, mounted, was on a level with him and winked. They watched Maelgwn sitting as carefully as he could on George’s large half-draft horse. Mosby was a gentleman, as horses go, and not inclined to mischief, but the size difference couldn’t help but worry him.
“I’ve got my mind on Mosby, and it should be fine, but…” he was embarrassed to continue.
“But you might drop off during the journey,” Benitoe responded matter-of-factly. “Angharad and I will keep him safe, and besides, look at him.”
Benitoe was right. The boy’s face was glowing, his first time on a great horse, after his initial work with Rhian on smaller steeds the last two days. Everyone was mounted except for George, and pleased to have a wagon for their gear so that they didn’t have to carry it themselves.
“Would you see to his lessons?” George asked Benitoe. “You ride well, and he’ll need to start on smaller horses anyway, until his first growth spurts kick in.”
“My pleasure, huntsman. He could come hound-walking with us to get some experience.”
They started off for the Edgewood Way, everyone who had come from Greenway Court recently, except Gwyn who would follow tomorrow. Rhian and Angharad chatted together while Ceridwen rode alone wrapped in silence. Maelgwn was quiet, trying not to be noticed so as to prolong this treat as much as possible.
George settled himself into a comfortable position, sitting propped up against the side of the wagon with bags and bits of gear holding him in place against the jolts of the road. He monitored Mosby, but there was no need. The horse placidly ignored his light-weight passenger and kept the other horses company on the road, plowing easily through the newly-fallen snow.
He remembered entering the way with his companions, but he’d already dozed off by the time they came out the far side.
George carefully climbed the steps to his own front door and paused before going in, savoring the moment. The wagon driver had offered to drop him at his house but he’d insisted on walking the short distance from the stables, sorry though he was to slow Angharad and Maelgwn down.
The boy hadn’t stopped looking around since they’d exited the Guests’ Way. Greenway Court was bigger than Edgewood, and fortified, with its palisade and curtain walls, the stone-built manor house with protective bastions at the front corners.
Behind him, he heard Angharad murmur to the boy, “This is your home now.”
George opened the door and smelled the balsam scent, still heavy in the air after two weeks.
Alun emerged from the kitchen at the sound of the door. He smiled delightedly to see George, then recalled himself and greeted him with a dignified, “Very good to see you, sir.”
“It’s good to be back.”
They dropped their bags in the front hall and George drew Maelgwn forward. “Alun, this is my foster-son Maelgwn.”
“I’ve prepared the room on the left for him. It’s all ready.”
Of course, George thought, Angharad and perhaps Idris had kept him informed.
He glanced at the tree, which was looking rather bare. There was a network of small painted ornaments, but he saw only a handful of larger ones, clearly Angharad’s work before she left. He was touched that she’d thought to do that, to make her own contributions to the custom he was trying to introduce. I’ll look at those more closely later, he promised himself.
What’s the date, he wondered. He worked it out quickly, why, tomorrow would be Christmas Eve.
Angharad showed Maelgwn the study while George lingered in the hall and he heard her promise to tell him the story of the painting with the archer shooting at George, later.
“Let’s show you your room,” George called, and they all went upstairs. George took the steps carefully, forcing his left leg to bend and lift properly. He made it halfway up before he was forced to lean on the banister and his cane for assistance. Too slow, he thought to himself, there’s got to be a faster way to strengthen this. Hadyn might have an idea, he must have advised people recuperating from injuries. Tomorrow, I’ll ask him tomorrow.
The wall of family photos was clearly too much for Maelgwn to absorb right now and George didn’t try. That could wait for another time.
Alun opened the door to the front guest room that had been given over to Maelgwn and let him walk in first. George followed, and Alun and Angharad left them alone.
George stood in the doorway and watched the boy’s first tentative steps into his room. He walked to the side of the bed and sat down. He looked around at the clean, warm, safe place and gulped, his face crumpling.
George walked over slowly, sat down next to him, and put an arm over his shoulder. “You’ll never forget your family, Maelgwn, never. This isn’t a replacement, it’s an expansion. More family, more friends. No more living alone.”
Maelgwn made no noise but George could feel him shaking next to him. He let him work it out of his system until he calmed down again.
He stood up to go, but his leg wouldn’t hold him and he fell back onto the bed. The room faded and started to spin.
He dimly felt Maelgwn shaking him but couldn’t respond. He heard the boy’s voice, in the hall, calling, “My lady, um, mother, he needs help.”
When he focused again, he found Angharad bent over him. With Alun’s help she pulled him upright. “I told you not to overdo it,” she scolded him, gently. “Let’s get you into your own bed.”
Benitoe knocked on Ives’s door in the kennel-men’s rooms. He’d picked a time when Huon and Tanguy were usually out to have a private discussion with Ives.
“So you’re back, are you?” Ives said.
Benitoe stood squarely before him, as always. He’d been writing the Kuzul through Ives ever since he’d arrived in Edgewood, and now he handed the most recent correspondence to him directly. He expected Ives would have questions about how he’d managed things and was prepared for it.
“How’s that new family of yours?” Ives asked. “Is Luhedoc settling in to the work at the inn, then?”
That wasn’t what he’d expected. Since Isolda’s death, their relationship had withdrawn into formality, and Benitoe had gone along with it to ease the pain for her father, since he seemed to want it that way.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Sit down and tell me all about it.” He leaned back in his own chair. “I haven’t heard of a clan adoption in years. Everyone’s talking.”
Benitoe smiled back at the welcoming smile on Ives’s face, glad to see it return. He’s going to be fine, he thought. He sat down as bid and launched into his story.
Rhian brought Maelgwn in through the main gates of the kennels. “You know, your foster-father has his own entrance, we call it the huntsman’s alley. We’ll go out that way and bring his own dogs back to the house with us, but I wanted you to see it like everyone else does, first.”
She watched him as he stood boldly in the inner courtyard and sorted out the hound arrangements for himself. When he’s quiet, you forget he’s so much younger than me, she thought. It’s something in how he stands, in his face. She’d lost her own parents, but she didn’t remember them and there’d always been family around to take care of her. His story was far bleaker, and he’d managed to survive on his own in a hostile land.
She wasn’t about to tell him, but she admired what he’d done. He’s been tested, she thought, and he knows what he can do.
And then, he was so fierce sometimes, it was like having a young wolf standing guard over George. She very much approved of him as a foster-brother.
She knocked on the kennel-men’s door, and went in to introduce Maelgwn to Ives who was deep in conversation with Benitoe.
“This is Ives, our kennel-master,” she said. “He’s in charge of everything in the kennels. You’ll learn a lot from him. Ives, this is
George’s foster-son, Maelgwn.”
Maelgwn executed a proper bow, and then grinned when Ives waved it away.
“Well, young man, and are you interested in hounds and hunting?” he said.
“I don’t know, sir. I’ve hunted alone and set traps, but I can’t really ride yet. Can you teach me about the hounds?”
Benitoe said, “George and I decided to fix the riding part right away. Every morning after the hound walk, I’ll be giving you a lesson, and as soon as you’re fit enough, you can come help us walk the hounds, if you like.”
Rhian watched Maelgwn’s face light up. “Yes, sir, thank you.”
Ives told him, “Benitoe will take you in hand for a while and then you can decide what you want to do, once you see what’s what.”
Rhian thanked them both, and brought Maelgwn back out to the courtyard. “Would you like to see where your foster-father works?” she said.
“Shouldn’t I be going back?”
“I think they’ll be fine without us,” she said. She knew George was probably asleep again. Maelgwn had told her, in a worried voice, about his collapse earlier. She made light of it, for him, but it worried her, too. They’d tried to keep it from her but she knew George had been near death only a couple of nights ago. I guess we can’t expect him to just bounce back immediately, even after a healing. A healing that serious did its own damage, she realized. What a strange concept.
She opened the door to the huntsman’s office, and lit some of the lamps. “Your foster-father can show you everything himself, but here are the logs of the hunts, and the breeding of the hounds.”
She had him sit behind the desk in the huntsman’s chair and look at the open hunting log’s entries in George’s handwriting, and her own. What if he can’t read, she suddenly wondered. She was relieved to see him flip backward through the log and read some of the entries.
They both looked up at a knock on the open doorway. Benitoe and Brynach stood in the entrance.
“I’ll trade you the big one for the smaller one,” Benitoe joked. “Would you like to come with me and start to meet the hounds?” he asked Maelgwn.
The boy popped out of the chair and followed him eagerly. “I’ll bring him back to the house,” Benitoe called to Rhian, over his shoulder.
“Don’t forget George’s dogs, too,” she said, and they were gone.
Brynach hadn’t said anything yet, and suddenly Rhian felt a bit shy of him. She didn’t feel as young as she did a couple of weeks ago. She’d been more carefree, then, she thought. She looked at Brynach speculatively as if he were someone else she could lose, too, and she didn’t like the feeling that gave her.
His sober regard disconcerted her, and she broke the silence. “So, how did the hound walking go without us?”
“It was fine. Ives came out to help, and nothing much went wrong.” He looked uncomfortable, himself, she noted.
“How are you?” he asked.
She tried to sort out an accurate answer to that and couldn’t. He walked over and hugged her. “I’m glad to see you back,” he said, quietly.
He was getting larger by the day, she thought, absently. It felt right to stand there, his arms around her, no demands made. Secure. Warm. She was grateful for it.
“Oh, Brynach, I almost lost them both. What would I have done?”
He just held her and let her burrow into his warm cocoon to find comfort. Eventually she backed away, shy again.
“Brynach…” she started, then stopped. “I don’t know what I want.”
He kept his distance. “I know. There’s no hurry, don’t worry about it.”
His intense gaze was making her nervous and, as if he could sense that, he turned away to go.
“No, stay,” she said. “Sit down and tell me what’s been happening here.”
Angharad reseated herself in Iolo’s old workshop at the back of the huntsman’s house. George was still sleeping. It was hard to adjust to his recovery cycle—there was so much improvement that he seemed almost his old self again, but these sudden crashes showed how little stamina he had. The demands of Cernunnos’s healing must have been bone-deep.
They’d clearly moved him too soon, but she’d sympathized with his wish to come home, and echoed it. This wouldn’t do him any lasting harm, they’d just have to take it slow for a while.
He hadn’t had the energy to look into this room so far, and she meant to keep it that way until tomorrow. She expected he would think the smell of paint normal, if he noticed it at all. She usually kept that sort of work for her studio, but this time she hadn’t wanted to leave the house and had made an exception.
She’d talked to Gwyn again, before she left, about the Christmas traditions from George’s home. She had a surprise arranged for him, tomorrow, and smiled to herself, running over the plans.
She turned the object in her hand and added a broad red stripe to it. It was time she got busy and finished her part.
CHAPTER 35
Ives closed the gates after the hounds as they went out with Rhian for their early morning exercise and walked back toward his office. It was quiet without them. On a hunting morning, some would be left behind, howling their protest, but the daily walks took every hound that wasn’t injured with them, and the peace always seemed a bit unnatural to him. Huon and Tanguy were already in the pens, cleaning them while the hounds were out.
He looked over as George came into the courtyard, up through the huntsman’s alley from his house. At a distance, he seemed unchanged, until Ives noticed how slowly he was walking, taking care with each step, even with the cane. He’d heard about his healed injuries and realized that leg must still be very weak.
He changed course to greet him, and waited, respecting his effort and giving him a chance to close the distance himself. Up close, he was shocked at how gaunt and worn George looked, and there was something different about his eyes.
“Good to see you, Ives,” he said.
Well, at least he sounded like himself. “Welcome back, huntsman.”
“Have you heard the news about Benitoe’s new family?”
“Yes, and isn’t it splendid? A touch of the old customs, that was.” We’ve been caught in the same isolation, Benitoe and I, he thought, and it’s good that he’s been jolted from it. Maybe I can look forward, too.
“Makes me smile just to see the change in him,” he spoke his thought aloud.
“I had the same thought when he told me, and I can see it reflected in you,” George said, with a penetrating look.
He looked around the kennels with disappointment. “Rhian must have them out already.”
“They’re no great distance. Why don’t we take a little walk and watch them?” Ives heard himself suggesting. He wasn’t entirely sure George could walk that far, looking at him, but he could tell he wanted to see his hounds. Why not let him try?
“I’ll bring you your kennel coat, and you can meet me at the gate.”
Ives turned and let George start his slow walk while he fetched him his kennel coat to keep his clothing clean, once he reached the hounds. He caught up to him well before he reached the gate and opened it for him.
“Leg bad?” he asked.
“No, it’s been fixed, but there’s no strength in it yet.”
Or in much of the rest of you, Ives thought, judging by his movement. He approved of George’s efforts to keep exercising it to build it up, but he changed his plans about where to take him.
“I have the perfect spot,” he said. They walked slowly through the curtain gates to the front of the manor house and around to the main terrace. This brought them to the top of the terrace steps with their broad view of the grounds inside the palisade down the slope.
Ives stopped there, intending to go no further, and watched George’s face light up at the sight of the hounds exercising at the far end, Rhian moving them from spot to spot. Brynach and Benitoe were both out, flanking the pack in their usual positions.
Ives waved an arm and caug
ht Rhian’s attention. She smiled to see George there, then made a sitting motion with her hands at Ives. He understood her meaning.
“Huntsman, let’s get you seated here. See, it’s dry, they keep it swept.” He brought George down a few steps and made him sit with his back to the side wall and his bad leg stretched out along the broad stone step.
Once Rhian saw him take his spot, she brought the pack up the slope and halted a few yards below him. All the hounds were watching him and quivering, but obedient to her control. “Ready, huntsman?” she called.
“Send ’em in,” he said, a glad note in his voice.
Like an irresistible flood, George was immediately mobbed by the hounds. Ives stood a couple of steps above and watched him bespeak them into sobriety and better manners, but he could see the joy with which he greeted them, calling each by name and rewarding it with a touch. They sat as closely as they could get to him, on every side, and the closest lay down next to him and just looked at him.
“They’ve been waiting for that,” Benitoe said to Brynach. “Look how they’ve missed him.”
Ives didn’t move and, as he half-expected, George’s movements ceased as his head dropped against the flank of a hound on the next higher step and he dozed off. Each hound wanted a part of him, so they carefully oozed in closer, propping him up and covering him, and joined him in a sunlit nap.
Rhian smiled at the scene. “You two should go on in. He’s been doing that a lot,” pointing at the sleeping George.
Benitoe said, “I’ll do that. I’ve got a riding lesson with Maelgwn this morning.” Brynach followed him up the remainder of the slope and through the curtain wall.
Rhian kept Ives company for a while and they chatted about Benitoe. Ives had missed their casual conversations and realized Rhian had been avoiding him since Isolda’s death. Had he driven her away? “Will I see you this afternoon?” he said, nodding at George.
“Of course. You’ll be there?” Rhian said.
