Ravenheart (32 page)

Kaelin was lost for words. She thought he had held back, which was not true. He had tried with all his might to slay his opponent. The truth burned in him, and he longed to tell her. Kaelin wanted no deceit to corrode his relationship with this Black Rigante woman.

And yet deep down he knew that this was a critical moment. The truth itself could damage what was as yet a delicate friendship.

“I am glad he is still alive,” he said.

“Bael was not to blame for the duel,” she told him angrily. “It was my father. He put the Rigante reputation above the life of his own son. He thought that if you were not punished, the people of Black Mountain and other lands nearby would cease their tribute.”

“Aye, there is sense in that,” he said.

“Sense? You take his side?”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” he said swiftly, seeing her anger. “To understand an action does not mean that I necessarily agree with it. I don’t know much about the politics of these northern lands, but I know your father has maintained a Rigante culture despite living in a land ruled by the Varlish. That cannot have been easy. You should see how it is in the south. We have few rights. We cannot own a sword or a pistol or a horse above fourteen and a half hands. We have no right to vote for the councils and on feast days are penned in and not allowed to walk through Varlish areas. Beetlebacks rape our women, and the courts acquit them, often ordering birchings for any woman who complains. You don’t suffer that here, Chara. I would guess that is because your father has worked hard to maintain what you call the Rigante reputation.”

“You could have been killed for that reputation,” she pointed out.

“Aye, but I wasn’t. Are you angry with me?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll not want to kiss me again, then?”

“No.” She grinned at him, then became suddenly serious. “Do you think I have too many freckles?”

“I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Would I be more beautiful with fewer freckles?”

“No,” he said instantly. “Without the freckles I’d have no interest in you whatever.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t. I don’t like it.”

“I shall remember that.”

Chara moved to the hearth. The fire was mostly dead, though there were a few glowing embers among the ashes. Squatting down, she added some kindling and blew gently on the coals. A tiny flame flickered, then another. She added more wood, then sat down before the fire. Kaelin joined her.

“You should have asked me before you spoke so in front of my father,” she said. “What made you think I would want to walk the tree with you?”

“Because you love me,” he said.

“You do not know that to be true. Perhaps I kiss all the handsome boys I meet.”

“Do you?” he asked, suddenly uncertain.

“No, but you did not know that. Anyway, it was discourteous of you.”

“For that I apologize,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

“I need time to think on it,” she said. “You have not even said why I should.”

Reflected firelight shone on her red hair. He found himself staring at the curve of her neck and remembering her naked by the lake. There were many aspects of life that still confused Kaelin Ring, but here and now there was only certainty. This was the woman he was meant to be with. This was the partner of his heart. Emotion welled within him, but no words could be found to express it. He knew she was waiting for
him to speak, but he could find nothing to say. The uneasy silence grew.

Finally Chara rose. “I will find you something to wear while I clean the blood from your shirt,” she said.

“Thank you.”

After she had left the room, he cursed himself for a fool. When she came back, he would tell her that he loved her and would make every effort to make her happy.

But she did not come back. Instead an older woman appeared, carrying a dark green tunic shirt. Kaelin thanked her and donned it. Strapping his belt around his waist, he walked out into the sunlight.

The warriors had gone, but there were several women standing by the well. None of them was Chara.

The sky was clouding, and rain could be seen falling on the mountains. The wind was cool and growing stronger. A storm was coming. Kaelin approached the women by the well. “Have you seen Chara?” he asked. They had not.

Kaelin wandered back to the great house and climbed the stairs to the room he had been allocated the night before. He did not know what to do now. It would be impolite to wander the house of Call Jace seeking out his daughter. Yet was it not also impolite to leave a guest alone, not even offering him breakfast?

He found himself becoming angry and tried to quell it. His sword arm was still aching from the unaccustomed use, and his face was sore and pinched from the stitches. He lay down on the narrow bed. Thunder rolled across the sky, and rain began to pelt down against the window.

Kaelin slept for a little while, and when he woke, it was dusk and he was hungry. Rolling from the bed, he left the room and walked downstairs to the round hall where the previous night’s feast had been held. It was empty, with no fires burning.

Moving through to the kitchen, he found three men sitting and talking to several women. Two toddlers were playing on
the floor alongside an old gray warhound that was watching the children with a wary eye.

No cookfires had been lit. Kaelin felt he could not ask for Chara, so instead he inquired after Call Jace.

“The chief has gone to the West Hills,” a man told him. “He’ll be back in a day or two.”

Kaelin could no longer resist the urge to locate Chara. “And his daughter?” he asked.

“She and Bael have gone with him.” The news struck Kaelin like a blow. It had been annoying to have been left for most of the day, but to find out she had just wandered off for a few days without a word of good-bye left him sick with anger. His mood darkened. If she thought that little of him, he would leave, and be damned to her and all the Black Rigante. He became aware that the man was speaking to him. “That was a good fight today, southerner. Old Grymauch trained you well.”

Kaelin struggled to remain calm. “You know my uncle Jaim?”

The man chuckled. “Everyone knows your uncle Jaim, lad. He was raised here. He’s one of us. Is it true he thrashed the Varlish champion, Chain Shada?”

“No, not Chain. He beat a man named Gorain. It was a grand battle.”

“With Grymauch it would be,” said the man. “You want some food?”

“Aye, for the road.”

“You’re leaving? In a storm?”

“My business here is done. No purpose would be served by staying.”

The man shook his head. “They breed ’em strange in the south,” he said. Pushing himself to his feet, he wandered back to a deep pantry and began to gather food.

“I’ll need to borrow a cloak and a food sack,” said Kaelin. “I’ll see them returned at the next tribute.”

“Watch out for bears,” the man said with a grin. “In this weather those pistols will be useless.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You want me to leave a message for the chief?”

“All that needed to be said was said,” Kaelin told him.

His hood held firmly in place by a borrowed scarf, Kaelin Ring made his slow way down the pass. The stockaded gates were closed, but the guards came out from under roughly made tents to open them for him.

“Steer clear of the bears,” said the last with a grin. Kaelin did not respond. Shoulders hunched against the driving rain, he walked on. Chara had obviously spread the story of his stupidity throughout the clan. Yet another reason to be glad he was rid of her, he told himself.

The pass was steep, and twice he slipped and fell, once sliding on the scree for several yards. The rain beating against his face had softened the scab over the cut, and the wound tingled and stung. He tried to hold the hood over the stitches, but the wind whipped it back.

Within the hour he was wet through and desperately cold. Even in summer the mountain nights could turn savage. He shivered as he walked. Lightning seared across the sky, immediately followed by a roll of thunder so powerful that Kaelin felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.

Anger gave him strength, and he pushed on. Happily there was only one road, and Kaelin held to it. Had there been many branches to the trail, he would certainly have been lost by now.

This was a stupid act, he told himself. Since Chara and her father were going to be gone for some days, he might just as well have remained in the great house until the storm passed or the dawn came.

Best to be away, though, he argued. Best to put the bastards behind me. A pox on Call Jace and his murderous family!

Despite such dark thoughts he could not stop himself from picturing Chara’s face by the firelight or erase the joyful memory of his walk with her, feeling her presence beside him.

Emerging to the flank of the mountain, he felt the full force
of the storm wind in his face. It was grueling work trying to force his way through it. Although he had slept for several hours, he was still weary from the fight, and he had lost blood. He struggled on.

Lightning flashed, and he saw that the trail entered the woods up ahead. There, with the fierce winds lessened by the trees, he could make faster time.

But Kaelin was stumbling and weary by the time he reached the haven of the trees, and he sat down on a jutting root. He had been walking for almost two hours and was close to exhaustion.

His anger-fueled strength fading, he knew he needed a place to make camp. It was pitch dark there, and he waited for another lightning flash, hoping to see a rocky outcrop or an overhang beneath which he could rest awhile out of the rain.

For some while he sat there, trying to accustom his eyes to the darkness. The root was uncomfortable, and he adjusted his position. As he did so, he saw a brief flickering light in the distance. Then it was gone. He stared into the darkness. There it was again. It flickered momentarily and faded. Rising, he began to walk in what he believed was the direction of the light. He blundered blindly into bushes, having to feel his way around them. Just when he thought he was lost, the light came again. He realized it was a campfire and that the wind was occasionally flaring the flames, causing brief, bright reflections against a rock.

The ground was rising now, the trees thinning. Up ahead was a group of huge boulders against a cliff wall. Firelight could be seen glowing red on the gray rock. He approached and called out. “Hello, the camp!”

“Come on in,” came a voice, the sound distorted by the storm.

Kaelin, his hand on the hilt of his hunting knife, walked to the fire, which had been set under a jutting shelf of granite.

Beside it he saw Jaim Grymauch. He grinned up at Kaelin. “By heaven, boy, what are you doing out on a night like this?”

“Felt like a stroll,” said Kaelin, joy surging through him.
Moving to the fire, he sat down and removed his cloak. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“I brought another of Maev’s wagons to the farm. They told me of your trouble with Call. Thought I’d come and see if you needed a friend. I see I was a little late. Who cut you?”

“Bael. We fought a sword duel.”

“You kill him?”

“No, my sword shattered. Then he spared me.”

“He’s a good boy, Bael,” said Jaim. “Swift to anger, swift to forgive. I’m surprised Call would send you home on a night like this, though.”

“He didn’t send me home. I decided to leave.”

Jaim glanced at him but said nothing. Reaching into a food sack, he produced some dried meat and a hunk of bread, which he passed to Kaelin. They sat in silence for a while, Kaelin enjoying the warmth of the fire. There was little wind there and no rain. Having eaten, Kaelin stretched out on the rock. “It is good to see you, Grymauch,” he said.

“And you, boy.”

“I am sorry for what I said to you back at the bridge. You are not a fool. You are a great man and my friend.”

“Whisht, boy! Stop talking and get some rest.” Grymauch gathered up his cloak and folded it, making a pillow, which he placed under Kaelin’s head. “Dream good dreams. We’ll talk in the morning.”

When Kaelin woke, the sun was up and the storm had passed. Grymauch was sitting close by, chewing on a stale oatcake. Kaelin sat up and winced as the stitches on his face pulled tight. He lightly touched the wound. There was blood on his fingers as he pulled them back. Without speaking to Grymauch, he wandered from the camp and emptied his bladder. The sun was warm, making the freezing cold of the previous night’s storm seem unreal.

He stared back toward the Rigante mountains. He had covered no more than four miles in the night. Had he not found Grymauch, he might have died in the woods. Berating himself
for such foolishness, he returned to the camp. Grymauch was still sitting on a rock, looking off into the distance.

“Good morning, Uncle,” said Kaelin.

“Aye, it is a good one,” agreed Grymauch. “Tell me, did you part friends with Call?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t there when I left. He’d gone to the West Hills.”

“His mother lives there. The man dotes on her. So what happened?”

Kaelin told him of the fight at the farm, the invitation, and the duel. Grymauch listened quietly. When Kaelin had finished, he asked: “And what are you leaving out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Finbarr told me the trouble at the farm was caused by you ogling Call’s daughter, yet not once have you mentioned her. Was she not at the great house?”

“Aye, she was there.”

“Was it she who stitched your wounds?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

“What do you see?” asked Kaelin, reddening.

“Not as much as I used to,” said Grymauch, falling silent. Pulling off the black head scarf, he rubbed at the ruined socket.

“I thought she loved me,” Kaelin said suddenly. “I told her father I wanted to marry her.” The dam burst then, and the story poured out. He told Grymauch of the bear and the walk with Chara, the kiss on the mountaintop, the swim in the lake. He spoke of his anguish and hurt when she walked away from him and then left for West Hills without a word of good-bye. “I feel like a fool,” he concluded.