The Tower of Ravens (10 page)

Later, with Lilanthe behind them to give them moral support, they had gone with some trepidation to apologise. The heat of Niall’s anger had cooled but he was still displeased, and had told them, very sternly, that they must never touch his uniform again.

“To be chosen as a Yeoman o‘ the Guard is the greatest honour a soldier can be given,” he had said. “I fought many a weary, bloody battle in those clothes, and watched many a comrade slain. I have slept in them many a time when we dared not remove even our boots in case the alarm was called, and I wore them as I stood behind my Rìgh with my eyes hot with tears o’ pride as he was finally crowned. It took a very long time for us to bring peace to Eileanan and during all that time, those clothes were my second skin. Those stains on them are stains o‘ blood and mud and tears and sweat, and they are marks o’ honour and courage. Do you understand me, bairns? For if I ever find ye playing with them again, I swear I’ll give ye a whipping ye shall never forget.”

Lewen and Meriel had been contrite and overawed. Their father rarely spoke much about the long campaign to win the crown for Lachlan the Winged, and then to unite Eileanan under his banner. It was Lilanthe who had taught them their lessons, and she talked about it as if it had all happened long ago, in another lifetime. Niall’s words made the Bright Wars seem vivid and immediate. Ever since then, Lewen had harboured a not-so-secret dream of becoming a Blue Guard himself.

“No Blue Guard would ever willingly relinquish his coat and cap,” Niall continued. “I fear one o‘ my laird’s men must have come to harm somewhere in the mountains, for this lass to have his gear. I must question her closely in the morning and find out how she came to be dressed so. His Highness will wish to ken if he has lost one o’ his men. I wonder who it could be? I do no‘ ken all the Blue Guards like I used to. It has been some time since I was last in Lucescere.”

“So ye think he has fallen victim to foul play, whoever the Yeoman was?” Lilanthe asked.

Niall shrugged, frowning. “I do no‘ ken. Happen there was an accident o’ some kind. How can I tell? This lass, though, whoever she is, she has all his gear, his saddlebags and everything. Even the official saddlecloth, with the ensign o‘ the charging stag upon it. And she was wearing the badge o’ the Yeomen.” His voice was thick with outrage.

Lilanthe chose her words with care. “Do ye fear this lass may have killed the Yeoman?”

Niall’s frown deepened. “Did ye notice the coat has been torn at the breast and back, as if by an arrow? And the tear cobbled together again? And she carried bow and arrows.”

“They may no‘ be hers,” Lilanthe said.

Lewen remembered the callouses on her right palm but said nothing, staring at his plate in dumb misery.

“No, they may no‘. And she is only a lass.” Niall sighed heavily.

“No‘ really,” Lilanthe said. “She must be seventeen or eighteen. And certainly she kens how to fight.”

“No‘ to mention fight dirty,” Niall said.

“Aye. I’ll never forget the look on her face as she went for ye with that pitchfork. I almost fainted!”

“Ye almost fainted! Think how I felt when she kicked me. I thought I was going to pass out. I’m afraid I willna be much use to ye for a day or two,
leannan
, I’m swollen up like a pair o‘ pumpkins.”

“Why? Where did she kick ye?” Meriel asked, wide-eyed.

Lilanthe gave her husband a reproving glance and got up to clear the plates.

“She bit me on the shoulder,” Lewen said, as much as to distract his little sister as because the wound was throbbing nastily.

Lilanthe put the plates down and came in a hurry to look. She pulled back the collar of his shirt and exclaimed at the round, purple-red bruise.

“What a wildcat,” Niall said admiringly.

“I’ll put some arnica cream on it,” Lilanthe said. “It’s a nasty bite. What could make her behave so? It was no‘ as if we were threatening her or trying to hurt her. We were trying to help! She just went mad like a rabid dog.”

“Happen she was frightened,” Niall said.

“Or angry because ye held her saddlebags. Happen she thought ye were trying to steal her things. ‘Mine’ seems to be her favourite word.”

“She had only just woken up,” Lewen said defensively. “She dinna ken where she was or who we were.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Niall said placatingly. “Well, we’ll question her in the morning. Let’s leave the conjectures till then, shall we? Let’s no‘ forget this is our last night together as a family for what may be a very long time. Merry, sweetling, why do ye no’ serve us some of that special pie ye made for Lewen? And I’ll get down some goldensloe wine, to toast our lad on his last night at home.”

She ‘ll probably be gone in the morning anyway
, Lewen said to himself. The thought was cold and heavy as a stone, but he squared his shoulders and took the glass his father gave him with a grin of thanks.
No sense dreaming o’ a lass I’ll never see again
.

Her Naming

Lewen woke early the next morning, and was at once sitting up and reaching for his clothes. The house was quiet and dim. He went down the stairs in his stockings, carrying his boots. His feet were numb by the time he reached the kitchen, for the stone floors were cold, and so he built a fire on the grey ashes in the hearth and willed it into life with a snap of his fingers. Flames roared up, and Lewen warmed the soles of his feet before pulling on his boots.

Ursa yawned and stretched, and raised her enormous head, gazing at him with questioning eyes. He reached up to rub her greying snout. “Go back to sleep,” he said affectionately. “All is well. I’m just going out to the stables.”

She moaned softly but put her head back down on her heavy paws, for she was a very old bear now and content to sleep before the fire and amble about after Niall as he went around his chores. Lewen swung the kettle over the fire then, pulling on his coat and gloves, and went quietly out into the early morning mist. The whole garden was wrapped in cloud. The silence was uncanny. Lewen moved with great gentleness, afraid to disturb the stillness. He eased open the door of the stable and stepped quietly inside.

The stall door had been smashed to pieces, and a length of frayed rope dangled from the ring where the mare’s halter had been secured. The bucket of water had been kicked over, and the dirt floor was a churned mass of hoof prints. The stall was empty.

Yet in the mound of straw where he had made up a bed for the girl, she slept, curled within the curve of the winged horse’s body, the blanket slipping from one shoulder, her hand tucked under her cheek. The horse slept too, its head resting on its forelegs. One wing sheltered the girl, like a black feathered quilt. In the other stalls, the horses all stood drowsily, Lewen’s stallion Argent raising his head to look at him, the others sleeping on.

Lewen stood very still. Surely it was not safe for her to sleep there, so close to those sharp hooves? The mare was wild. Everyone knew it was near impossible to tame a winged horse, and this one must surely hate the rider that had ridden it so hard and so far. Yet there she slept, tucked up against the mare’s side like a foal.

As if sensing his regard, the girl stirred and sighed and opened her eyes, lifting her hand to rub away the grit of sleep. Her movement roused the horse and it moved its head, blowing gustily through its nostrils. The girl looked up and saw Lewen standing there, gazing at her. Immediately she tensed, pushing herself away from him, pressing deeper into the horse’s side. Lewen put up a warning hand, but it was too late. The mare at once scrambled to her feet, rearing back on her hind hooves. She trumpeted a defiant neigh, came down, and kicked out behind.

The girl had rolled herself nimbly away, and now stood and stepped forward, her hand held out flat. “Hush,” she said. “No need to fear. Me here.”

The horse rolled a white-rimmed eye towards her and shied away, but the girl stepped closer still, one hand going to cup its velvet nose, the other moving up to seize the mare’s ear. “Ssssshhhh,” she crooned. “Ssssshhhh. No need to fear.”

Amazingly, the winged horse quietened at once. It breathed in the girl’s scent with flared nostrils, shivered a little and danced uneasily, but did not rear again or neigh. The girl moved closer still, smoothing the mare’s satiny neck with her hand, whispering to her. The mare flicked her luxurious long tail and dropped her nose into the girl’s hand, and the girl laid her cheek against the mare’s neck, caressing one of the long scrolled horns, as blue as a dusk sky. “Aye, ye’re bonny, aye, ye are,” she whispered.

Lewen could only stand and stare. He had never seen anyone calm a horse so easily. Lewen was a horse-whisperer himself, and had tamed his own bad-tempered stallion in record time, but even that had taken him days, not hours. As he wondered and marveled, she turned towards him and said coldly, “Ye be more careful. She kick hard, she would. She afeared here.”

“It was ye I was worried about,” Lewen said defensively. “What were ye thinking, sleeping up against her like that? She could’ve killed ye.”

“She mine,” she said flatly. “I guard.”

“Guard? Guard her against what? There’s naught to fear here.”

She gave him a contemptuous stare and turned back to the mare, stroking her nose and neck. At some point during the night she had removed the halter and blanket, for the mare was unfettered now. Lewen came forward a few small steps, fascinated by the mare’s exotic beauty. The mare shook her mane and pranced a little. The girl laid her hand over the mare’s nose again and she quietened so the girl could run her hands gently down her slender legs to check for hotness or swelling.

“Ye ken horses,” Lewen said. “Ye’ve ridden them afore.”

“Sometimes,” she said. “I call them, they come to me.”

“They just come? Any horse?”

She shrugged. “All I’ve called.”

“The mare too? Then why…?”

She shook her head. “Me no‘ ken if she carry me like the wild ponies do. And if she let me, me no’ ken if me stay on long enough. Me fallen off afore. Me no‘ want to fall off while she flying.” She made a high, flowing gesture with her hand.

“Nay, o‘ course no’,” Lewen said with a grin. He came forward another few steps and at once the girl backed away, fists clenching, baring her teeth at him warningly. The horse whinnied and sidestepped uneasily. Lewen put up both hands placatingly, stepping back. “I mean ye no harm. I just wanted to check… I was worried. Are ye hungry? Would ye like some porridge?”