The Tower of Ravens (17 page)

“What about ye, Landon?” Lilanthe asked then in her soft, gentle voice, for the young poet had not said a word all meal. Indeed, he had hardly eaten a mouthful either, sitting with his chin resting in his hand and his eyes fixed on Rhiannon’s face. Once or twice the wild girl had cast him an irritated glance, but he did not seem to care. He seemed to find her endlessly fascinating.

Landon did not respond, until Maisie tugged his darned and grubby shirt-sleeve. Then he looked round with an abstracted air, saying, “I’m sorry?”

“What are ye most looking forward to seeing on your journey to Lucescere?” Lilanthe repeated.

He looked back at Rhiannon and smiled wistfully. “My eyes have feasted upon the utmost pinnacle o‘ beauty, I have no desire to see aught else,” he answered without a trace of embarrassment.

Felice giggled, Maisie blushed, Edithe frowned and snorted, and the other boys looked down, discomfited and embarrassed on his behalf. Rhiannon herself stared across the table at her admirer in obvious puzzlement, then set about picking her teeth with a ragged but thankfully clean fingernail. The adults exchanged wry looks.

“What about ye, Maisie? Is there anything ye particularly want to see at court?” Lilanthe asked.

The country girl blushed and fiddled with her moon-stone ring.

“I just want to see the Keybearer,” she whispered. “And all the healers at work.”

“Ye are interested in herb-lore and the healing arts?” Lilanthe said. “I must show ye my simple room afore ye go. I canna claim to be a healer like Isabeau or Johanna, her head healer, but I did learn what I ken from them and I do my best for the people o‘ the valley.”

“Och, I’d like that,” Maisie whispered, her face glowing.

“I guess ye’re used to that sort o‘ thing,” Cameron said to Rhiannon, with a glowering look at Landon, who was once again regarding her with intense fascination.

“Uh?” Rhiannon said.

“All that flim-flammery and flattery,” he said. “I bet all the lads ye ken follow ye round all the time, begging ye for a smile or a kiss.”

Rhiannon was surprised into laughter. “Who, me? Nay!” she cried, shaking her head so her glossy hair swung.

If she was striking when sullen-faced and cross, she was quite breathtaking when smiling. Lewen could not take his eyes off her, even though he was aware of how cross this made both Edithe and Felice. He was not at all surprised when Cameron hitched his chair closer, sliding one arm around Rhiannon’s waist as he whispered something in her ear. If Lewen had not been constrained by the rules of hospitality he would have leapt up and punched the good-looking boy right in his smiling mouth. As it was, his hands clenched into fists and he had to swallow the sour taste of rage.

All the warmth and spontaneity died out of Rhiannon’s face. Sitting straight-backed and stiff as a poker, she hissed, “Get your hand off me else me cut it off for ye!”

Her words rang out in one of those little lulls that sometimes come in a noisy room, and everyone turned and stared down the table. Cameron went scarlet and hurriedly moved his chair away. Rhiannon stared at him for a moment longer, then went on eating as if nothing had happened, but Felice and Edithe gave little embarrassed titters and Lilanthe drew her brows together in a look of trouble.

After the meal had been cleared away, the group broke up. Lewen and his father showed the other men around the farm while Lilanthe took the girls out to her herb garden and then to her simple room, lined with bottles of home-made medicines and potions.

They met again for high tea in the kitchen, then all crammed together in the sitting room as dusk rolled over the garden.

Nina sang for them, her long-billed sunbird amusing everyone by accompanying her with melodious little trills and call notes. There was much animated talking and laughing, with Iven easily dominating the conversation, telling tales and teasing the others good-naturedly. He tried to draw Rhiannon out but she stared at him suspiciously and answered only in monosyllables, so at last he gave up and concentrated on entertaining his crowd. Rhiannon sat as still and wary as a bird hiding in bracken, frowning, her mouth set firmly, her luminous blue-grey eyes moving from face to face. It was clear to Lewen that she could understand little of what was said. They were all speaking too quickly, and at crosscurrents, drowning out each other’s voices as they insisted on having their say. The conversation was mostly concerned with politics and court gossip, none of which meant a thing to the wild girl from the mountains.

As the night wore on Edithe and Cameron, who had both obviously taken a strong dislike to Rhainnon, began to mock her more openly, asking her opinion on the appointment of the new Fealde in Tirsoilleir or rumours that the treaty with the Fairgean was under strain. To each question she said only, “Dinna ken,” which the girls seemed to find exquisitely funny. Edithe appeared most concerned about Rhiannon’s lack of a private independence, and asked her a great many questions about how she hoped to manage in Lucescere without an allowance.

“But, my dear, ye simply must have some income,” she said. “Although we all have to wear an apprentice robe while at school, there will be lots o‘ parties and balls and picnics and one must have clothes. It is the royal court, after all.” She looked Rhiannon up and down, and then said delicately, “But happen ye do no’ care for clothes?”

Cameron laughed.

Rhiannon said nothing.

Felice and Edithe then fell into an animated discussion about the latest fashions at court.

“I heard the Rìgh’s niece wears her bodice cut very low, with barely a sleeve at all, to show off her fins and gills,” Edithe said. “Who would have imagined fins and gills would become fashionable! And it is most unfair, for she does no‘ feel the cold, ye ken, so that she wears her dresses so even in the very midst o’ winter.”

Rhiannon sat silently, listening, ignoring the fixed unfriendly gaze of Cameron and the fixed longing gaze of Landon as best she could. It was clear she was going to have to get used to Landon’s eyes upon her face. He had spent all afternoon staring at her. Occasionally he dug out a scruffy little notebook from his pocket where he would scribble a few words, before staring in agony at the ceiling as he mouthed half-rhymes and mangled phrases. At one point Lewen heard him muttering, “Breast, west, best, nest?” and he blushed for both Landon and himself.

He heard a burst of mocking laughter a little later, and looked across the room, to find Felice and Edithe hiding their smiling mouths behind their hands, while Cameron grinned, looking very pleased with himself.

“What, naught to say?” Cameron was saying. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Rhiannon stared at him in obvious bewilderment. “Uh? Cat? What cat? There no cat. And me have my tongue. See?” She poked it out at him.

They all broke into peals of laughter, even shy, sweet Maisie. Only Landon did not laugh, looking at Rhiannon in obvious pity and sympathy.

Glancing at Rhiannon, Lewen was surprised to see her eyes were swimming with tears. He got up at once and said gently, “Rhiannon, ye must be weary still, would ye like to go to bed?”

She nodded at once and got up, so tall and awkward in her too-tight green dress that Edithe twisted her lip in scorn, hardening Lewen’s dislike of her into something hotter and fiercer. He showed Rhiannon out of the room as quietly and unobtrusively as he could. Her fists were clenched and her cheeks were flushed, and she did not look at Lewen but caught up her mass of entangling skirts so she could stride out with ease. Lewen did not speak at all as he gathered up the clean nightgown Lilanthe had laid out for her, and the pile of warm blankets, and carried them all out to the stable. She went straight to the black mare, which turned its head and whinnied eagerly at the sight of her. Rhiannon flung her arm about its neck and buried her face in its silky flowing mane. The mare nudged her with her nose and blew gustily through its nostrils but she did not look up.

By the time Lewen had made up her bed for her, she was calm again, though her eyelashes were spiky with tears. She wiped her nose on her green silk sleeve.

“Thank ye,” she said with some difficulty.

“My pleasure. Sleep well,” Lewen answered. He hesitated, then said in a rush, “And do no‘ fear. None o’ those louts shall trouble ye tonight, for I’ll set Ursa herself to guard your door.”

She laughed. “That bear? Ye want horses mad with fear all night?”

Lewen said valiantly, “Then I’ll guard your door myself.”

“Me no afeared,” she said derisively. “Those boys ken no more about mating than a babe.”

Lewen’s blood surged. He had to turn away, pretending to busy himself checking the food and water of the other horses, until the heat in his face and his groin had subsided enough that he should not betray himself. In the meantime he could hear Rhiannon ripping off the despised green dress and splashing about in the water. He dared not turn round until all was quiet again. When at last he faced her she was sitting cross-legged in the straw, eyeing him speculatively, dressed only in the thin white nightgown, the laces at the bodice undone.

“I’d best get back.” He could not meet her eyes. “Are ye sure ye’re grand?”

She dragged up her nightgown to show her knife strapped to one long, pale thigh. “Sure,” she said. “What about ye? Need me to guard ye from those cursehags?”

Lewin grinned despite himself. “I hope no‘,” he said.

“Call me if ye need me and me come,” she said.

“Ye too. Call me, I mean. If ye need me.”

“Me no need ye,” she said.

“I guess no‘,” he said, feeling miserable. “Good night then.”

She wrinkled her brow. “What this ‘good night’?”

“It’s what ye say last thing at night, afore ye sleep,” Lewen said. “It means have a good sleep, keep safe, have sweet dreams.”

She smiled, radiantly and unexpectedly. “Me see. Good night to ye then.”

He nodded and went out into the darkness. He did not go back the house at once, though, finding a tree to lean against in the chilly darkness of the garden, pressing his forehead against its smooth bark, crushing its new fresh leaves in his hands so he could smell their sharp smell. His body ached, his skin was hot, his mind was all confusion. He had heard of men addicted to moonbane, who kept on tasting it for its sweet, giddy delirium when all the time they knew it was poisoning their blood and destroying their reason. Rhiannon was like moonbane, he thought, and already it was too late for him. He was addicted.

Blackthorn