Page 21 of The Maiden

Jura did not change her expression. “You have one true child, a Lanconian son.” She heard the Englishwoman’s gasp of breath and Jura smiled to herself. It was good that someone let these intruders know they were not wanted.

Thal sighed and lay back against his pillows. “Ah, Jura, why are you so hard? These are my children as much as Geralt is.” He looked past Jura and smiled, and she knew that his son, the Englishman who wanted the throne, was approaching. “Here is someone who will no doubt make you smile.”

Jura stiffened her spine, hardened her jaw, and turned to meet this man she already hated.

The first jolt that ran through her when she saw him made her knees buckle. He put out his hand and caught her forearm and even that slight touch sent chills through her body.

Him! How could he be the one she had had her secret trysts with? How had she not seen his golden hair? Then she remembered that at their first meeting his hair had been wet and dark, and their encounter in the stables had been in the darkness.

She jerked her arm from his grasp and somehow managed to turn her back on him.

“You have met before?” Thal asked knowingly.

“No,” Jura managed to say.

“Yes,” Rowan said at the same time.

Jura stood rigid, her back to him, refusing to look at him. He was standing too close to her to allow her to think, but already she realized how she had been used. He thought that if he could get her on his side, then perhaps Geralt and the men who followed Geralt as the true prince would come to this English usurper.

“I have had the honor of seeing the lady,” Rowan said from behind Jura. “But only from afar.”

To Jura’s horror, he slipped his hand to her back and clutched the tail of her braid.

“And I had heard of you, also,” Lora said politely, but Jura did not look at the woman. “I heard only of your skills of war but not of your beauty.”

Jura stood rigid, looking at the tree in front of her.

“Jura!” Thal bellowed, then collapsed into coughing. The woman Lora clucked over him and, to Jura’s disgust, Thal not only allowed it but seemed to want such soft attention. Jura wanted to move away from Rowan but he held her braid fast.

“You will treat my children with respect,” Thal said raggedly, his throat raw from coughing. “You will thank my daughter for her pretty compliment.”

Jura stared straight ahead and said nothing. It was difficult to concentrate on the world around her with this man standing so close.

When Thal started to rise again, Lora soothed him. “Please, Father, do not vex yourself. I’m sure Jura is used to such compliments. Rowan, your squire and your captive look as if they might kill each other. Perhaps you should attend to them.”

Jura didn’t look at him but she felt his hesitation. He moved only when the clash of steel on steel rang out. In spite of herself, Jura turned to watch him move toward the two tall boys who were attempting to kill one another. Jura recognized one as the young man who had told her she was wanted in the stables. He was as dark as a Lanconian and she had not realized he was English. Since he had delivered his message in Lanconian, she wondered if he had memorized the message and repeated it by rote.

She watched Rowan stalk across the field toward the boys. He showed no fear or hesitation as he moved into the middle of the fighting young men with their swords flashing in rage. Rowan merely slammed his open palm into the chest of each boy and sent him flying. The boys landed on their seats in a cloud of dust.

“My men do not fight each other,” Rowan said in a low voice that carried more threat than a shout.

“I am not your man,” Keon yelled up at Rowan. “My father is Brocain and—”

“I am your master,” Rowan said, cutting him off. “You are not Zerna, you are Lanconian and I am your king. Now, both of you go and polish my mail.”

Montgomery, lifting himself from the dust, groaned. To be cleaned, chain mail had to be put in a big leather bag with oil and then tossed from one person to another. It was like tossing a rock back and forth.

Thal chuckled with pleasure at his son’s settling of the dispute.

Jura whirled to face him. “Whatever he does pleases you,” she spat at the old man. “He claims kingship that is not his to claim. He brags that he is king of all Lanconians, but to be that, he would have to declare war on the other tribes. Is he to kill Brocain and Brita? What of Marek and Yaine? We have peace now but will we if this man kills merely to feed his vanity so that he can say he is king of more than the Irial? I beg of you, do not leave us with this braggart for king. We need no more war between the tribes. Each tribe patrols its own borders. If a tribe is destroyed we will be attacked and we will exist no more. Please, I beg you, we all beg you, give us a king who understands what must be.”

Thal glared at her, his face turning purple with a suppressed rage that was making his need to cough so strong that he could not contain it.

“Go!” Lora yelled, coming to her feet and hovering over Thal like a protective she-bear. “You have upset him enough.”

Jura turned on her heel, looking neither left nor right, and left the training field.

Rowan walked back to his father but his eyes were on Jura’s back.