Page 4 of The Maiden

“And why don’t you speak their language to them?” Lora continued, her anger in no way abated by Rowan’s seeming unconcern. “Why do you have them translate for you? And who are these Zernas they fear so much? I thought Zernas were Lanconians. Rowan! Stop laughing. They are insolent, arrogant men.”

“Especially Xante?” he asked in his deep voice, smiling at her.

She looked away from him, her jaw working in anger. “You may laugh about them, but your men and your squire do not. Young Montgomery was sporting some nasty bruises this morning and I think he got them defending your name. You ought to—”

“I should what?” Rowan asked softly, looking up at the trees overhead. He would not let Lora see what he felt at the Lanconians’ treatment of him. These Lanconians were his own people, but they treated him with great contempt and made it clear that he was not wanted. He could not let Lora see that he was just as angry as she because Lora needed her fire dampened, not inflamed. “I should fight one of them?” he said teasingly. “Kill or maim one of my own men? Xante is the captain of the King’s Guard. What good would it do me to harm him?”

“You seem awfully sure you are capable of winning a fight with that strutting monster.”

Rowan wasn’t sure he could win a fight at all. These Lanconians were all like Feilan, so sure he was weak and useless that at times he almost believed they were right.

“Would you want me to win over your Xante?” Rowan asked seriously.

“My?” she gasped, then grabbed a handful of grass and tossed it at him. “All right, maybe you shouldn’t fight your own man but you must stop the way they are treating you. It is not respectful.”

“I’m beginning to like a soft pillow offered whenever I sit down.” Rowan smiled toward the trees then turned serious. He knew he could confide in her. “I am listening to them,” he said after a moment. “I sit quietly on the edge of a circle of men and listen to them.”

Lora was beginning to calm down. She should have known Rowan had a reason for playing the fool. But oh, how she had hated it since they had left England. She and Rowan, her son, three of Rowan’s knights, and his squire, Montgomery de Warbrooke, had ridden away with the silent, black-eyed Lanconians. That first day she had felt marvelous, as if her destiny had come at last. But the Lanconians had made it clear that she and Rowan were English, not Lanconian, and they believed that the English were soft, useless people. They missed no opportunity to show their contempt for their English burdens. The first night Neile, one of Rowan’s three knights, had been about to draw his sword on a Lanconian warrior when Rowan stopped him.

Xante, the tall, fierce-looking captain of the guard, asked Rowan if he had ever held a sword before. Young Montgomery had nearly attacked the man, and considering that Montgomery, at sixteen, was nearly as tall as Xante, Lora was sorry when Rowan stopped the fight. Montgomery walked away in disgust when Rowan asked Xante to please show him his sword, as Rowan had always wanted to see one at close view.

Until now, Lora had hated Rowan’s act so much that she had not considered he had a reason for what he was doing—except that there were a hundred of the dark, watching Lanconians and only six Englishmen and a child. She should not have doubted her brother.

“What have you heard?” she asked softly.

“Feilan told me of the tribes of Lanconia, but he did not tell me or perhaps I assumed that they were more or less united.” Rowan was quiet for a moment. “It seems that I am to be king of the Irials only.”

“Our father, Thal, is Irial, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And the Irials are the ruling class, so, therefore, you are king of all Lanconians, whatever they call themselves.”

Rowan chuckled and wished life could be as simple as Lora sometimes saw it. If she decided she loved a man, she married him. She did not worry about what would happen in the future if she were called to Lanconia and she was bound to an English husband. But for Rowan, destiny and duty were everything. “That is the way the Irials see it, but I fear the other tribes do not agree. Right now we are only miles from land the Zernas claim as their own and the Irials are concerned and watchful. The Zernas are reputed to be very fierce.”

“You mean these Lanconians are afraid of them?” Lora asked breathlessly.

“Zernas are also Lanconians, and these men with us, these Irials, are more cautious than afraid.”

“But if the Irials fear them…”

Rowan understood her meaning and smiled. These tall, scowling, scarred, humorless Irials did not seem to fear anything on this earth. No doubt the devil did not risk tempting a Lanconian. “I have yet to see these Lanconians do anything but swagger and talk of war. I’ve not seen one in battle.”

“Yes, but Uncle William said they fought like demons, like no Englishman ever had.”

“William is a soft, lazy man. No! Don’t protest, I love him too, but love doesn’t keep me from seeing him clearly. His men are fat and spend their time fighting among themselves.”

“Not to mention his sons,” Lora said under her breath.

“Would you rather be with William’s four buffoons or here in this beautiful land of ours?”

She looked at the wide, deep, rapidly flowing river. “I like the country but without these men. This morning a Lanconian told me to turn away while he skinned a rabbit because he said he feared for my health at the sight. Grrrh! Remember the boar I shot last year? Who does he think I am?”

“A soft English lady. What do you suppose their women are like?” Rowan asked.

“These men are the sort who lock their women away in a cellar and bring them out twice a year, once to impregnate them, once to take the child.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me.”