AllFreeNovel
Share Us
2
MORNING came none too soon, and she crept out as soon as there was any least graying of darkness toward light through the cracks in the shutters. A few torches burned by the entrance to the kitchens as servants began to prepare for the afternoon’s feast. Mist wreathed the palisade and twined around corners, covering the courtyard in a dense blanket of cold. Drops of icy rain stung her cheeks.
The gates were already propped open, but no one had yet ventured out to the privies beyond. Most servants were not yet up, and any of the noble folk would use their chamberpots rather than venture out so early. But Liath could see perfectly well in the morning gloom, and she wanted a moment of freedom. She relieved herself and started back, but when the gates loomed before her out of the trailing mist, she was seized with such horror that she could not move except to sink down to her knees. The ground was bitter cold; wet soaked up through the fabric of her leggings.
They did not see her, but she saw them: concealed from the sight of any in the courtyard within, Hugh paused in the lee of the gate to meet Princess Theophanu. The princess was hesitant, drawn but reluctant, as a half wild but starving creature shies forward, then away, then forward again to sniff at food laid out by alien hands, suspicious of a trap but desperate to slake its hunger.
He touched her hand in an intimate manner, twining fingers through hers but in no other way touching her. He spoke. She replied. Then he slipped something into her hands. It winked as sun cut through a gap in the trees, dispelling an arm of mist that shadowed the gate: his panther brooch.
Furtively, Theophanu hurried back inside. He lingered, looking about, looking for her, but she was still hidden by mist and the flash of the rising sun. He turned and walked out toward the privies.
Liath jumped up and bolted inside the gates—and ran into Helmut Villam. He caught her in a strong grasp as she jerked back and stumbled. The sleeve hung empty below the elbow of his other arm, the wound he had received at the Battle of Kassel when he had defended King Henry against the false claims of Henry’s half sister, Sabella.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Villam,” Liath gasped.
“You are well, I trust, or in a hurry about the princess’ business?”
“I was only out—I beg your pardon, my lord.”
“No need to beg anything of me,” he said without releasing her, a certain spark in his eyes as he looked her over. He was at least fifteen years older than King Henry but still robust in every way, as everyone on the progress continually joked. “It is I who should beg comfort of you, for it is cold these nights and I have been, alas, abandoned to shiver alone.”
At any moment Hugh would come back through the gates and find her. “I beg you, my lord, you are too kind, but I wear the badge of an Eagle.”
He sighed. “An Eagle. It is true, is it not?” He released her and clapped his hand to his chest. “My heart is broken. If ever you choose to heal it …”
“I am sensible to the honor you do me, my lord,” she said quickly, retreating, “but I am sworn.”
“And I am sorry!” He laughed. “You are well spoken as well as beautiful. You are wasted as an Eagle, I swear to you!” But he let her go.
She could not bring herself to return to the confinement of Sapientia’s supervision. And she had one other thing to check on. She went in search of her comrade.
She found Hathui sitting on a log bench outside the stables, polishing harness for the day’s hunt. Her gear lay at her feet, and she looked up, smiled wryly at Liath, and beckoned for her to sit down beside her. “There is plenty for you to do.” She gestured toward a pile of mud-splattered harness. The light had changed, spare and silver now although the sun had not yet cleared the surrounding trees. Hathui’s hands, gloveless, were chapped red with cold.
“I must return,” said Liath. “Her Highness will be looking for me when she wakes. I just wanted to—”
“I know.” Hathui glanced to her right where saddlebags lay heaped. “Still in my possession.”
“You are a good comrade,” said Liath.
“I am your comrade in the Eagles!” Hathui snorted. “And I will expect no less of you, Liath, when I must ask for your aid. Here, now. Will you trim my hair again?” Her hair, shorn short, had gotten ragged at the ends.
Liath took out her knife, tested it on a strand of hair, and then began carefully to trim the ends. “Your hair is so fine, Hathui,” she said. “Not coarse, like mine. It’s so soft, like the touch of a beautiful cloth.”
“So my mother always said.” Hathui spit into a cloth and used it to rub a shine into her bridle. “That is one reason I dedicated my hair to St. Perpetua when I swore myself to her blessed service.”
“Should I cut my hair?” Liath asked suddenly, remembering Villam.
“What does that mean?”
“I only … it’s just… oh, Hathui, on my way back from the privies the margrave asked me if … if, you know—”
“Did he tell you the sad story of how his paramour has gone over to Lord Amalfred and he is most cold at night?”
Liath snorted and then, unable to stop herself, laughed. “Did he proposition you, too, Hathui?”
“No, indeed, for I wear my hair shorn, as you say. But he did once, some years ago when I first came to the Eagles and spent time at court. Wolfhere told me that Villam is one of those men afflicted with lust or perhaps certain tiny fire daimones have taken up residence in his loins and dance there night and day. He is notorious for having a taste for very young women and a new one frequently. It is no surprise to me that he has gone through four wives, or is he on his fifth now?”
“But if he has so many concubines and lovers—?”
