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Paris swung down off his horse and stepped on the end of his bow to bend and unstring it. "Only one, but it was enough to send them fleeing, and they won't come back."
"Because they'll be afraid of you?"
"Yes, and they'll remain afraid. I've no time left to hunt. Is breakfast ready?"
"So you've chased away cattle-thieves and now you're hungry?"
Paris watched his father's grin widen. "If I'd eaten breakfast first, we'd have lost a dozen of our best cattle." He went on inside and entertained his mother with a colorful account of his adventure. His father told anyone who would listen about his brave and clever son.
* * *
Oenone greeted Paris as soon as she came close enough to be heard. Nowadays, she rode a black mare, a far finer horse than her first pony. She hadn't come to race, however, and held out a broken arrow and the loose bronze tip. "I believe these are yours."
Their cattle were grazing quietly, and he could afford a few moments of inattention. He slid from his horse's back and reached for the arrow. The bronze point could have been anyone's, but he recognized the fletching on the shaft as his own. "Where did you find these?"
"My aunt broke the arrow before pulling it from a man's arm. He claimed he and a friend had been hunting when the mishap occurred. She knew he was lying, but wrapped his arm in healing herbs and sent him on his way."
Paris made no effort to hide his disgust. "He's a thief who tried to steal our cattle and didn't deserve such tender sympathy."
"Perhaps not, but Chrisoula never asks if a person is good or bad when they come to her. She sees only their illness or wound." She dismounted and dropped the reins to allow her mare to graze.
"Do you intend to do the same?" he asked.
"No one comes to me as yet, but someday they will, and I'll decide then." He'd grown so tall she had to look up at him.
He turned the broken arrow in his hands. Blood had left a deep red stain. "Did your aunt know the man?"
"She described him as a foul-smelling stranger, and he must have ridden a long way from here by now."
"I hope so. I aimed for his back, but a man on horseback is as difficult to strike as a running deer."
She turned and brushed her curls from her eyes. "Did you intend to kill him?"
"I meant only to keep him from stealing our cattle. If he'd died, he would have deserved it."
Her brows dipped in a puzzled frown. "There was a time when you weren't so fierce."
He laughed as though it were a compliment. "You didn't use to be so pretty. Does your father know where you are?"
"He concerns himself with our sheep," she responded with a slow smile. "This morning, I'm gathering herbs as I often do, but I'm expected home soon."
The grazing herd shifted with lazy steps. "I wish I had some entertainment to offer. Some men in the village like to fight bulls. We keep ours separate, or they'd fight on their own. The next time you come, I'll set them on each other to amuse you."
She shook her head sadly. "You've never come to visit me with flo
wers, poetry, or songs. A fight between bulls isn't a proper way to impress me."
Bewildered, he watched her mount her horse and stepped forward to catch her mare's reins. "I'm seventeen and not ready for courting."
Her dark curls tumbled around her shoulders as she looked down on him, and her voice was soft and sweet, "And if I wait for you to grow older, I'll be too old to wed. Good day."
Until that moment, Paris had not thought of taking a wife. He intended to be a warrior, and they didn't wed until after they'd left the king's service. Oenone would be a grandmother by then. He thought of the men who came to market day. The ones who were of an age to marry had very little to recommend them. He'd never thought of Oenone as having a husband, but the prospect of her marrying one of those fools proved surprisingly painful.
* * *
Oenone's aunt Chrisoula, was a tall, slender, flame-haired woman who possessed a magical touch. She could simply wave a healing herb above an ailing friend and cure her. She listened closely to her niece's comments on Paris and responded with the wisest advice possible. "You must make the man come to you."
"And if he shows a maddening disinterest?"
