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“That might have less potential for disaster,” he agreed.
The musicians struck up a livelier tune, and those who’d finished eating got up to begin the dancing. She was relieved that Bryn didn’t suggest they join the first dance. She continued eating slowly to delay the inevitable. She wasn’t sure why she dreaded dancing with him. Perhaps it was because she looked forward to it too much. A glance at him indicated he was watching carefully, like he was trying to learn the dances from observing. She doubted he’d have much luck with that. The villagers weren’t doing any of the usual set patterns that she was accustomed to from country society where she’d grown up or from court. They mostly just swung around and twirled. That meant couples danced closely together, not with the sly meeting and parting of courtly dances.
It reminded her of the way the country people who weren’t part of the gentry had celebrated. She’d joined them during the summer she’d spent with Mother Alis at festivals around bonfires, where people had danced with wild abandon. She’d shed the last vestiges of the proper young lady her mother had trained her to be and had opened herself up to the magic within her.
Bryn leaned over to her. “This isn’t what you taught me.”
“No, it’s not. They’re making it up as they go, not doing formal dances.”
“That seems like more fun to me.”
More fun, yes, but easier to lose herself if she didn’t have to think about the steps, and that could be dangerous. There had been a time in her life when she’d enjoyed improvising without regard to rules, procedures, and the like, but her years in noble courts had given her an appreciation for guidelines that made it clear what she should do and when. As long as it had been since she left that life, she had a difficult time shaking herself out of that way of thinking.
Bryn leaned closer to her, and she feared and hoped he was going to suggest they dance, but what he said was, “Are there no children in this village, or were they not included in the festival?”
She looked around the market square, frowning, and realized he was right. There were no children. The youngest couldn’t have been younger than eighteen. She’d thought the fact that she hadn’t been called upon as a midwife was because of the lack of men, but had no children been born in the past couple of decades? “None that I’ve seen,” she replied. “That’s probably not something we want to talk about here and now.”
He nodded. “Of course. I can see how that might be sensitive.”
She suspected families with children had left. They’d need to earn more money to live, and with few customers, most artisans wouldn’t be able to support a family. As more people with children left, others would follow, until the only ones remaining were those who had no reason to leave. She wondered if there was more to it than that. She’d need to take another look through the logbook to see how long this trend had persisted. It was yet another mystery about this village.
Bryn jolted her out of her thoughts by taking her hand. “I think I’d like to try dancing. Care to join me?”
This might be her last evening with him, so she couldn’t lose the opportunity. She stood and let him lead her to the middle of the square, where he took her hands and spun and twirled her around with much gusto. He wasn’t any better as a dancer than he was as a fencer, but he was completely unabashed, dancing for his own enjoyment without a care as to what anyone else thought about him. She tried to emulate him, focusing on her own pleasure and on him and blocking out any spectators from her awareness.
This was the way she’d been in her youth, in the brief time after she left her father’s house and before she began working at court. There had been a freedom then. A healer in a village didn’t have to live up to anyone’s social norms. She didn’t have to dance following the steps or worry about whose company she was seen in. Here in Rydding was the first time she’d felt that in more than a decade, and she laughed out loud for the joy of it.
“I knew you had that in you,” Bryn said, leaning close to speak to her over the sound of the music.
“What?”
“Laughter.”
“I laugh. You heard me last night.”
“Not like that. It sounds good. You sound happy.”
“I am.” And she was, she realized. She allowed herself not to worry about her past catching up with her or what her future held and purely enjoy the moment, dancing with a man she was coming to love in a village that felt like home.
He put his arm around her waist and spun her until she was dizzy. They fell against each other, leaning on each other to keep themselves upright, laughing all the while. She closed her eyes to shut out the world whirling around her. That had the effect of making her more conscious of him, as their bodies clung together, his face pressed into her hair and his arms wrapped around her waist. She should pull away, she knew, but she was afraid she’d fall without his support. Since she couldn’t move, she figured she might as well relish the sensations. It might be all she had of him after this night, and she wanted to be able to remember this later.
“I might have overdone it,” he said with a chuckle. “Let’s add dancer to the list of things I apparently am not.”
“You’re definitely no dancer,” she agreed. “It was fun, though. Isn’t that the point? Who cares what it looks like?” She felt steady enough to open her eyes and look up at him. The sun had nearly set, so he was framed against a blue sky swirled with pink clouds, and the remaining light gave him a radiant glow, as though he’d stepped right out of heaven.
And now she was getting fanciful. She didn’t think she’d drunk that much ale. Maybe this was still an effect of the dizziness, or possibly it was the glee of dancing with a man affecting her brain. He looked at her as though he was feeling the same thing. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he said anything, there came a cry of, “Help!” from near the dining tables.
Chapter 14
Elwyn ran to get her medical basket from under the table, then fought her way through the cluster of people to see the Chicken Lady lying on the ground, clutching her throat. “I need space and light,” Elwyn ordered. The people stepped back, and Bryn brought one of the lanterns closer. The woman’s lips were already turning a faint bluish shade, so there was no time to lose. Whether or not Elwyn trusted her talent, this was the time to use it, when her patient couldn’t speak for herself.
She placed her hand on the woman’s throat and opened her senses. There was something in there, blocking her airway. It was sharp on one end, poking and digging in so that her coughing wasn’t dislodging it. “I think she’s choking on a chicken bone,” Elwyn said. “Help me get her upright.”
Bryn handed the lantern over to someone else and knelt beside Elwyn. He helped her pull the choking woman upright. Elwyn got behind her and grasped her around the waist, pulling her hands in sharply to force an exhale. She checked again, and the bone was still lodged in place. “It seems to be stuck,” she said. She forced the woman’s jaws open and tried to probe, but she couldn’t reach the bone with her fingers, and she didn’t have the necessary tools in her kit. She had Bryn move the woman so that her head hung downward, then tried forcing her to exhale again. The bone moved slightly, allowing some air to pass, but she still needed to get it out, and the sharp end appeared to have dug itself in.
This time, her senses weren’t failing her. She knew exactly what the problem was. She just couldn’t seem to do anything about it. None of her skills or magical talents were able to help.
She turned to Bryn to suggest he move the patient into a different position, but he seemed to be lost in thought, his eyes unfocused. She was about to tell him to snap out of it, that she needed his help, when the woman coughed again, and the bone came out. The Chicken Lady gasped a few times, then laughed. The villagers applauded.
