Lara (37 page)

Bera laughed at Lara’s words. “And she is proud. She looks delicate, but she is made of iron I can now see. Welcome, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, and her companion, Noss. Come in! Come in!” She ushered them into the house, leading them into the Great Hall.

“You handled her well,” Vartan murmured low.

“I can see now why you are not yet wed,” Lara said dryly in low tones.

“I am not wed because until now I had not yet met the woman I wanted for my mate,” he responded, well pleased to see her blush.

“You have arrived just in time for the evening meal,” Bera said. “We eat simply, but there is always plenty.” Immediately servants began entering the hall, bearing steaming bowls and platters. “Sit! Sit!” Bera invited them, noticing that her son put Lara at his right hand. At last, she thought! Was it possible? Dared she to hope? Then she restrained herself. Only time would tell.

Lara’s eyes widened at Bera’s idea of a simple meal. There was fresh broiled salmon with herbs, a roasted goose, a large joint of beef, and a rabbit pie with the flakiest crust she had ever tasted. There were bowls of peas, onions in cream, butter and pepper, tiny carrots in butter and honey dusted with nutmeg. There was bread, a large crock of sweet newly churned butter and a wheel of hard yellow cheese. And when she thought the meal was over, bowls of peaches and sweet cherries were brought to the table along with crisp little sugar wafers. They drank goblets of ale, and it was the best Lara had ever tasted. Again she wondered why Outlanders were called savages.

“You have another son, I am told,” Lara said to Bera when the food had finally been cleared away.

“Aye, but he’s wed now and has his own home,” Bera said. “’Tis just Vartan and his old mother in this great house that cries out for grandchildren.”

Vartan laughed. “Be patient, Mother,” he said. “I have only just found the one.”

Noss’s eyes widened, and she looked to Lara, whose cheeks were again pink.

A minstrel entered the hall, and seating himself by the great fireplace, began to sing songs Lara had never before heard. They were songs of bravery and daring, of battles she had never known and warriors whose names were most unfamiliar. Then he sang of love unrequited, but true, and a hero who died of a broken heart. Bera smiled and nodded with the pleasure the music gave her. A large greyhound sat with his head in her lap, eyes closed, and she stroked him gently as the minstrel played, his music wrapping them all in a blanket of sweetness.

When the musician finally ceased his efforts Bera arose. “Come,” she beckoned Lara and Noss. “I will show you to your sleeping spaces.” She led them upstairs to a smaller hall with another fireplace, assigning them beds that were tucked into the stone walls on either side of the fire. These were the preferred sleeping spaces for honored guests. “There is water for washing.” She pointed. “Good night.” But she did not go to her own chamber. She returned downstairs to find her son still by the fire. “Tell me everything,” she demanded, sitting next to him.

“She is the one,” he said. And then he shared with his mother everything Lara had told him the previous evening.

Bera nodded when he had finished. “But if the Shadow Princes say she has a destiny they do not mean only as the wife of an Outlander leader. There is more, but what more? And she must be willing for she has told you herself that faerie women do not give children to those they do not love. Pleasures she will share with you. But you must have her heart, Vartan. If she favors her faerie blood it is unlikely she has a heart to give you. But if she favors her human side, her heart is there for you to win.”

“Have I your blessing, Mother?” Vartan asked Bera.

“You do. My instincts have never failed me yet, my son. Lara is a good woman, and could make you a good wife if she chooses to be, but you cannot force her decision. Woo her, and we shall see,” Bera advised.

“Liam was taken with her little companion, Noss, but Lara says the girl is too young yet,” Vartan told his mother.

“She seems shy and retiring, the other,” Bera noted. “But she could prove formidable if she fell in love, as all women can be. I am pleased that Liam shows signs of wanting to settle down. I have feared for your cousin almost as much as I have feared for you. I will tell my sister, Asta, in the morning. She will be pleased.” She arose from her place. “Go to bed, my son. You have traveled long and hard the last few days. I am yet concerned you found naught but Lara and her friend. But perhaps that was the plan of the Celestial Actuary. The plain is vast, and yet you found her. Yes, I see the fine hand of the Celestial Actuary in this.” She bent and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Vartan.”

Raising his dark head he kissed her back. “Good night, Mother.” Then turning back to the hearth he stared into the fire’s dancing flames.
Lara.
How could this have all happened in such a short time? he questioned himself. But he knew he was in love. Never before had he felt this way, and his emotions lacked common sense and reason, which was what many said love was like. She said she had a destiny. But was he part of that destiny? Only time would give him the answer to that query. Vartan rose and sought out his own bed, but his sleep was a restless and troubled one.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

L
ARA
SLEPT
surprisingly well in Vartan’s house. She awoke at first light and washed her face and hands. She very much wanted a bath, and wondered if such a thing could be obtained. She would ask Bera. Perhaps there was a bathhouse in the village as the Forest folk had had. From her pack she drew a simple gown of pale green with short sleeves, a draped neckline and a twisted rope belt of gold silk. She brushed her gilt hair out, braiding it into a single thick plait, and slipped her feet into her sandals. Then she poked Noss. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said. “I’m going down to the hall. Hurry and join me.” Noss grumbled something unintelligible.

The hall was already busy with servants cleaning and sweeping. Seeing Lara, Bera came forward smiling. “I thought surely a girl from the City, and especially one who had spent her time in the palace of a Shadow Prince, would sleep late. Come and eat with me. Vartan will join us shortly. He is in the stables speaking with the grooms. The two horses you and your companion rode have frightened them, and they refuse to care for them now.”

“Dasras, my stallion, can be very outspoken on occasion,” Lara explained. “Noss’s mare, Sakari, is usually quieter. They are a gift from Prince Kaliq, who was my lover.”

“Did he want you to leave him?” Bera asked softly.

“No, but he understood I have a destiny,” Lara replied. “I feel so foolish saying that, but it is what everyone has told me. I honestly have no idea of what they mean at all. But my mother and grandmother said it, and so does Ethne, my crystal guardian.”

“Who is your mother?” Bera questioned the beautiful girl. Yes, beautiful, and yet Lara had not seemed so when she arrived with Vartan yesterday. Now, however, in that feminine gown with her hair revealed, she was a different girl.

“My mother is Ilona, who with my grandmother Maeve’s death became the new queen of the Forest Faeries. My father is human. He was a simple mercenary, but now rides as a Crusader Knight. I am sure Vartan has told you the rest of my tale.”

“He has,” Bera answered. “I stand in awe of you, my child. You have suffered much, survived it all, and seem strong in spite of it. I suspect you do have a destiny to fulfill. But what has it to do with the Outlands?”

Lara shook her head. “As I have said, I do not know. Given a choice between the Outlands and the Coastal Province, I chose to come here. Every instinct I possess insisted. But had not Vartan and his men found us, we would still be wandering out on the plain.”

“The Celestial Actuary always leads us to where we should be,” Bera said.

“Good morning!” Vartan strode into his hall and going to his mother kissed her cheek. He then turned to Lara, his blue eyes widening in surprise. “You’re beautiful,” he exclaimed. “Very beautiful,” he added.

“A blessing and a curse both,” Lara responded with a small smile. “Did I not seem beautiful to you out on the plain?” she teased him.

“You seemed a pretty girl,” he replied slowly, “and perhaps a bit formidable with that sword on your back you claim to know how to use, but nothing more. Yet this morning in my hall, you are so beautiful it hurts my eyes just to look at you, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword.”

To her surprise Lara felt her cheeks grow warm with his admiration. “Perhaps,” she said, “I should wear my leather garments all the time then, lest I be held responsible for blinding you, my lord Vartan.” And then she smiled at him. “I understand my horses have frightened your servants. I must apologize to you as you have been so kind to us.”

“A bad-tempered stable boy was rough with Sakari, and Dasras objected in the most strenuous terms,” Vartan replied with an answering smile. “He was quite right, too, and the lad has been admonished. I explained to my servants that your horses were magical, and they were to be treated with the utmost care. I then asked Dasras not to frighten those caring for him again. All is well now. Would you like to ride out with me after the morning meal? I am going to spend the next few days visiting my other villages. Your company would be most welcome.”

Lara considered refusing him, but then she nodded her agreement. “I should like that, my lord.” Nothing was beckoning her onward today, and she was interested to learn if all of his villages were as prosperous and well-maintained. Why did the High Council of Hetar insist on saying that Outlanders were uncivilized barbarians? Was Vartan the exception to the rule? She needed to know the answers to her many questions, and she wasn’t going to learn them sitting in Vartan’s hall with his mother.

Noss came sleepily into the hall just as the servants were bringing in the meal. As they ate Bera engaged her in conversation. Noss became more lively as the hot food and cold cider helped her to awaken fully. And when Bera invited her to spend the day with her Noss looked eagerly to Lara. “May I?” she said.

“Of course. I am riding out with Lord Vartan, but there is no necessity for you to come, Noss. Remain with Bera. You do not enjoy being a-horse as much as I do, and we will be traveling on soon enough.”

“Do you know how to weave?” Bera asked Noss.

“Yes, my mother taught me,” Noss replied, and then she and Vartan’s mother entered into a discussion of threads, and designs.

“My mother has her eye on Noss for my cousin, Liam,” Vartan said softly.

“The red-haired man who was so taken with her?”

“Aye, the very same,” Vartan said.

“Noss is still a girl, and I have said it before. You must dissuade your mother, and your cousin,” Lara told him. “I will not have Noss forced to the marriage bed when she is so very young.”

“No one in my care is ever forced to anything,” Vartan replied. “I am not a savage like those among whom you were raised, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword. Liam simply wants his honorable intentions known so that when the time comes Noss will consider him for a husband.”

“We will not be with you for more than a day or two,” Lara said.

“Where do you go?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said irritably.

“Have you a desire to leave us so quickly?” he demanded of her.

“No,” she admitted, “but that is not the point, my lord Vartan.”

“You have a destiny,” he said taking her small hand in his large one. “I know that, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, and I will not stand in the way of that destiny. But until destiny calls to you again why not remain here where you are safe?”

“You are confusing me,” Lara cried low.

“Then go and change from this clinging gown that reveals the sweet swell of your breasts and hips. Put on your leather garments and strap Andraste to your back, so we may ride out together. I have told Noss we will be gone two nights, and she is not to fear. She is safe with my mother.”

“Why will we be gone two nights?” Lara asked him a bit breathlessly. His eyes had all but devoured her when he had spoken to her of her gown.

“I have six villages to visit. I ride out once each moon cycle to make certain all is well, to hold court if necessary, to mediate any disputes,” Vartan explained. “I am lord of the Fiacre, and it is my duty to care for and watch over my people.”

“I will change,” Lara told him, and rising from the table she left the hall.

“I will await you in the stable yard,” he called after her.

Lara returned to the small hall where she and Noss had slept the night before. The house, seen from afar, had not appeared to be more than a single story, but on closer inspection Lara realized part of its main level was underground, and the roof over the Great Hall peaked. One side of the building had a second story. Entering her chamber she stripped the gown off, dressing herself again in her riding garments and pulling on her boots. She bound her head in the green cloth, and returned downstairs, hurrying out into the stable yard where Vartan awaited her with Dasras.

“Good morning,” Lara said, rubbing his velvety muzzle.

Dasras snorted, and his dark eyes twinkled at her.

“I have explained to Sakari that we will be away for a few days, but that Noss is here,” Vartan said. “I didn’t want her frightened again.” He boosted Lara into the saddle.

Dasras turned his head slightly. “Most thoughtful, my lord,” he said.

Vartan nodded his acknowledgement to the great stallion, and mounted his own horse. They rode from the stable yard together, and out into the morning sunlight. Villagers greeted them as they passed by, and again Lara noted Camdene’s neat prosperity. “We go first to Orlege,” he said. “If there are no difficulties there, we can move on to Leax and Scur today.”

“Are all your villages so comfortable?” Lara asked him. “How do you live?”

“The Fiacre’s prosperity comes from the land,” Vartan explained. “We have vast herds of cattle. Each of our clan families has its own way of earning a livelihood.”

“How many clan families are there?” Lara asked him.

“Eight, including the Fiacre. The Tormod and the Piaras live in the north. They mine deep within the earth for gems, and precious metals, but they also husband their lands carefully so it is not destroyed. The Aghy possess great herds of horses. The Felan’s wealth comes from sheep. The Gitta are known for their especial strength, but they also farm. The Blathma are growers of grains and flowers. The Devyn are the smallest of our clan families. They are the poets, the bards, the musicians of the Outlands. The minstrel in the hall last night was a Devyn.”

“Where is your governing body located?” she asked him.

“Each clan governs itself,” he told her.

“What if there is a dispute between clan families?” she persisted. “That is what our High Council is for, my lord. Have you no High Council?”

“Disputes between the clans are rare, Lara. Why would there be? The boundaries separating our lands have been set for eons. The clans intermarry if they wish. We are all prosperous. The Tormod and Piaras supply us with the metals and gems from which we fashion our ornaments. We supply them with what they need in return. Ours is an uncomplicated way of life, and we are happy.”

“But there must be a system of governance, my lord,” Lara insisted. “How are your clan families ruled? Who decides upon the rulers?”

“Each clan has a chieftain,” he began. “Each village has a headman who is responsible to the chieftain. When a chieftain dies, or chooses no longer to rule, his successor is chosen by the elders of the clan family, both men and women. Generally they pick a chieftain from the same family grouping, but their choice is based upon the man who is best suited to take the responsibility of the clan upon his shoulders. My uncle was the previous chieftain, Liam’s father.”

“Why did they not choose Liam?” she asked.

“He was younger in years than I was, and he did not want to be chieftain. My grandfather was the chieftain before Liam’s sire. The elders, knowing this, then chose me. I have ruled the Fiacre for five years now.”

They had left the village of Camdene well behind, and now rode at a leisurely pace over the rolling green plain. In the sky above them a hawk soared and, seeing it, Lara could not help but wonder if it was Kaliq. But then she put the thought from her head. She was a very long way from the Desert of the Shadow Princes. Kaliq was her past. She cast a surreptitious look at Vartan from beneath her lashes as they rode. He was a handsome man in a rough-hewn sort of way. She considered what it might be like to share her body with him, and her cheeks grew hot.

Finally, ahead of them they saw another grouping of cottages. It was not as big a village as Camdene, but it appeared every bit as prosperous.

“This is Orlege,” he told her. “I have a dispute to settle here today. One of the village men lost his wife, and wishes to have another, but his neighbors will not match any of their daughters with him. I must learn why, and then settle the problem.”

Vartan was greeted warmly by the villagers of Orlege. He was led into the headman’s house, and seated at the small high board in the little hall. Lara stood quietly at the side of the room, observing all. The headman, Scully, brought forth the complainant to state his case. Pol was a man in his sixth decade. He had been widowed for a year and wished to take a new wife, but, he complained to his lord, the villagers of Orlege would not offer him their marriageable daughters that he might choose. He begged his lord to help him find a wife to take care of him in his old age.

Next, the headman spoke for the villagers. Pol was an old man. No young girl wanted to be shackled to an old man. She wanted a vigorous husband who would give her children, that she not be ashamed at the well when she went to draw water. And no father in Orlege would force his daughter to be Pol’s wife. He was an ordinary man with only a small holding he could barely work any longer.

“I must think on this,” Vartan said. “Bring me something to drink.” He looked to Lara, and beckoned her to him. When she stood by his side he said, “What would you do in a case like this, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword?”

“Ask the headman if there is a widow who would be willing to have Pol for a husband,” she replied. “If he has no children to care for him it is unlikely he will have them at his age. He does not need a young wife. He needs a housekeeper, a cook and a companion. What could he possibly give a young wife but unhappiness?”

“A clever solution, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” Vartan said. He drank from the cup placed by his left hand, and then shared the draught with Lara.