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Now he came to love her for outward things as well: for her grace, her sweet voice, her airy charm andquick wit. She could make jokes even about their present frustrating separation, which was more than Andrew could do! He loved too the gentleness with which she treated everyone, from her father, whowas crippled and often peevish, to the youngest and clumsiest of the household servants.

One thing for which he had not been prepared was her inarticulateness. For all her quick wit and easyrepartee, she found it difficult to speak of things which were important to her. He had hoped they couldtalk freely together about the difficulties which faced them, about the nafure of her training in the Tower,the way in which she had been taught never to respond with the slightest sexual awareness. But on thissubject she was silent, and on the few occasions Andrew tried to get her to speak of it she would turnher face away, stammer and grow silent, her eyes filling with tears.

He wondered if the memory was so painful, and would be filled again with indignation at the barbarousway in which a young woman’s life had been deformed. He hoped, eventually, she would feel freeenough to talk about it; he could not think of anything else that might help free her from the constraint. Butfor the present, unwilling to force her into anything, even to speaking against her will, he waited.

As she had foreseen, it was not easy to be so close to her, and yet distant. Sleeping in the same room,though they did not share a bed, seeing her sleepy and flushed and beautiful in the morning, in her bed,seeing her half-dressed, her hair about her shoulders—and yet not daring more than the most casualtouch. His frustration took strange forms. Once, when she was in her bath, feeling foolish but unable toresist, he had picked up her nightgown and pressed it passionately to his lips, breathing in the fragrance ofher body and the delicate scent she used. He felt dizzy and ashamed, as if he had committed someunspeakable perversion. When she returned, he could not face her, knowing that they were open to oneanother and that she knew what he had done. He had avoided her eyes and gone quickly away, unwillingto face the imagined contempt—or pity—in her face.

He wondered if she would have preferred him to sleep elsewhere, but when he asked her, she saidshyly, “No, I like to have you near me.” It occurred to him that perhaps this intimacy, sexless as it was,was a necessary first step in her reawakening.

Forty days after the marriage the high winds and snow flurries gave way to heavy snows, and Andrew’stime was taken up, day after day, in arranging for the wintering of the horses and other livestock, storingaccessible fodder in sheltered areas, inspecting and stocking the herdmen’s shelters in the upland valleys. For days at a time he would be out, spending days in the saddle and nights in outdoor shelters or in thefar-flung farmsteads which were part of the great estate.

During this time he realized how wise
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Esteban had been to insist on the wedding feast. At the time,knowing the wedding would have been legal with one or two witnesses, he had been angry with hisfather-in-law for not letting it take place in privacy. But that night of horseplay and rough jokes had madehim one of the countryfolk, not a stranger from nowhere, but
 
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Esteban’s son-in-law, a man whomthey had seen married. It had saved him years of trying to make a place for himself among them.

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He woke one morning to hear the hard rattle of snow against the window, and knew the first storm ofthe oncoming winter had set in. There would be no riding out today. He lay listening to the wind moaningaround the heights of the old house, mentally reviewing the disposition of the stock under his care. Thosebrood mares in the pasture under the twin peaks—there was fodder enough stored in windbreakshelters, and one stream, the old horse-master had told him, which never completely froze over—theywould do well enough. He should have separated out the young stallions from the herd—there might befighting—but it was too late now.

There was gray light outside the window, through a white blur of snow. There would be no sunrisetoday. Callista lay quiet in her narrow bed across the room, her back to him so that he could see only thebraids on her pillow. She and Ellemir were so different, Ellemir always awake and astir at dawn, Callistanever waking until the sun was high. He should soon be hearing Ellemir moving in the other half of thesuite, but it was early even for that.

Callista cried out in her sleep, a cry of terror and dread, again some evil nightmare of the time when shehad lain prisoner of the catmen? With a single stride Andrew was beside her, but she sat up, abruptlywide awake, staring past him, her face blank with dismay.

“Ellemir!” she cried, catching her breath. “I must go to her!” And without a word or a look at Andrew

she slid from her bed, catching up a chamber robe, and ran out into the center part of the suite.

Andrew watched, dismayed, thinking of the bond of twins. He had been vaguely aware of the telepathiclink between Ellemir and her sister, yet even twins respected one another’s privacy. If Ellmir’s distresssignal had reached Callista’s mind it must have been powerful indeed. Troubled, he began to dress. Hewas lacing his second boot when he heard Damon in the sitting room of theirsuite. He went out to him,and Damon’s smiling face dispelled his fears.

“You must have worried, when Callista ran out of here so quickly, I think Ellemir was frightened too, for a moment, more surprised than anything else. Many women escape this altogether, and Ellemir is so healthy, but I suppose no man can tell much about such things.”

“Then she’s not seriously ill?”

“If she is, it will cure itself in time,” Damon said, laughing, then sobered quickly. “Of course, just now she’s miserable, poor girl, but Ferrika says this stage will pass in a tenday or two, so I left her to Ferrika’s ministrations and Callista’s comforting. There’s little any man can do for her now.”

Andrew, knowing that Ferrika was the estate midwife, knew at once what Ellemir’s indisposition mustbe. “Is it customary and proper to offer congratulations?”

“Perfectly proper.” Damon’s smile was luminous. “But somewhat more customary to offer them to Ellemir. Shall we go down and tell
 
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Esteban he’s to expect a grandchild some time after Midsummer?”

Esteban Lanart was delighted at the news. Dezi commented, with a malicious grin, “I see you are all tooanxious to produce your first son on schedule. Did you really feel so much obliged by the calendar Domenic made for you, kinsman?”

For a moment Andrew thought Damon would hurl his cup at Dezi, but he controlled himself. “No, I hadrather hoped Ellemir could have a year or two free of such cares. It is not as if I were heir to a Domain

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and had urgent need of a son. But she wanted a child at once, and it was hers to choose.”

“That is like Elli, indeed,” Dezi said, dropping the malice and smiling. “Every baby born on this estate,

she has it in her arms before it is a tenday old. I’ll go and congratulate her when she is feeling better.”

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Esteban asked, as Callista came into the room, “How is she, then, Callista?”

“She is sleeping,” Callista said. “Ferrika advised her to lie abed as long as she could in the mornings,

while she still feels ill, but she will be down after midday.”

She slipped into her seat beside Andrew, but she avoided his eyes, and he wondered if this hadsaddened her, to see Ellemir already pregnant? For the first time it occurred to him that perhaps Callistawanted a child; he supposed some women did, though he himself had never thought very much about it

For more than a tenday the storm raged, snow falling heavily, then giving way to clear skies and ragingwinds that whipped the snow into deep, impenetrable drifts, then changing to snowfall again. The work ofthe estate came to a dead halt. Using undergrown tunnels, a few of the indoor servants cared for thesaddle horses and dairy animals, but there was little else that could be done.

Armida seemed quiet without Ellemir bustling about early in the mornings. Damon, idled by the storm,spent much of his time at her side. It troubled Damon to see the ebullient Ellemir lying pale andstrengthless, far into the mornings, unwilling to touch food. He was worried about her, but Ferrikalaughed at his dismay, saying that every young husband felt like this when his wife was first pregnant. Ferrika was the estate midwife at Armida, responsible for every child born in the surrounding villages. Itwas a tremendous responsibility indeed, and one for which she was quite young; she had only succeededher mother in this office in the last year. She was a calm, firm, round-bodied woman, small andfair-haired, and because she knew she was young for this post, she wore her hair severely concealed in acap and dressed in plain sober clothing, trying to look older than she was.

The household stumbled without Ellemir’s efficient hands at the helm, though Callista did her best.
 
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Esteban complained that, though they had a dozen kitchen-women, the bread was never fit to eat. Damon suspected that he simply missed Ellemir’s cheerful company. He was sullen and peevish, andmade Dezi’s life a burden. Callista devoted herself to her father, bringing her harp and singing him balladsand songs, playing cards and games with him, sitting for hours beside him, her needlework in her lap,listening patiently to his endless long tales of past campaigns and battles from the years when he hadcommanded the Guardsmen.

One morning Damon came downstairs late to find the hall filled with men, mostly those who worked, inbetter weather, in the outlying fields and pastures.
 
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Esteban in his chair was at the center of the men,talking to three who were still snow-covered, wearing bulky outdoor clothing. Their boots had been cutoff, and Ferrika was kneeling before them, examining their feet and hands. Her round, pleasant youngface looked deeply troubled; there was relief in her voice as she looked up to see Damon approaching.

“Lord Damon, you were hospital officer in the Guards at Thendara, come and look at this!”

Troubled by her tone, Damon bent to look at the man whose feet she held, then exclaimed inconsternation, “Man, what happened to you?”

The man before him, tall, unkempt, with long wiry hair in still-frozen elf-locks around his reddened, torn

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cheeks, said in the thick mountain dialect, “We were weathered in nine days,
 
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, in the snow-shelter under the north ridge. But the wind tore down one wall and we couldna’ dry our clothes and boots. Starving we were with food for no more than three days, so when the weather first broke we thought best to try and win through here, or to the villages. But there was a snowslide along the hill under the peak, and we spent three nights out on the ledges. Old Reino died o’ the cold and we had to bury him in the snow, against thaw, with n’more than a cairn o’ stones. Darrill had to carry me here—” He gestured stoically at the white, frozen feet in Ferrika’s hands. “I can’t walk, but I’m not so bad off as Raimon or Piedro here.”

Damon shook his head in dismay. “I’ll do what I can for you, lad, but I can’t promise anything. Are theyall as bad as this, Ferrika?”

The woman shook her head. “Some are hardly hurt at all. And some, as you can see, are worse.” Shegestured at one man whose cut-off boots revealed black, pulpy shreds of flesh hanging down.

There were fourteen men in all. Quickly, one after another, Damon examined the hurt men, hurriedlysorting out the least injured, those who showed only minor frostbite in toes, fingers, cheeks. Andrew washelping the stewards bring them hot drinks and hot soup. Damon ordered, “Don’t give them any wine orstrong liquor until I know for certain what shape they are in.” Separating the less hurt men, he said to old Rhodri, the hall-steward, “Take these men to the lower hall, and get some of the women to help you. Wash their feet well with plenty of hot water and soap, and”—he turned to Ferrika—“you have extractof white thornleaf?”

“There is some in the still-room, Lord Damon; I will ask Lady Callista.”

“Soak their feet with poultices of that, then bandage them and put plenty of salve on them. Keep them

warm, and give them as much hot soup and tea as they want, but no strong drink of any kind.”

Andrew interrupted. “And as soon as any of our people can get through, we must send word to theirwomen that they are safe.”

Damon nodded, realizing that this was the first thing he should have remembered. “See to it, will you,brother? I must care for the hurt men.” As Rhodri and the other servants helped the less injured men tothe lower hall, he turned back to the remaining men, those with seriously frozen feet and hands.

“What have you done for these, Ferrika?”

“Nothing yet, Lord Damon; I waited for your advice. I have seen nothing like this for years.”

Damon nodded, his face set. A hard freeze such as this, when he was a child near Corresanti, had lefthalf the men in the town with missing fingers and toes, dropped off after severe freezing. Others had diedof the raging infections or gangrene which followed. “What would you choose to do?”

Ferrika said hesitantly, “It is not the usual treatment here, but I would soak their feet in water just a littlewarmer than blood-heat but not hot. I have already forbidden the men to rub their feet, for fear ofrubbing off the skin. The frost is deep in the flesh. They will be fortunate if they lose no more than skin.” A little encouraged that Damon did not protest, she added, “I would put hot-packs about their bodies toencourage circulation.”