Shadow Over Avalon (7 page)

The duke laughed, standing to pack the healing ingredients back on a tray. “Half my people know what you are and have seen your face. They know better than to incur my anger. Shall I harvest a crop after winter has blighted it? Sleep well, lady.” He bowed and left.

Perhaps he had a woman warming his bed. Relief warred with humiliation. Most rulers raised one daughter as a War Maid to protect sibling honor during a raid. Most also chose a docile partner as mate. He showed no interest now that he had found out her status. Perhaps she was only still alive to enhance his dread reputation.

The promised dress arrived with morning. Timid serving girls, their hair covered by caps, laid it on her bed and handed her a tray with a bowl of porridge and a beaker of milk. They glanced slyly at her as they sidled out.

After finishing breakfast, Ashira discovered how well the gown fitted. With a low neck and flaring three-quarter length sleeves, it showed her wounds. The pastel blue color added to her dislike. One tiny spark of gratitude for freedom prompted her to leave her hair loose, since Uther didn’t appear to like braids. She had wondered at the absence of the pins and clips she needed for styling her hair.

Legs like wet cloths slowed her normal stride. Bored and curious, Ashira wanted to see her new home even if it took her all day. Outside her rooms, the corridor bustled with busy workers, but unlike Menhill, this royal level didn’t swarm with guards. Servers hurried by without that hangdog cringe, and yet their eyes held a wary appraisal rather than kindness. The scent of stables came from below, calling to her of freedom. He said she had free range of the fort, not outside. At the head of a stairwell, she resolved to go up, clutching at the railing with grim determination.

This fort had smooth cladding on all exposed walls, making it seem brighter than Menhill. Ashira wondered why no mirror shafts lighted the levels. Very unusual, according to her brother’s detailed accounts of every fort he visited, detailed to Syril while Ashira listened in the background. He possessed a lively eye for people, particularly possible husbands for his adored sister, trying to bring them into focus in case one should offer for her.

As Ashira wandered past the main entrance, a stiff breeze brought a fresh smell with a trace of salt wetness: a call from outside. Breathing deeply, she started forward, wanting to see the sky again. A guard stepped into her path, blocking off the light.

“My lord is away at Tregelly mine. He left orders.” The man met her eyes in steady challenge.

“I wish to inspect the compound. You may escort me,” Ashira said, going for a pompous approach Bronze Bands usually found intimidating. She moved forward with confidence. The guard spread his arms to block her passage, while another soldier hurried over to give backup. When they both faced her down, Ashira gathered her shredded dignity and turned away.

Feeling much better the next morning, she made another attempt to reach the outside compound. The young man standing watch called for help, defeating her plans. When told where the duke was, Ashira decided to challenge her beast in his lair. The duke sat at his desk, engrossed in the task of relocating colored pegs on a large, irregular shaped board fixed to a wall. He turned around to face the intrusion.

“Ashira, what a delightful surprise.” He gestured to a chair facing him. Once she settled, he went to the door, bellowing orders for breakfast. “Now, what can I do for you? Has someone been impolite? Is the service not to your liking?” He resumed his seat.

“When I wanted to go out, your guards wouldn’t let me. I wished to see daylight.”

“I’m free after lunch. Come back then, or be quiet while I work, I don’t mind which.” His mouth tugged up at the corners, as if fighting amusement.

“Am I a prisoner? What is my fate to be?”

“What it is already.” He drew his brows together, ignoring the first part of her question. “When you’re healed you will become my wife in more than name.”

The duke turned back to his pegboard, meticulously shifting the colored pegs. Ashira watched him, turning over his words in her mind. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be a wife, since she thought he might make restrictions on her time when he decided to exercise his rights. She studied him as he continued to ignore her. There seemed a purpose to his actions.

“What are you doing?” she asked, forgetting his request until the words left her mouth.

“Ashira, I’m busy.” He took three pegboards from his desk and a box of free worker symbols. “Change all individuals on the third shift and redistribute the others. Put fresh workers from the pool on the first shift, and do it quietly.”

He had given her kitchens, laundry and household judging by symbols on the boards. Ashira started by sorting the pool into genders, then experience, and finally age. She studied the assortments already in place before rearranging, just finishing as a plate of cold chicken appeared in front of her, placed there by a silent server. Incredibly, time had flown, the morning gone already with the arrival of midday meal.

The duke inspected her work before he started his own lunch. “Excellent! I would make one amendment—you put a man on the same shift as his wife’s mother, but they can’t stand each other. Better acquaintance with the people will eliminate the chance of bad placements.” He smiled, as if to take the sting out of criticism.

“I am to continue this task?” Ashira paused, fork halfway to her mouth, not daring to believe his words.

“I don’t waste potential. Start with the three areas you have, and I’ll add the tailor’s shop and stores when you’re familiar with our people.” The duke looked over at her. “Lady, I didn’t ask if you wanted this task.”

“Yes. Thank you, my lord. I’d appreciate a useful occupation.”

Uther threw back his head, laughing in genuine amusement. “Ashira, you know not your worth. I have worried how to keep you occupied, never thinking of work until this morning. I can’t confine a War Maid to quarters, doing whatever it is women do, and yet I didn’t want you wandering bored, and getting into mischief.”

Ashira finished her meal in silence, embarrassed by his kindness. He had just given her unimagined freedom, coupled with incredible responsibility. As far as she knew, no other ruler’s wife had ever had such privileges.

After lunch, Uther escorted her around the compound of his fort. Light rain fell from a matte-gray sky as they hurried from one workshop to another. The tanner’s cave stank from curing hides, but the smithy intrigued her. Not only weapons of war rested on shelves, but also cooking pots, and in one corner, copper jewelry. Beyond the smithy, the compound ran down to the sea over a rocky shoreline. Ashira walked toward it, fascinated despite the rain.

“Never seen the sea before?” he asked from her side.

Ashira shook her head. “It’s so restless.”

“Frightened?”

“No. It’s comforting . . . like a homecoming.” She gazed at the glisten of light on water, the white crests of waves crashing onto rocks. Out of the corner of her eye, Ashira saw his hand reaching for her. The movement paused and fell away.

“Come see my stables,” he suggested.

Most of the animals were ordinary workhorses, some larger for farm work, and then a small selection of well-bred mounts. The duke stopped in front of a stall holding an exquisite chestnut mare.

“This one is called Amber. I thought you might like her. Will she suit?”

The deep brown eyes flashed fire; the mare tossed her head proudly. Taken by surprise, Ashira turned to hug her stern husband. For an instant, his arms closed around her, and then he released his hold, as if burned.

“I ordered a riding outfit for you, which should be ready by now. If so, will you ride with me tomorrow, health permitting?” His eyes ran over her, searching, quizzical.

“I’d love to, my lord.” A chance to ride again! Her chest contracted as she waited for the catch. “Are there matters you wish to oversee?”

“I thought I’d ride out to my nearest tin mine. They complain of losing stock to predators, but I’d see the evidence myself before I organize a hunt. And no, if I do, you can’t come. Despite the fact I’ve never seen anyone heal so fast, I’d prefer you to regain full strength.”

“I’m—”

“Ashira, I’ll make my point the easy way this time. In future, I don’t expect argument.” The duke took her good arm in a firm grip. “We are going to my weapons practice hall where you will prove to yourself your need to recover.”

The room took space from the royal level situated, she guessed, over the soldiers’ barracks. Fixed against one long wall, a sword rack displayed various sized weapons with assorted grips. Unlike Menhill, where planking had raised the floor of the training room, this surface showed the wear of usage on rock making the ground uneven. To fight here meant using every ounce of skill she possessed.

The duke grabbed both her hands in a swift, shocking maneuver. He raised one eyebrow at her clenched fists. Ashira blushed remembering the last time she hid her hands from him. He’d demanded the kiss of peace from her then. She opened her hands, letting him run the ball of his thumbs against the calluses on both.

“More secrets? A fighter who can trade sword hands at ease is an asset.”

He released her, marching to the wall for a short, light sword. Watching his easy stride, Ashira had a sickly feeling that his discovery was not new. If he had seen her hands before, then he must have looked at them while she slept. She couldn’t meet his eyes when he handed her the weapon. The whisper of his sword drawing called her back into the moment.

“The weapon you have is yours to keep. It belonged to me as a boy.” He raised his blade, taking up a battle stance. “Prepare to fight.”

She didn’t want to fight with sharp weapons. Her arm ached, even though she held her sword in her left hand. She struck. The shock of connecting with his blade sent waves of red hot needles through her injury. Again, she pressed the attack, and once more, he blocked her blows until she stood trembling, helpless before him.

“I order you to rest in your rooms for the remainder of this day.” The duke returned to the weapons rack for a sword belt and attached short knife. He took her sword to slide it into its scabbard. “I’ll have a meal sent down.”

“I’m not tired,” Ashira lied. “I just need to get my breath.”

The duke wound his arm around her waist, forcibly marching her to her rooms. He pushed her over the threshold, following behind. Ashira whirled to face him.

“Lady, you tried to disobey my orders yesterday, and again, I suspect, this morning. Don’t back me into a corner you’ll regret when I’m trying very hard to keep the peace. Please have the decency to meet me halfway.” He executed a curt bow, dumped her weapons on a side table and left her to reflect on his leniency.

A neat stack of clothing rested next to the armaments when Ashira awoke in the morning. On top lay a daisy, overblown, wilting, and giving off that sharp tang of a blossom not meant for picking. It wasn’t much of a flower, yet he must have searched for it outside the barren compound. A frisson of unease ran through her.

Uther’s choice of riding clothes offered another revelation; soft, black leather breeches and a long-sleeved, matching tunic fastening down one side with the front and back; a full black cloak and knee-high boots completed the outfit: he had fitted her out as a soldier. Ashira found him waiting in his business room after she breakfasted in her quarters. She decided not to comment on the flower on the way down to the stables.

Amber was already saddled, along with the coal-black stallion she remembered from their journey. The duke boosted her up, and they rode out into a warm, sunny day. Light glistened off mounds of cresting waves that crashed against rock to spit foam. Towering cliffs housing Tadgell clawed at the skyline. Harsh grayish-black flint offered scant refuge for a few ragged clumps of vegetation clinging to narrow ledges. Airshafts marred the jagged face at regular intervals, mole-blind pits of darkness – a stark exterior concealing the comfort and light within. Moving away from the fort, strands of sunlight pierced through a leafy canopy covering a trail winding through a rock-strewn glen. They passed a waterfall where droplets hung in crystalline wetness on nearby branches. This avenue of natural beauty terminated in harsh moorland with stunted trees, deformed into submission by elemental forces run wild.

Uther led the way over raw headland, riding south and east until they came to a bleak valley littered with dross. A muddy stream at the bottom was flanked by working bal-maidens dressing the tin ore. A collection of well-kept cabins, some with laundry dancing in the wind on lines outside, stood grouped near a great wooden wheel. Harnessed to a huge cog, large draft horses powered the device.

“Not a pretty sight, although it makes us self-sufficient,” Uther said.

A mine overseer hurried out to meet his master. Worry lines creased his face. Ashira reined in her mount to wait while they talked. The man gestured over to the south of the settlement. After a few minutes, the duke rejoined her.

“It’s a large cat of some sort. None claim to have seen it, just the pugmarks, and they’re missing a pig. Since children watch stock, I must take their complaint seriously, even if the wretched animal wandered off on some mission of greed. I’m told the marks are by that grove of oaks. It might just be deer tracks—these people are miners, they rarely take note of nature.” He sent her a lopsided grin.