even odds that it could be mended.
Talaysen still boiled with rage. It was wrong to take advantage of the trust that a student put in a teacher he respected-it was worse when that violation of trust included a violation of their young bodies. He'd gone to the Master of the Guild when he'd learned of the incident, demanding that the offending teacher be thrown out of the Guild in disgrace. Insisting that he be turned over to the Justiciars. Quite ready to take a horsewhip to him and flay the skin from his body.
He'd been shaking, physically shaking, from the need to rein in his temper. And the Master of the Guild had simply looked down his nose at him and suggested he was overreacting to a minor incident. 'After all,' Master Jordain had said scornfully, 'they were only unproven boys. Master Larant is a full Bard. His ability is a proven fact. The Guild can do without them; it cannot do without him. Besides, if they couldn't handle themselves in a minor situation like that, they probably would not have passed their Journeyman period; they were just too unstable. It's just as well Master Larant weeded them out early. Now his valuable time won't be wasted in teaching boys who would never reach full status.'
He had restrained himself from climbing over the Master's desk and throttling him with his bare hands by the thinnest of margins. He still wasn't certain how he'd done it. He had stalked out of the office, headed straight to his own quarters, packed his things and left that afternoon, seeking shelter with some Gypsies he'd met as a young man and had kept contact with, renouncing the Guild and all that it meant, changing his name, and his entire way of life.
But there it was; he'd seen how pressure of that nature could ruin a young life. How could he put Rune in the untenable position those poor boys had been in? Especially if he'd been misreading her, and what he'd been thinking was flirtation was simple country friendliness.
And there was one other thing; the stigma associated with 'female musicians.' Rune didn't deserve that, and if they remained obviously student and teacher, all would be well. Or at least, as 'well' as it could be if she wore skirts. But he wouldn't ever want her to bear that stigma, which she would, if she were ever associated with him as his lover. Assuming she was willing . . . which might be a major assumption on his part.
Oh, if he wasn't misreading her, if she was interested in him as a lover, he could wed her. He'd be only too happy to wed her. . . .
Dear gods, why would she ever want to actually wed him? Him, twice her age? She'd be nursing a frail old man while she was still in the prime of her life, bound to him, and cursing herself and him both.
Furthermore, there would always be the assumption by those who knew nothing about music that she'd become his apprentice only because she was his lover; that she was gaining her fame by borrowing the shine of his.
No, he told himself, every time his eyes strayed to her, and his thoughts wandered where they shouldn't. No, and no, and no. It's impossible. I won't have it. It's wrong.
But that didn't keep his eyes from straying.
Or-his heart.
Rain fell unceasingly down from a flat gray sky, plopping on her rain-cape, her hat, and into the puddles along the road. Rune wondered what on Earth was wrong with Talaysen. Besides the weather, of course. He'd been out of sorts about something from the moment they'd left the Allendale Faire. Not that he showed it-much. He didn't snap, rail about anything, or break into arguments over little nothings. No, he brooded. He answered questions civily enough, but neither his heart nor his thoughts were involved in the answer.
It could be the weather; there was more than enough to brood over in the weather. After weeks of dry, sunny days, their streak of good luck had finally broken, drowning the Allendale Faire in three days of dripping, sullen rain.
But they'd gotten around that; they'd succeeded in finding a cook-tent big enough to give them a bit of performing room, and they'd done reasonably well, monetarily speaking, despite the weather.
The rain had kept away all the wealthy Guildmasters and the three Sires that lived within riding distance, however. Perhaps that was the problem. They'd made no progress towards finding a wintering-over spot, and she sensed that made Talaysen nervous. At the next several large Faires, he had told her soberly, they could expect to encounter Guild musicians, Journeymen looking for permanent places for themselves. And they could encounter toughs hired by the Guild, either to 'teach them a lesson' or to keep them from taking hire with one of the Sires for the winter.
One thing was certain, and only one; she was just as out-of-sorts as he was, but her mood had nothing to do with the weather or the state of their combined purse. She knew precisely why she was restless and unhappy. Talaysen. If this was love, it was damned uncomfortable. It wasn't lust, or rather, it wasn't lust alone-she was quite familiar with the way that felt.
The problem was, Talaysen didn't seem inclined to do anything to relieve her problem, despite all the hints she'd thrown out. And she'd thrown plenty, too. The only thing she hadn't tried was to strip stark naked and creep into his bedroll after he fell asleep.
Drat the man, anyway! Was he made of marble?
She trudged along behind him, watching his back from under her dripping hat-brim. Why didn't he respond to her?
It must be me, she finally decided, her mood of frustration turning to one of depression, as the rain cooled her temper and she started thinking of all the logical reasons why he hadn't been responding. Obviously, he could have anyone he wanted. Gwyna, for instance. And she's not like me; she's adorable. Me, I'm too tall, too bony, and I can still pass for a boy any time I choose. He just doesn't have any interest in me at all, and I guess I can't blame him. She sighed. The clouds chose that moment to double the amount of rain they were dropping on the two Bards' heads, so that they were walking in their own road-sized waterfall.
She tallied up her numerous defects, and compared herself with the flower of the Free Bard feminine contingent, and came to the even more depressing conclusion that she not only wasn't in the running, she wasn't even in the race when it came to attracting her Master in any way other than intellectually. And even then-the Free Bards were anything but stupid. Any of the bright lovelies wearing the brotherhood's ribbons could match witticisms with Talaysen and hold her own.
I don't have a prayer. I might as well give up.
Depression turned to despondency; fueled by the miserable weather, she sank deep inside herself and took refuge in composing the lyrics to songs of unrequited love, each one worse and more trite than the one before it. Brother Pell would have had a fit.
She stayed uncharacteristically silent all morning; when they stopped for a brief, soggy lunch, she couldn't even raise her spirits enough to respond when he finally did venture a comment or two. He must have sensed that it would be better to leave her alone, for that was what he did, addressing her only when it was necessary to actually tell her something, and otherwise leaving her to her own version of brooding.
On the the fifteenth repeat of rhyming 'death' with 'breath,' she noticed that Talaysen had slowed, and was looking about for something.
'What's the matter?' she asked dully.
'We're going to have to stop somewhere for the night,' he said, the worry evident in his voice, although she couldn't see his expression under his dripping, drooping hat brim. 'I'm trying to find some place with at least a little shelter-however small that may be.'
'Oh.' She took herself mentally by the scruff of the neck and shook herself. Being really useful, Rune. Why don't you at least try to contribute something to this effort, hmm? 'What did you have in mind?' she asked.
He shrugged-at least, that was what she guessed the movement under his rain-cape and pack meant. 'I'd like a cave, but that's asking for a bit much around here.'
She had to agree with him there. This area was sandy and hilly, rather than rocky and hilly. Not a good area for caves-and if they found one, say, under the roots of a tree, it would probably already have a tenant. She was not interested in debating occupancy with bears, badgers or skunks.
'Let's just keep walking,' she said, finally. 'If we don't find anything by the time the light starts to fade, maybe we can make a lean-to against a fallen tree, or something. . . .'
'Good enough,' he replied, sounding just as depressed as she was. 'You watch the right-hand side of the track, I'll watch the left.'
They trudged on through the downpour without coming to anything that had any promise for long enough that
