Lark and Wren

'No!' he blurted, and flushed again. 'I mean-I-'

'Ah.' She put the shirt back into her pack. 'That's just as well, since protecting a nameless bastard from disgrace is pretty much like protecting a thief from temptation. Why don't you just tell me why you're so set on this, and let me think about your reasons.'

For a moment, he sat back on his heels and stared at her helplessly. For all that he was a Bard, and supposed to be able to work magic with words, he felt suddenly bereft of any talent with his tongue whatsoever. How could he tell her-

She waited patiently, favoring her left side a little. He marshaled his thoughts. Tried to remember what he always told others when they were tongue-tied, when the gift seemed to desert them.

Begin at the beginning. . . .

So he did.

She listened. Once or twice, she nodded. It got easier as he went along; easier to find the words, though they didn't come out of his mouth with any less effort. He'd lived for so long without telling people how he felt-how he really felt, the deep feelings that it was generally better not to reveal-that each confession felt as if he was trying to lift another one of those trees. Only this time, the back he was lifting it from was his own. The logical reasons: why it was better not to give the Guild another target; how being legally married would actually cut down on petty jealousy within the Bards; how it might keep petty officials of the Church not only from harassing them, but from harassing other Free Bard couples who chose to perform as a pair.

The reasons with no logic at all, and these were harder to get out: that he not only loved her, he needed her presence, that she made him feel more alive; his secret daydreams of spending the rest of his days with her; how she brought out the best in everything for him.

The reasons that hurt to confess: how he was afraid that without some form of formal tie binding them, one day she'd tire of him and leave him without warning; how he felt as if her refusal to formally wed him was a kind of rejection of him, as if she were saying she didn't feel he was worth the apparent sacrifice of her independence.

Finally he came to the end; he had long since finished his packing, and he sat with idle hands clenched on stones to either side of him.

She let out her breath in a sigh. 'Have you thought about this?' she asked. 'I mean, have you really thought it through? Things like-how are the other Free Bards going to react to a wife? You think that it will cut down on petty jealousy-why? I think it might just make things worse. A lover-that would be no problem, but a wife? Wouldn't they see me as some kind of interloper? I'm the newest Free Bard; how did I get you to wed me? Wouldn't they think I'm likely to try interfering with you and the rest of them?'

'I can't read minds,' he said, slowly. 'But I truly don't think there'd be any problem. I know every one of the Free Bards personally, and I just don't think the kinds of problems you're worried about would even occur. Marriage might make things easier, actually; I can't be everywhere at once, and sometimes I've wished there were two of me. And there are things the females haven't always felt comfortable in bringing to me-they tell Gwyna a lot of the time, but that really isn't the best solution. With you there-my legal partner-there's a partnership implied with marriage that there isn't with a lover. Stability; they aren't going to tell you something then discover the next time we met that there's someone else with me, and wonder what that means to their particular problem.' He relaxed a little as she nodded.

'All right-I can see that. But we should try to anticipate problems and head them off before they become problems. For instance: divided authority. Someone trying to work us against each other. If you give me authority, it should be only as your other set of ears. All right?' She waited for his nod of agreement before continuing.

'What about children?' she said, surprising him completely.

'What about them?' he replied without thinking.

'I want them. Do you? Have you thought about what it would take to raise them as Free Bards?' She held up her hand to forestall his protest that it would not be fair to her to saddle her with children she might well have to raise alone. 'Don't tell me that you're old, you'll die and leave me to raise them alone. I don't believe that for a minute, and neither do you.'

He snapped his mouth shut on the words.

'Well?' she said, rubbing her head to relieve the ache in it. 'Is there a way to have children and still be Free Bards?'

'We could settle somewhere, for a while,' he suggested tentatively.

She shook her head, and winced. 'No. No, I don't think that would work. You have to be visible, and that means traveling. If we lived in a big city, we'd have to leave the children alone while we busked-no matter how good we were, we would still be taking whatever jobs the Guild Minstrels didn't want, and that's pretty precarious living for a family. And the Guild would be only too happy to flaunt their riches in the face of your poverty-then come by and offer you your old position if you just gave all the Free Bard nonsense up.'

She watched him shrewdly to see if he'd guess the rest of that story. 'And of course, that would mean either giving you up, or persuading you to turn yourself into a good little Bard-wife and give up your music.' He shook his head. 'What a recipe for animosity! You know them better than I thought you did.'

She snorted. 'Just figured that if there was a way to make people jealous of each other, and drive a wedge between them, they'd know it. I imagine there's a lot of that going on in the Guild.'

He pondered her original question for a moment, and emptied his mind, waiting to see if an answer would float into the emptiness. He watched the dance of the sunlight on the sparkling waters, flexing and stretching his fingers, and as always, waiting for the tell tale twinges of weather-soreness. His father had suffered terribly from it-

But then his father had also shamelessly overindulged himself in rich food and wine, and seldom stirred from his study and office. That might have had something to do with it.

'There's another way,' he said suddenly, as the image of a Gypsy wagon did, indeed, float into his mind. 'We could join a caravan of Gypsy families; get our own wagon, travel with them, and raise children with theirs. If there