they lay in the broad bed Bress had fashioned for a wedding gift.
Rolling to her stomach she leaned on his chest, her long hair feeling like silk upon his massive shoulder. “Of course you are not insane, my love,” she assured him. “You are one of the gentlest men I’ve known.”
“That’s not how they see me,” he told her, reaching up and stroking her hair.
“I know. It was wrong of you to break Alarin’s jaw. They were just words - and it matters not a whit if he meant them unpleasantly. They were just noises, blowing into the air.”
Easing her from him, Druss sat up. “It is not that easy, Rowena. The man had been goading me for weeks. He wanted that fight - because he wanted to humble me. But he did not. No man ever will.” She shivered beside him. “Are you cold?” he asked, drawing her into his embrace.
“Deathwalker,” she whispered.
“What? What did you say?”
Her eyelids fluttered. She smiled and kissed his cheek. “It doesn’t matter. Let us forget Alarin, and enjoy each other’s company.”
“I’ll always enjoy your company,” he said. “I love you.”
Rowena’s dreams were dark and brooding and the following day, at the riverside, she could not force the images from her mind. Druss, dressed in black and silver and bearing a mighty axe, stood upon a hillside. From the axe-blades came a great host of souls, flowing like smoke around their grim killer. Death-walker! The vision had been powerful. Squeezing the last of the water from the shirt she was washing, she laid it over a flat rock alongside the drying blankets and the scrubbed woollen dress. Stretching her back, she rose from the water’s edge and walked to the tree line where she sat, her right hand closing on the brooch Druss had fashioned for her in his father’s workshop - soft copper strands entwined around a moonstone, misty and translucent. As her fingers touched the stone her eyes closed and her mind cleared. She saw Druss sitting alone by the high stream.
“I am with you,” she whispered. But he could not hear her and she sighed.
No one in the village knew of her Talent, for her father, Voren, had impressed upon her the need for secrecy. Only last year four women in Drenan had been convicted of sorcery and burnt alive by the priests of Missael. Voren was a careful man. He had brought Rowena to this remote village, far from Drenan, because, as he told her, “Secrets cannot live quietly among a multitude. Cities are full of prying eyes and attentive ears, vengeful minds and malevolent thoughts. You will be safer in the mountains.”
And he had made her promise to tell no one of her skills. Not even Druss. Rowena regretted that promise as she gazed with the eyes of Spirit upon her husband. She could see no harshness in his blunt, flat features, no swirling storm-clouds in those grey-blue eyes, no hint of sullenness in the flat lines of his mouth. He was Druss - and she loved him. With a certainty born of her Talent she knew she would love no other man as she loved Druss. And she knew why… he needed her. She had gazed through the window of his soul and had found there a warmth and a purity, an island of tranquillity set in a sea of roaring violent emotions. While she was with him Druss was tender, his turbulent spirit at peace. In her company he smiled. Perhaps, she thought, with my help I can keep him at peace. Perhaps the grim killer will never know life.
“Dreaming again, Ro,” said Mari, moving to sit alongside Rowena. The young woman opened her eyes and smiled at her friend. Mari was short and plump, with honey-coloured hair and a bright, open smile.
“I was thinking of Druss,” said Rowena.
Mari nodded and looked away and Rowena could feel her concern. For weeks her friend had tried to dissuade her from marrying Druss, adding her arguments to those of Voren and others.
“Will Pilan be your partner at the Solstice Dance?” asked Rowena, changing the subject.
Mari’s mood changed abruptly, and she giggled. “Yes. But he doesn’t know yet.”
“When will he find out?”
“Tonight.” Mari lowered her voice, though there was no one else within earshot. “We’re meeting in the lower meadow.”
“Be careful,” warned Rowena.
“Is that the advice of the old married woman? Didn’t you and Druss make love before you were wed?”
“Yes, we did,” Rowena admitted, “but Druss had already made his pledge before the Oak. Pilan hasn’t.”
“Just words, Ro. I don’t need them. Oh, I know Pilan’s been flirting with Tailia, but she’s not for him. No passion, you see. All she thinks about is wealth. She doesn’t want to stay in the wilderness, she yearns for Drenan. She’ll not want to keep a mountain man warm at night, nor make the beast with two backs in a wet meadow, with the grass tickling her…”
“Mari! You really are too frank,” admonished Rowena.
Mari giggled and leaned in close. “Is Druss a good lover?”
Rowena sighed, all tension and sadness disappearing. “Oh, Mari! Why is it that you can talk about forbidden subjects and make them seem so…so wonderfully ordinary? You are like the sunshine that follows rain.”
“They’re not forbidden here, Ro. That’s the trouble with girls born in cities and surrounded by stone walls and marble, and granite. You don’t feel the earth any more. Why did you come here?”
“You know why,” said Rowena uneasily. “Father wanted a life in the mountains.”
“I know that’s what you’ve always said - but I never believed it. You’re a terrible liar - your face goes red and you always look away!”
“I… can’t tell you. I made a promise.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Mari. “I love mysteries. Is he a criminal? He was a book-keeper, wasn’t he? Did he steal some rich man’s money?”
“No! It was nothing to do with him. It was me! Don’t ask me any more. Please?”
