“He is skilled with the sword, then?”
I ask the question but already know the answer.
When the queen, who was none too happy to learn of her husband’s affair with one of her own ladies in waiting, insisted Aldwine’s mother and the babe leave d’Almerita, the king reluctantly agreed. But he made provisions for the safety of the mother and son, hiring the most skilled swordsman of his day, a mercenary with a highly regarded reputation in both kingdoms to bring them to Murwood End.
Galfrid was pleased to learn of the marriage between his former lover and the mercenary, even more so because the man had returned the trunk of gold coin he’d been paid to escort her to Murwood End. Throughout the years, Galfrid sent men to Murwood End to check on the boy, now a man.
The boy was well cared for . . . until his father died in battle and his mother succumbed to the same sleeping illness that took my own parents. Though many healers claimed to know cures for the mysterious illness, every few years it seemed to sweep through Meria, tiring its victims, who then succumb to the longest sleep. Some are hardy on Sun’s Day and dead by Wooden’s Day. As it had been with both my mother and father.
“More skilled than any,” Agnar says, snapping my attention back to him. “I’d give a goat’s head to see you fight.”
“No goat’s head will be necessary. I look forward to honing my skills with any worthy opponent, yourself included.”
Agnar grunts something that sounds like “thank ye,” though I cannot be sure.
Remembering our first meeting, I ask a question that should probably be off-limits.
“Tell me of the blacksmith’s daughter.”
The good graces I’d gained with Agnar ebb away quickly. His look of displeasure is swift. But my need to know more about her overpowers my wish not to offend this man, even if he is of fine character and a decent swordsman.
“She’s spoken for.”
Mistrustful by nature, I don’t believe him. But the tug in my chest at his words is unmistakable.
“Oh? She didn’t mention it.”
“You’ve spoken with her again?”
“Aye.” I offer no more than that. “She is betrothed, then?” Another grunt. So I try a different question. “’Tis odd for me to see a Garra practice so openly. In Meria, they hide in the shadows.”
Agnar shrugs. “Southerners have many strange customs.”
“So there are none here who speak against it?”
“Her father, though he’s too fond of her to put up much of a fuss. The Elderman, when he comes. None other.”
“The Elderman?”
Agnar sheathes his sword and peers around the building, as if looking for someone. Perhaps he just wishes for an excuse to end our talk.
“Father Beald. His mission, to bring a church to Murwood, brings him to our shores a few times every year. They say he came this morning on The Talisman.”
Something about the way he says it makes me think I should pay a visit to this Elderman. Clearly, he is a threat to Aedre. Which makes him a threat to me.
She needs no protection, but I will give it anyway.
“And her father?”
I should not have gone to him this morn, but I wanted to meet the man for myself.
“Fears for her.” Another shrug. “Her grandmother no longer serves Murwood, but she has treated many here, parents and grandparents of the Voyagers. I did not know Aedre’s mother, but they say she was quite a woman, like Lady Edrys. None would think to disparage her, or her granddaughter. But our ports bring in outsiders who know nothing of her history.”
As if realizing he’s said too much, Agnar abruptly stops talking. “Aedre is spoken for,” he says again, more firmly this time. “Her father can handle a sword as well.”
I’m undaunted by the unsubtle threat. If anything, I am more curious than before, both about this Elderman and Agnar’s claim that she is taken.
Though if she is spoken for, it matters naught to me.
A woman such as Aedre, who clearly despises me, has no place in my world. My duty is to the king, the man who saved me and whose protection I’ve devoted my life to because of it.
Chapter Eleven Aedre
Last eve, we agreed to meet at the same time, in the same place. I felt restless today, however, and I left before the shadows indicated it was time. No matter. This place, close to the village but distant enough to see few visitors, is one I’ve come to since childhood.
Amma and I sat on this very rock. This is where she told me of the natural powers of the stones that can be found along the shoreline. How healing could be conferred to the body by their power alone. And then, at night, looking up to the stars, she explained how their arrangement in the sky determined which plants to pick at various times.
With the arrival of a physician who came from Midenear, an island north of Murwood, Amma and I were free to practice the traditional healing arts of the Garra, focusing on ailments affecting the heart. From difficulty conceiving a child to stimulating lust for sexual intercourse.
I watch the water crash against the Cliffs of Murh to my left, remembering when Amma deemed me of age to treat such problems. Very much against my father’s wishes, she’d long ago explained sexual intercourse, its importance unequivocal for the furthering of our people.
My smile deepens as I remember their argument, Father explaining he understood the merits of the Garra’s duty, having married one. He just did not believe his daughter should be learning such things.
“You are quite beautiful when you smile.”
Startled, I sit up straighter and offer Vanni a frown.
“How did you arrive here so quietly?”
This is the first time I’ve seen him without armor. Not even a padded gambeson. He wears just breeches and a loose cream shirt, wide open at the neck. Although
