A Brother's Price (3 page)

‘‘Heria heard riders in the woods. Poachers or raiders. She went down to the creek—’’

‘‘Heria heard something,’’ Corelle snickered. ‘‘She heard the wind, or a herd of deer, or nothing.’’

‘‘Well, then you won’t mind that ‘nothing’ is taking up your bed, Corelle. The Queens Justice should be here soon to deal with that ‘nothing.’ They might escort the

‘nothing’ back to the garrison, or perhaps, ‘nothing’ will stay in your bed, being that she hasn’t spoken since I carried her home half dead from the creek where her attackers left her to drown.’’

They gaped at him. Then Corelle reached in the opening to unlatch the bottom half of the door, pulled it open, and pushed past him to rush upstairs. Kira and Eva followed her without a word to him, as rudely intent as Corelle.

‘‘I’m sorry, Jerin,’’ Summer said before hurrying after them, tagging along as usual, unable to find the will to break free to stand on her own. ‘‘I should have stayed.’’

But still she followed to leave him alone in the kitchen.

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Jerin checked to make sure the goose wasn’t burning, then went up to the man’s wing of the house. He sat on his wedding chest to take off his damp boots, and stripped out of his wet, muddy clothes. There! His middle sisters were home, and Queens Justice would arrive soon, settling everything for good. All that remained was the possibility of marriage to the Brindles.

Oh, he hated the thought of marrying the Brindles!

He hated everything about them, even their farm. Poorly made with no future expansion in mind, their farmhouse was already crowded and in desperate need of repair and additions. The Brindles proudly pointed out new barns and outbuildings, but no thought had gone into their locations. None of the barns sat west of the house, to act as a windbreak to driving snow and freezing wind. None of the outbuildings abutted; thus there was no enclosed and sheltered play yard. The pigpens sat upwind and close to the house. Sturdy oaks that would have shaded off the summer sun had been cut down to make room for rickety chicken coops. Softwood maples and poplars now grew too close to the house, threatening to take out part of the roof with every storm. And everything, everywhere, from the weed-choked garden to the sticky kitchen floor, showed signs that the Brindles had a tendency toward sloth. The problems with the farm could be solved—maybe. He might be able to push them into changing their farm to suit him. But the fact would remain that the Brindles themselves were ugly, brutish, and three times more in number than he ever wanted to marry. He didn’t know where his seven elder sisters stood in the matter; they had stayed closemouthed on the subject, which he took as a sign of disapproval. Had he read them wrong? Did Corelle stand as a weathercock for their older sisters’ minds? Certainly the swap of brothers would tie them close to their next-door neighbors, putting cousins on their doorstep instead of strangers.
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Jerin shuddered and clung to the knowledge that at least Summer opposed the marriage with good, solid points. If Summer did, then perhaps also Eva, who usually echoed Summer’s desire—but also her inability to stand against Corelle’s will. Likewise, though, Kira followed Corelle’s lead almost blindly. Two for, two against, if Summer and Eva had the courage to stand against Corelle. Too bad Heria would not be old enough for a say in the marriage; she disliked the Brindles. If the seven elder sisters all opposed the swap, they outweighed the middle sisters completely. If they too were in disagreement, he didn’t want to even consider the way the vote might fall.

He didn’t want to marry the Brindles! If such things were strictly up to his mothers, then he knew his desire would be considered first. In the matter of husbands, though, their mothers bowed to the women who would actually bed the man.

Jerin dressed and picked up his muddy clothes to rinse them clean before the dirt could set. He would have to keep hoping things would work out the way he wished. To be disheartened—when his older sisters might all agree with him—was silly.

Blush’s voice suddenly rose from the front door in shrill panic.

‘‘Riders coming in!’’ Blush screamed. ‘‘Corelle! Summer! Eva! Riders are coming!’’

Jerin ran to his dormer window and looked out. A dozen of riders, maybe more, were coming across the pasture from the creek bottom. The Queens Justice would come from the other direction, from out across the grain fields.

The riders stopped in the apple orchard, out of volley range. Some of the riders split off from the main group and circled the house, checking the barns and outbuildings. Their horses were fine, showy specimens, well cared for but ridden hard. Like that of the wounded soldier’s, their saddles and bridles gleamed with polish and bits of
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silver. Blonde-, black-, brown-, and red-haired, the riders lacked the unity of sisters. Somewhat comforting was the fact that half of them wore uniforms of the Queens Army—but then again, Jerin’s grandmas had been soldiers when they kidnapped his grandfather. The riders converged under the apple trees again, discussed what they found and started for the house. When they reached optimal volley range, there was a clatter of rifles being slid through the slits in the shutters.

‘‘That’s far enough!’’ Corelle’s voice shouted from the dining room window. ‘‘We’ve summoned Queens Justice and they will be arriving soon. We suggest you move on.’’

A black-haired woman on a huge black horse shouted back. ‘‘In the name of the Queens, we ask for a parley like civilized women, not this screaming at one another through walls.’’

There was a whispered discussion in the dining room as the middle sisters conferred. Corelle suddenly ran back into the kitchen, unlatched the bottom half of the back door, and ducked out, snapping, ‘‘Lock it behind me’’ to Kettie. A moment later Corelle trotted around the corner of the house, rifle in hand, looking tall, cool, and unafraid.

For the first time in months, Jerin loved her and almost wept at the sight of her outside, alone, in front of the armed soldiers.

‘‘So we talk,’’ Corelle stated.

‘‘I’m Captain Raven Tern,’’ said the black-haired woman.

‘‘Corelle Whistler. This is the Whistlers’ farm. You’re trespassing. We will defend our property and the lives of our younger sisters.’’

‘‘You have a roan mare in your stables that doesn’t belong to you.’’ Captain Tern motioned to the horse barn. Heria must have put the roan in the first stall, making the mare visible from the barnyard. ‘‘It belonged to a red-haired woman. Where is she?’’

Corelle gave them a cold stare, then finally admitted,
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‘‘We found the woman down in the creek, beaten and nearly drowned. We brought her home, as the law states we should, and gave her comfort. We’ve sent for Queens Justice. They will deal with the matter.’’

There was a shift in the group—shoulders straightening, heads lifting, flashes of smiles—as if the news was good, as if they had expected the soldier to be dead and didn’t want to hear that unpleasant report.

‘‘She’s alive?’’ Captain Tern asked, her voice less harsh.

Corelle considered for a moment, then nodded slowly.

‘‘She is alive and, from time to time, awake, but has taken a blow to the head that has left her disoriented. We don’t know who attacked her. We don’t want trouble. We have children here to protect.’’

Tern gave a slight laugh. ‘‘You’re not much more than a child yourself. Where are your mothers? Don’t you have any elder sisters?’’

Corelle clenched her jaw, not wanting to answer, but the truth was too obvious to deny. If there were any older women in the house, they would be out talking to the strangers. ‘‘Our mothers and elder sisters are not here. They will be back shortly.’’

One of the riders in the back, wearing a broadbrimmed hat, pushed forward. The young woman stopped even with the captain, and swept off her hat. The setting sun glittered on her flame red hair, red as the soldier’s hair.

‘‘Do you know who you’ve saved today?’’ the woman asked.

Corelle shook her head. ‘‘The woman hasn’t spoken yet, hasn’t given her name.’’

‘‘She is Princess Odelia, third oldest daughter of the Queens.’’

Corelle took a step back. ‘‘I suppose,’’ she said faintly,

‘‘that makes you a princess?’’

‘‘Yes, it does. I’m Princess Rennsellaer.’’

Princess Rennsellaer, current Eldest of the Queens’

daughters, sat in the shade of the apple orchard, secretly glad for the chance to relax her nerves. She had been growing more and more sure that she’d find her sister Odelia dead, and that she would have to return home and tell her mothers that not only had the long-awaited cast-iron cannons been stolen, but another of their daughters had been killed.

The worst came when the peaceful-looking farmhouse suddenly bristled with rifle barrels, and it seemed that she and her guard had ridden into a trap. Their fears had quickly been allayed by the shouted challenge—the house held nothing more than frightened farmers defending their own—but the close call rattled her. She was unnerved enough to wait, as the farmers asked, for Queens Justice to arrive and act as trusted go-betweens. In the course of a few hours, the stolen cannons had moved from all-important to trivial, losing priority to Odelia’s safe return. Cannons could be replaced; her sister could not. What surprised Ren was that the captain of her guard, Raven Tern, had not fought the delay.

She said as much to her captain. ‘‘I’m amazed you agreed to this. We could be waiting on the Queens Justice for hours. I thought you would want to push your way in, get Odelia, and get on with finding the cannons.’’

Raven made a fist and tapped the sword tattoo on the
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back of her hand. ‘‘Didn’t you notice the Order of the Sword mark on the girl, Ren? Crib father initials under the pommel, and on either side of the hilt, makes three generations of career soldiers. A family of line soldiers earning stud services from the military cribs wouldn’t be able to afford this farm; it probably was a land grant for valiant service. A reward for loyalty proved by fire. Short of the local garrison, this is probably the safest place for Odelia to hole up in.’’

‘‘Why not bully them into turning Odelia over?’’

‘‘The girl we parleyed with was, what—seventeen?—

and scared silly. If she’s the oldest one in the house, then those twenty rifles are in the hands of frightened children. Frankly, I’d rather not have to execute an eight-year-old because she shot you by accident.’’

‘‘The family might have been soldiers, Raven, but they’re farmers now.’’

Raven

shook

her

head.

‘‘We’re

talking

thirdgeneration soldiers. They’re like a different species by that stage, and all they know is training their daughters to fight alongside of them. Every girl in that house probably got a toy gun as a teething present, and a real gun at the age of eight. Every window is shuttered and barred. The doors are reinforced and barred. The house probably has food enough to last a siege, and access to fresh water. You could throw a hundred soldiers against those twenty children and lose.’’

Ren eyed the house in question. Mostly stone, with a slate roof, it looked like a fortress. Flowers grew around the footing, softening the impression, but she noticed for the first time the lack of bushes near the house. The trees were in full summer foliage, yet the house remained unscreened, allowing a view for miles in three directions. West of the house were barns and outbuildings, checking winter winds. None of the buildings touched the house directly—they could be set fire to and not take the house with them. A cupola, she noticed now, on the highest peak of the house, looked over the
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barn roofs to the west. A dark line of a rifle barrel showed that even the cupola was guarded. In this remarkable house, instead of lying dead in woods, her charmed younger sister found refuge. It figured.

Ren laughed aloud as it occurred to her how typical the event was of Odelia’s life. ‘‘Odelia always had the luck of a cat. A countryside full of sheep-witted farmers, and she finds a veritable fortress to land in.’’

‘‘I see you’ve stopped worrying about her.’’

‘‘Currently she seems safer than me. That is, if these farmers weren’t part of stealing the cannons.’’

‘‘Doubt it,’’ Raven said after considering it for a while.

‘‘Locals might have run the barge aground—sandbars change overnight—but they wouldn’t have left it there for us to find. The barge was left because it couldn’t be moved. What with the draft horses in the barn and twenty little sisters, this family could have pulled the barge free. Whoever is riding herd on those cannons, they’re scrambling right now.’’

‘‘The attack on Odelia was a distraction.’’

‘‘Most certainly,’’ Raven said. ‘‘A handful split off to keep us busy so the rest could deal with the cannons and small arms.’’

Ren cursed softly; they had been so close to catching the thieves. ‘‘Damn Odelia. Why’d she have to go off alone?’’

‘‘She wouldn’t be Odelia if she had a lick of common sense.’’

‘‘Riders!’’ came a call from a sentry. They turned and watched the troop of Queens Justice ride up. The leader was a graying, trim woman with a crooked nose. She blinked in surprise at the royal presence, then flashed a snaggletoothed grin at the princess and her captain.

‘‘Lieutenant Bounder, at your service, Highness. Heria Whistler came to fetch us, saying that a soldier had been left to drown in their creek. One of yours, I take it?’’

‘‘My sister Princess Odelia.’’

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Bounder blanched. ‘‘Mothers above, is she all right?’’

‘‘She’s in there.’’ Ren waved toward the imposing farmhouse. ‘‘They wouldn’t let us in until you arrived.’’

Bounder laughed. ‘‘Sounds like them, making royalty stew like a neighboring farmer. Glad to see you had sense to wait for us. You have to cat-foot around the Whistlers.’’

‘‘They’re trouble?’’ Raven asked.

‘‘Oh, not trouble, just dangerous to corner,’’ Bounder said. ‘‘At the local fairs, the Whistlers don’t start the trouble, but they always end it. No nonsense, just pow, and lay the other girls out flat. You’d think the farmers around here would learn, but every year it seems one of them has to be taught what it’s like to cross someone trained to fight.’’

‘‘I didn’t know farmers were so quarrelsome,’’ Raven murmured.

‘‘It’s all on account of the men,’’ Bounder said.

‘‘Pardon?’’ Ren was sure she misheard. Men fighting?

‘‘The Whistlers’ menfolk.’’ Bounder grinned and clucked her tongue suggestively. ‘‘The Whistlers trot them out at social events and women fall over themselves to get near them. But the Whistlers don’t share them out, and sooner or later, someone won’t take no as an answer.’’

Raven glanced uphill, eyes narrowed in speculation.

‘‘Their mothers are away and they’ve got men to protect.’’

Bounder nodded. ‘‘Like I said, I’m glad you waited.’’

With Queens Justice on hand, the rifles were put up, the windows unshuttered, the doors unlocked, and the visitors invited in to check on the sleeping princess. Inside, the house had the same military stamp: clean, neat, uncluttered, and orderly. The smell of roasting goose filled the house. There were only four teenage sisters; the rest were tiny, giggling girls that ducked shyly out of rooms and behind cover whenever looked at di-
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rectly. Over the mantel, though, was an impressive array of medals. Death for Country. Queens Medal of Honor. Queen Elder Cross of Victory. Queens Order of Knights!

Raven had paused with Ren to look at the medals, and aahed at the Order of Knights. ‘‘
Those
Whistlers.’’

‘‘You know of them?’’

‘‘Aye. Famous, infamous Whistlers,’’ Raven murmured quietly, then glanced at a doorway, sending a giggling host of girls into hiding. The sister called Corelle reappeared to lead them upstairs. ‘‘I’ll explain later.’’

Ren sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly frightened for her sister over again. Odelia lay so still and pale on the farmer’s narrow bed, oblivious to Ren’s presence. When a hand on Odelia’s shoulder failed to wake her, fear and despair mounted in Ren’s chest. ‘‘Odelia?’’

Odelia sighed deeply. ‘‘Rats.’’

‘‘Rats?’’ Ren blinked in surprise and relief.

‘‘I’ve been playing sick for hours hoping they’ll let him come back.’’ Odelia opened her eyes and sighed again. ‘‘And now you’re here.’’

‘‘Him? I’m frightened for your life, and you’re ogling farmers’ husbands?’’

‘‘Oh, he was too young to be a husband.’’ Odelia sat up in bed—then looked concerned. Clasping her hand over her mouth, she fought a battle to keep from vomiting, then—carefully—lay back on the pillows Ren propped up behind her. ‘‘Okay, I wasn’t totally playing,’’

Odelia admitted quietly. ‘‘But he was very, very handsome.’’

‘‘Lieutenant Bounder said the Whistlers had handsome menfolk, but I assumed that was compared to the farming standard.’’

‘‘Look at the sisters, Ren. Then think of a man along those lines with hair all down his back instead of a military crop.’’

Ren recalled the oldest sister. The girl had been strik-
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ing enough to remember despite the day’s flood of stressful events: clear pale skin, black hair, large blue eyes, and a full mouth. Ren snorted at the woolgathering, dismayed that Odelia managed to lead her so astray from important issues. For the sake of the country, it was good that Odelia was not the oldest. Her charmed life left her seeing things slightly skewed.

‘‘Odelia, I can’t believe you were beaten half to death, left to drown, and all you’re concerned about is the handsome son of poor landed gentry.’’

‘‘I’m still alive. The bruises will heal. Why dwell on the past? The future holds the chance to steal a kiss or two from the prettiest man I’ve seen my whole life.’’

‘‘Because whoever tried to kill you is still out there, you’re weak as a kitten, it’s an hour’s ride to the garrison protected by the Queens Justice, and the cannons are still missing.’’

‘‘So I stay here, while you look for the cannons.’’ Odelia’s face went soft with apparently dreamy thoughts.

‘‘Maybe he’ll come check on the poor unconscious princess.’’ She slipped back down in the bed, pushing away the pillows. ‘‘Don’t tell them I woke up.’’

‘‘You’re hopeless.’’ Ren had been stifling the urge to take up a pillow and hit her sister. In moving about, though, the sleeves of Odelia’s nightshirt slipped up past her elbows. Ren found herself staring at the large black bruises marking Odelia’s forearms where she had apparently fended off killing blows. Odelia’s attackers almost killed her, would have surely if they had not thought the water would finish their work. If they had stopped to administer a sounder beating, used a sword instead of a truncheon, used a pistol—

Ren shuddered at the thought. To owe her sister’s life to the sloppiness of cruel strangers and the lucky clear thinking of the daughters of farmers! So instead of hitting Odelia with pillows, Ren tucked her sister into the borrowed bed.

*

*

*

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Raven leaned against the wall in the hall. ‘‘I heard you two talking. She’s awake? How is she?’’

Ren shut the door quietly. ‘‘Scheming to steal kisses from the farmers’ beautiful son.’’

Raven shook her head. ‘‘That sounds like Odelia.’’

‘‘She won’t be able to ride to the garrison. It would make her happy to stay here. It would allow her to continue her schemes.’’

‘‘It would make me happy to stay here,’’ Raven stated.

‘‘With the Queens Justice looking for the cannons and Odelia’s attackers, this place is safer than the local garrison. Apparently the lieutenant’s predecessor allowed the town to grow up to the walls of the garrison, replaced a stone wall with a wood one—to cut cost—and so forth. All in all, it would be like guarding lambs in a brush lot.’’

‘‘And the famous, infamous Whistlers? Are they safe?’’

‘‘They seem to have smoothed around the edges from the last I’d heard of them.’’

‘‘And what have you heard of them?’’

Raven smiled at Ren’s impatient tone. ‘‘The grandmother Elder, or maybe the great-grandmother Elder of this lot, did something that got herself executed, her sisters cashiered, and their daughters blacklisted. To keep the family alive, the Eldest bullied the Sisterhood of the Night to take her and her sisters in.’’

‘‘The thieves’ guild? Bullied?’’

‘‘Aye, had the family switched into training as thieves. They were better than most, being already trained to work together under fire and fight well enough to break free if caught. Well, the War of the False Eldest started, and things were going badly. The False Eldest knew our defenses and we knew nothing of Tastledae. We sent in scouts, but they were all caught and executed. Then, somehow, Wellsbury picked up the Whistler girls.’’

‘‘Soldiers trained as thieves, or thieves trained as soldiers.’’

Raven nodded. ‘‘They were a motley crew, all born
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to the Order of the Sword, so each had a different father, and different grandfather more often than not. They fought like wildcats with everyone and everything. They lied, they stole, they ignored orders, and they won the war. Wellsbury started them with spying, but expanded that to wreaking general mayhem behind enemy lines. There had been thirty of them to start, only about ten survived the war, and they cashed out after being knighted.’’

Ren looked at the well-ordered home. ‘‘Their grandfather and father must have had strong character to turn a motley crew of spies into this well-run army.’’

Raven nodded in agreement. ‘‘I’ve heard so many women go on about wanting a biddable husband, but I’d rather have a strong-willed man who can keep your children in line. Weak husbands make spoiled children.’’

Ren leaned against the wall, rubbing at the bridge of her nose, weighing the few options available. ‘‘Okay, Odelia stays. I want to send a report downriver to let our mothers know she’s safe and that we might miss the opening of Summer Court. Trini will have to preside as Elder Judge. See what the Whistlers have in the way of riding horses. After I’m done with my report, I want to head out.’’

Raven shook her head. ‘‘It’s dusk, Ren, we’re dead tired, in a strange land, and they’ve had one go at a royal princess today already. Let Bounder search for the cannons. Or do you really want Odelia to be Eldest?’’