Duty: a novel of Rhynan (5 page)

“Loren.”

This time he laughed. “I shall have to warn Quaren
not to wrong his new wife; a spitfire lurks beneath her serene
surface.”

I watched the play of his laughter cross his face
with fascination. He appeared almost boyish in his mirth. His whole
face eased away from its usual hard lines.

“Tyront deserved it.”

“I am sure he did.” He grew sober again. “Any
associate of Orwin most likely deserved worse.”

“You speak as a man who has had dealings with my
cousin.”

“Orwin lives to torment anyone he can. Of late he
wishes me to incur our new king’s disfavor.”

“Why? No, disregard that question. Orwin needs no
motive.”

“No.” Irvaine’s expression grew serious. “Never
assume an enemy simply hates. He always has a reason to hate.
Illogical or not, he has motivation. Seek out the reason behind the
hate. Understand your enemy. Only then can you truly defeat his
hold over you.”

“Why does Orwin hate you?”

He weighed the question carefully. “As he fell from
favor, I rose. He attempted to win King Mendal’s ear and I stood in
his way. I believe he despises my role, not me, but I am not
certain. Why does he hate you?”

“I was born. If I had not lived, my father would have
accepted him into our household sooner. Growing up, I refused to
submit to his schemes, partake in his cruel games, and stop
undermining his plots.”

“Did you break Orwin’s nose too?”

“No, but I did hit him once. He rammed me into a
fence post, lamed my favorite horse, and then refused to put my
horse out of her misery. I asked him. He laughed in my face.” I
could still hear my mare’s agony, the whinnied screams ripping at
my heart. Her leg, contorted beyond repair, thrashed across the
bloodied grass.

“What did you do?”

I had forgotten Irvaine was there.

“I slapped him, took his knife, and did the deed
myself.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

The forest deepened around us. Trees, some as thick
around as my horse’s girth, arched twisted branches over the path.
Their barren hands darkened the way despite their lack of leaves.
The weak autumn sun cast their lacy shadows over the trail.

“I have a question.” Irvaine guided his horse so
close that our knees almost brushed. “Who used to call you
Red?”

Grief crawled from nowhere and clawed my chest. I
forced the words past my constricted throat. “My father.” The
memory of his vigor for life warmed my middle as the agony of him
being gone ached in counterpoint.

“I am sorry.” He sounded genuinely regretful. “How
long has he been gone?”

“Three years.”

“The pain is still fresh then.”

I wrestled the storm back behind my defenses. “What
about your father?” The question slipped past my lips before I
remembered his illegitimate origins. He probably didn’t know who
his father was.

“My father is well and healthy. I have seven
half-brothers and a half-sister. They don’t know it, of course. No
one knows of our connection.” He turned and pinned me with his
gaze. “I won’t call you Red again.”

Then he heeled his stallion forward, signaling
simultaneously for the crier to approach. After a few moments of
conversation, the crier fell back. I suspected one of his men would
be heading back to the village to investigate Tyront before the
noon meal.

I retreated into my own thoughts, remembering a
happier time when my parents lived, the holdings prospered, and
Orwin was nothing more than a distant annoyance I dealt with once a
year for a week.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Evening fell quickly. As the shadows lengthened and
my limbs protested their long time in the saddle, my anxiety rose.
The men carried nothing that looked like a tent. Kyrenton lay
another two days away. I would be sharing Irvaine’s bedroll
tonight.

Despite his profession of restraint the night before,
I doubted any man would continue that way. To do anything less than
share a bed would demean his manhood before his men and expose me
to scorn. Still the thought of lying within his arms all night
knotted my stomach. Fear and anticipation twisted me with equal
pull.

My fingers sought my eating knife at my waist. Would
I have the strength to use it? Should I use it? I had promised him.
To hold him off would be a denial of that vow. I pulled my hand
from the worn hilt with determination. I honored my vows. Duty
bound me. I must submit. Kurios’ law and my own conscience demanded
it. I groaned.

Irvaine rode with Antano. He listened to the older
man, the tilt of his head betraying his interest. Not that he had
anything to hide among his friends.

Loud voices brought my attention back to Irvaine and
Antano. Irvaine threw his head back and laughed without shame.
Shoving playfully at Antano’s shoulder, Irvaine grinned
broadly.

The crier called for a halt. Men broke formation in
all directions. I guided my mount to a nearby tree and climbed down
next to its trunk.

Pain shot through my thighs. Muscles protested first
at the movement and then the lack. Blood rushing through my limbs
brought a third kind of sensation, prickling agony. My knees
wobbled and threatened to give out. A deep ache spread across my
already sore back. I closed my eyes and concentrated on remaining
upright.
Kurios, please give me strength.

“Need help?”

I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know it was
Irvaine. I gripped the saddle, straightening my back despite its
piercing protest. The horse shifted and I wavered.

His arm encircled my waist and pulled me back against
him.

“I can stand on my own.” I attempted to push his arm
away, but encountered a solid band of muscle.

“Not likely. When was the last time you rode for more
than an hour? You were hurting when we stopped for the noon meal. I
suspect your knees quiver like jelly now.”

I refused to admit my weakness. “At least let me
try.” His solid warmth began to penetrate my cold body. The
refreshing nip of the morning air had long ago lowered into a
biting wind. Part of me yearned to just lean back and let him carry
me. I ached in places I’d never hurt before. “If you hold my elbow,
I am certain I could walk.”

After grunting his disbelief, he slowly released me
so I stood alone. Only the vise grip of his hand on my elbow
connected us. “Take it slow.”

I took a tentative step. My limbs obeyed my command
with screaming protest. Knees feeling like noodles, by some miracle
my balance held.

“Where are we headed?” I scanned the campsite more
closely. Men moved with purpose around us. Some built fires and
others worked on small frames of wood. I blinked. It looked like
they were erecting little tents.

“Over to the left. Jarvin is setting up our tent and
Antano will see to the food.”

“It is good to be a noble.”

“A title has its purposes, yes. Don’t let your
expectations get too high. We will eat the same food as the rest of
them.”

My stomach rumbled. “Most anything would sound good
right now.” Noon seemed so distant.

“Bread, cheese, herbed broth, and mulled wine, lean
fare for now, but by tomorrow morn, we will have meat. Our trackers
find game even in the leanest times.”

“I will be content with whatever we have.”

He settled me on a fur-lined cloak someone spread on
the ground. He left, striding over toward the nearest fire. After
adjusting my legs into the least painful position, I looked around.
I counted twenty tent structures, each barely high enough off the
ground for a grown man to crawl into on hands and knees. One
structure would contain two men lying full length with squeezing.
After the closest tent appeared completed, a series of men
approached it, tossing saddlebags between the flaps.

“What are the tents for usually?” I asked Irvaine
when he returned.

He spread our feast before me, scarred wooden bowls
of steaming liquid, metal tankards smelling strongly of wine and
herbs, hard rolls speckled with bits of green and brown, and two
hunks of cheese. I reached eagerly for a bowl.

“Careful, the pot was bubbling when I filled
them.”

I breathed in the steam, savoring the scent as it
warmed my face. I tested it with a finger and found it too hot.

When I looked up to ask him again about the tents, I
found him watching me. His dark eyes invited me to lose myself in
their depths. I resisted, moving my gaze lower. The choice proved
just as dangerous. His strong mouth, scruffy cheeks, and firm chin
reminded me of the sensation of his kiss. It had only taken one.
Quick, unexpected, and fiery enough to make me wonder what another
would taste like. I shook the thought away.

“So, are any of the others going to be sleeping in a
tent?” I reached for a roll, examining the strange flecks. They
were baked through the bread, not just sprinkled on top.

“It is only parsley, garlic, and pepper.”

I shot a glare at him. “Are you going to answer my
question or is it some state secret?”

He chuckled deep in his chest. “Not many of the men
will sleep in the tents. They prefer the open unless it is raining,
snowing, or blowing. Then we erect a tent for every two men.”

“We will be sleeping in a tent?”

“Yes. I figured you wouldn’t like the whole world to
know we are not acting as other married couples do.”

My cheeks flamed with heat. I bit into half my roll
to hide my embarrassment. A wondrous medley of tastes blossomed on
my tongue.

He laughed again. “Never tasted anything like it,
right?”

“It is so delicious. And fresh.”

“It still tastes good stale, trust me. It is Antano’s
recipe from his travels. He picked up some spices when he spent
time in Ratharia and brought back samples and recipes. When I first
encountered it, I ordered all our waybread be spiced. It makes even
the stalest of rations a bit more palatable.”

He bit into his own roll with vigor. “The broth is
his creation as well.”

“I will make a point to thank him.” I tested my broth
again before drinking. The fragrant liquid soothed my throat and
warmed my middle. “What do you plan to do once we reach
Kyrenton?”

“Assess the situation.” He swallowed a gulp of wine
and explained. “You might as well know, your cousin is a terrible
land manager.”

“I lived with his neglect, remember.”

“True, but even then, I was stunned at the level of
his laziness. The ground is fertile. The clerk’s records indicate
you had more than adequate rain for four years, yet for some reason
the village barely scraped by each winter. I haven’t figured out
why.”

“Orwin.” Anger pressed against my breastbone. “For
the past four years, he and his men came immediately after harvest,
removed a quarter of our provisions, and left. We ate some of the
seed stored for the spring planting to make it through the winter
months. When he took our men with him last spring, I knew the end
would come this year. We didn’t have the seed or the hands to plant
enough crops to make it through the winter.”

He stilled. “What did you plan to do?”

I stared down into my bowl. The broth resembled the
gruel we consumed the last month before the first harvests last
year. Without the supplement of bread and cheese, it provided
inadequate fuel for the hours of labor necessary for bringing in
the harvest. A familiar pinch of hunger came with the memory. “The
only thing I could do. I taught the boys and able women to hunt. We
went out daily. Your arrival came just as we were assigning hunting
rounds for the week.”

“That explains the freshly smoked meat. You would
have driven off the game for miles around by mid-winter.”

I lifted my chin. “We would have lived one more
year.”

After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Who taught
you to hunt?”

Unexpected emotion choked me. “My father.”

“Because Orwin wasn’t interested?”

“No.” Memories of my father’s hands guiding my
ten-year-old fingers into position on the bow almost brought tears
to my eyes, but I willed them not to fall. “’Every woman should
know how to fight and hunt. Men are not invincible.’”

“Was this before or after Orwin entered your
household?”

I choked on my cheese. Coughing violently, I gasped
for breath. He whacked my back abruptly, jolting the bit free. It
flew into the grass beyond the cloak.

“Are you alright?” He rubbed my back infusing warmth
and tension with each stroke.

I nodded, blinking away tears, not all brought on
from choking. “It was after Orwin came to live with us.”

“Your father was a wise man.”

“He had no other choice. Orwin became his heir by
law. My mother could bear no more children. She was young enough,
but after seven stillbirths neither of my parents possessed the
heart to try again.”

“I don’t blame your father, Brielle. He did the best
he could by you. You are a strong, wise woman, a worthy wife for
any man.”

“I fight, figure numbers, and hunt. I don’t dance or
flirt. I am not a noble’s wife.”

“I am not a noble.” The tone in his voice sent
shivers along my spine. I didn’t dare glance his way.

“My lord?” Jarvin’s voice came to my rescue.

“Yes?”

“There is a disagreement over the watch rotation and
the men request your guidance.”

“I will join you in the tent, Brielle.” Irvaine rose
and strode off.

“Let me clear the meal, my lady, and then I will
guide you to your tent.”

“Just point me in the right direction.”

He indicated the tent and cleared away the bowls and
tankards. I waited until he had turned away before beginning the
painful process of gaining my feet. My thighs protested every
movement. With great relief, I crawled into the tent and sank to
the fur covered ground. Pulling the thick blanket over me, I curled
up and fell instantly asleep.