Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (43 page)

 
          
"I
come from this stock," he muttered. "I had best get used to it."

 
          
Why
? Teel asked.
Are you planning to live here
?

 
          
Aidan
laughed.
Not if I can help it
. He
paused, looking around.
How do I find the
road to the castle
?

 
          
Easier done from up here.

 
          
Aidan
glanced up. Teel, in a flock of seabirds, was black against cream and white.
Where do I go
? he asked.
Your view is better than mine
.

 
          
Teel
agreed benignly.
You might try going up
.

 
          
Aye, but I meant which road
—Aidan
grinned, comprehending.
Aye, lir "up
."

 
          
He
went up, and up again, reveling in
lir
-shape
and the ability to fly. He might have stayed an hour or two longer, drifting
about the fortress, but it made no sense to do so when his business was within.
Regretfully, Aidan took back his human shape at the head of the cliff path, and
walked the rest of the way across dampened ruts to the massive gates of Kilore.

 
          
Unlike
Hart's castle, Sean's was properly guarded. Aidan was required to show his
signet as proof of identity, then was taken at once through the baileys into
the fortress itself. Dark stone was wind-scoured smooth, even on the corners,
giving the blocky fortress a soft, rounded appearance Aidan knew was deceptive.
No one had ever taken Kilore. The fortress was unbreechable, perched on its
clifftop aerie all warded about with stone. The walls were spiked with iron.

 
          
A
servant escorted him to a private chamber and gave him leave to enter. Aidan at
first thought it odd that he would be so summarily sent in to face his aunt and
the lord of Erinn—Liam, Aidan's grandfather, had died four years before—but the
servant merely smiled and opened the door. Aidan stepped in.

 
          
A
man stood just inside of the door. His broad back was to Aidan; he leaned on a
longsword, nodding from time to time. As he heard the door shut he glanced back
briefly, showing a strong-featured face, then returned his attention to the
other occupants.

 
          
It
was a practice chamber, Aidan saw in surprise. Not the private chambers of a
lord and his lady, but a chamber reserved for learning the use of weapons.
Racks filled the walls, full of swords, spears, pikes, halberds and other
deadly things. The room itself was plain, with no illumination save for torch
brackets set high in the walls, spilling light into the chamber. On steel, it
ran like water.

 
          
Two
people sparred in the chamber, scuffing across smooth stone. Aidan paid them
little notice as he quietly shut the door, then stepped up next to the man just
before him and made the mental adjustment to change languages. He had learned
his Erinnish from Aileen and Deirdre and spoke it passingly well, but with a
Homanan accent.

 
          
"My
lord?" he began diffidently.

 
          
The
other barely glanced at him. "A moment," he said briefly.
"They'll be done soon enough."

 
          
Aidan
looked. A man and a woman. To himself, he smiled: he knew without even asking
who the woman was. Only Keely knew the sword, and was so steadfast in its art.

 
          
But
nothing in their sparring led him to believe she and her teacher would be done
any time soon. They seemed well matched, and neither in any hurry to end the
bout. They led one another into traps, parried expertly, patiently began again.
Faces were flushed and breathing was loud, but both were obviously supremely
fit and not in the least winded.

 
          
This might last all day…
Except the man
at his side—Sean, he assumed—had said it was nearly done. Aidan glanced
sideways at the big man by his side. "How can you tell?"

 
          
The
other smiled. "I'm the sword-master. I'm supposed to be knowing these
things."

 
          
Surprise
stole diffidence. "
You
are the
sword-master?"

 
          
The
man grinned, showing a gap in one side of his upper teeth; an eyetooth was
missing. "Aye. Did you think I was the lord?"

 
          
Aidan
slanted him a glance. No, now that he knew better. He was too rough, too worn
for lordship. And certainly too old; Sean was, he knew, closer to fifty than to
forty. This man was older yet.

 
          
Intently,
he glanced back at the couple. "Then
that
,
I take it, is Sean."

 
          
"Aye.
And yon woman the lady." The sword-master grinned. "If he's not
careful, she'll have him. And then we'll be hearing all about it for at least a
seven-day."

 
          
"He's
too big," Aidan protested instantly, with no prick of reproval for
discounting Keely so quickly. "
Much
too big—how could a woman beat him?"

 
          
The
older man cast Aidan a considering glance. "You're not from Erinn, lad, in
spite of your Erinnish—or you'd be knowing the answer."

 
          
It
stung. "I am
of
Erinn. That
woman is my aunt—your lord is my uncle."

 
          
The
sword-master grunted. "The House is a large one… I'm not knowing which one
you are."

 
          
Aidan
blinked. "Homana," he answered. "Grandson to the Mujhar."

 
          
It
earned him another glance, but this one was equally unimpressed. "There's
another of those here."

 
          
Aye,
so there was: Keely's son, Riordan, if Aidan recalled correctly. "Aye, but—"
He broke off, staring. "She
will
beat him!"

 
          
"Aye.
She has before." The sword-master grinned. " 'Twill be a noisy
meal."

 
          
Aidan
was astonished. He had heard of Sean's legendary size and prowess from his
mother and others. He had expected to find Sean smaller in fact, since stories
were often wrong, but this time it was the truth. Sean of Erinn was a very
large man of very obvious strength… and yet Keely was beating him.

 
          
Until
Sean hooked her foot and dropped her like a stone.

 
          
"You
ku'reshtin
!" She glared up at
him from the floor. "It was to be a true bout, not a wrestling
match!"

 
          
Sean
grinned down at her. "I wanted to win, lass. To do it, I'll be doing
whatever I must. So will any man with a bit of a brain in his head."

 
          
"
Ku'reshtin
," she muttered, more
quietly. She hitched herself up on elbows, wincing elaborately. "I would
have had you, and you know it."

 
          
"I
know it," Sean agreed cheerfully, leaning on his sword. "Why d'ye
think I cheated?"

 
          
"A
Cheysuli would never have done—"

 
          
"A
Cheysuli most likely wouldn't have a sword in his hand in the first
place." Sean reached down. "Here, lass, catch hold—I'll not leave you
on the floor."

 
          
"But
you'll
throw
me there." Keely
caught his hand and let him pull her up. She wore snug Cheysuli leathers and
soft, supple boots mostly suited for household use. Blond hair was braided back
from a face no longer young, but striking for its spirit. She was tall,
slender, fit. She was also past forty, but age sat lightly on her. She moved
like a young woman as she bent to pick up the fallen sword. "So," she
said, "you win. Next time will be different."

 
          
"
'Twill always be different—next time." Sean cast a glance at Aidan, thick
eyebrows sliding up beneath a tangle of curly hair. He was blond, bearded,
brown-eyed, with shoulders fit for a plow. "So, lad, you're here. Are we
to know who you are, coming so freely into our home?"

 
          
Aidan
smiled faintly, displaying his heavy signet. "I was brought here properly.
And I did pass the test."

 
          
Keely
studied him. A frown knitted brows. "You have the look and the eyes… but
that is
not
Cheysuli hair."

 
          
"Erinnish,"
he agreed with resignation, wondering how often he would have to explain
himself. "Aileen's hair, . though darker; Brennan gave me something."

 
          
Keely's
eyes widened. Aidan found it briefly amusing that
she
should remark on color; she was fair-haired, fair-skinned and
blue-eyed, and no gold on her arms. He more than she had the right to invoke
their race.

 
          
"Not
Aidan
," she said. "You were
a sickly child… Aileen said you had outgrown it, but I did not expect
this!"

 
          
Aidan
nodded gravely. "I am better now. Instead of dying today, I will wait
until tomorrow."

 
          
Sean
laughed aloud, sliding his sword back into a rack. Keely did not smile, though
a spark in her eyes kindled. She studied Aidan closely, much as she would, he
thought, a horse. "Brennan's son," she mused. "Are you as stuffy
and pompous as he is?"

 
          
Aidan
sighed aloud, though inwardly he laughed. She was everything they said; probably
more. He was looking forward to it. "He was hoping marriage had forced you
to grow up… I'll be telling him the truth: you're obviously as bad as you ever
were."

 
          
Keely
scowled. "Don't be giving
me
that Erinnish cant, my lad… you've never been here, boyo, and I've lived here
very nearly longer than you've been alive."

 
          
She
had gained her own share of the cant. Aidan, grinning, offered her the
courteous bow she would, he knew, scorn. It was why he did it. "They tell
stories of you," he said. "Would you like to hear them now?"

 
          
Sean's
big hand closed on Keely's shoulder. "Not now, lad—we'll be due some wine
and ale. Come into the hall with us; Keely will mind her tongue."

 
          
"Then
I will be disappointed."

 
          
"
Ku'reshtin
," she said calmly,
handing her sword to the man still waiting by the door. "Well? He beat
me."

 
          
"He
cheated," the big sword-master said equably. " 'Tis the only way he
can win. I've taught you that much, lass, in the years since you've come."

 
          
Keely
laughed and slapped a corded arm. "Aye, so you have—but perhaps you should
look to a new lesson that teaches
me
how to cheat."

 
          
Sean
shoved open the door. " 'Tis n't in you, lass… you've too much Cheysuli
honor." He waved her through impatiently, eyeing Aidan with great good
cheer. "Have ye come for long, lad?"

 
          
Aidan
followed Keely. "Long enough to find a wife."

 
          
His
aunt stopped dead in her tracks, swinging to face him abruptly. "A
wife," she said softly. "And would you be meaning my girl?"

 
          
Aidan
smiled blandly. "I wouldn't be meaning your boy."

 
          
It
was not, perhaps, the best way to put himself in Keely's favor, but then he had
not come to give her the kindnesses and false courtesies she had, from all
reports, always despised. He knew enough of her history to be fully aware she
would be less inclined to consider his suit than Sean, who was, his sister
said, a reasonable, intelligent man. Aileen had also said Keely was much the
same, but could be difficult. Aidan did not yet know if marriage to Shona would
be suitable, but there was no sense in lying about the reason he had come.
Especially to Keely.