Shana Abe (17 page)

It was like a fairy-tale place, not a real island but her imaginings of one: the tame deer, the hushed forest, the perfect flowers, and now, around a pair of twisted oaks marking a bend in the path, the castle itself, Lorlmar.

It must have been hewn from the same rosy-gold stone that made up the base of the land itself, a fairy-tale castle, of course, to match the island. There were high turrets, the crenellated edges giving them a fanciful appearance; long, tall windows with pointed arches, some with stained glass; a smooth, even line of stone from wall to wall, broken only by the towers of varying heights with a circular keep inside rising above the rim. No moat, but a gate, a heavy one; and new, she would guess, by the still-dark wood.

The gate was open now, and people were spilling out. Kyla wondered how many people the island could hold. It seemed impossible that there were more people than she had already seen, yet there were. Most were soldiers, obviously, dressed in drab but heavy outfits, but here also were the castle servants,
she would guess, many women mingling with the men, all of them happy to see their lord return, most not noticing her at all.

How many serfs across England would be so joyful at the arrival of their master? Harrick read her thoughts.

“Your husband is a popular man here, Lady Kyla,” he said as Roland was enveloped by the crowd. She almost couldn’t hear him over the chatter, the many voices welcoming him back.

“He’s been gone almost a year now. We were beginning to wonder when Henry would release him to us again.”

“A year?” she said. “So long?”

Harrick contemplated the scene, the pushing people. “He is a favorite of the king’s.”

That she knew all too well. Roland was answering questions, throwing looks to her, trying to get back to her. An old man was talking to him, chastising him for not paying enough attention.

“The serfs love him,” Kyla said, stating something obvious that still seemed so unusual.

“Lorlreau has no serfs,” replied Harrick. “Everyone here is a freeman.” He smiled at her open astonishment. “Roland granted them all their freedom when he became the earl several years ago.”

“Kyla,” called Roland, beckoning to her, since he couldn’t easily shed the crowd. “There is someone I am eager for you to meet.”

Harrick led her to his side, breaking past the lines of people that turned to her in surprise. Their passing excited a whispered hum, hands shielding mouths, darting looks. Roland was standing near the entrance to the keep now, past the outer walls and into the open bailey. Close to him was a tall, stately woman in her forties, with brown hair streaked with silver and light blue eyes. The woman was studying her curiously, her hand protectively on the shoulder of a small girl, about six, who was holding tight to her skirts. The child was almost trembling with excitement, staring up with wide, dark eyes. The hum died down.

“Lady Kyla,” said Roland. “This is Elysia.”

Kyla curtsied to the woman.

“No,” that lady said with slow amusement. “I am Marla.
This
is Elysia.” She indicated the little girl.

Before she could react the girl let go of her grip on the skirts and held out her hands to Kyla, not saying anything. As Kyla knelt down to her level she felt the crowd draw back, absorbing every moment. She took the small hands into her own and then Elysia closed the distance between them, walking up with clear, blank eyes, tracing her hands up Kyla’s arm to her shoulders, and then her face.

Her touch was feather-light, birdlike, brushing her chin and her lips, moving over her nose and her cheekbones, then onto her eyes, her eyebrows, her forehead. Kyla held perfectly still, only closing her eyes when the touch brushed over them, opening them again when she felt the small palms frame her cheeks, paused.

“We’ve been expecting you,” said Elysia gravely. “Why did you take so long to come to us?”

Her eyes were so dark that at first Kyla thought them black, but no, they were midnight-blue, fringed with brown lashes to go with her familiar honey-brown hair.

“Well,” Kyla said. “I had things to do.”

“Are they done?” the girl asked.

“Mostly, yes,” Kyla replied, surprised at her own answer.

“Good. I’m glad. You’ll stay with us now.” Elysia moved her hands from her face and then stepped closer to her, embracing her. “You’ll like it here.”

Kyla held her close, feeling the delicate frame of her, the wet warmth of the kiss Elysia pressed to her cheek.

“The air is turning colder,” announced Marla. “Time to go back in, child.”

Without comment Elysia released her, leaving Kyla kneeling alone on the ground, watching the little girl turn and reach for Marla, who took her hand and led her back into the keep.

Roland helped her up. “Jealous?” he asked softly, with a sideways teasing look.

She realized he had read her mood earlier when he had mentioned Elysia’s name.

“She is charming,” Kyla said.

“Well, I like that,” grumbled a new voice, the old man who had been scolding Roland before. He shook his head. “Lord of the estate, ignoring those what raised him from a puny tot and nurtured him all them years, not bothering to introduce his bride to them what—”

“Hush up, you old fool,” interrupted a new voice, a woman’s, aged and crackled to go with the man’s. “Anyone could see he was gettin’ around to it.”

A tiny woman with a fluff of white hair elbowed the old man out of the way and then nodded kindly to Kyla, smiling.

“My dear, this is Seena.” Roland’s voice was dry. “And of course, her husband, Madoc, who did indeed raise me from a puny tot to my rather inglorious manhood.”

“Tush,” said Seena. “You’re plenty glorious for us, I declare.”

“A terrible lad he was!” Madoc had come up beside his wife to study Kyla, and despite his cantankerous words, she saw the twinkle alight in his eyes. “Almost killed me off more than a dozen times, milady, all by himself! Just the worry alone, milady!”

Kyla nodded, serious. “Yes, I can see what a bother that would be.”

Madoc squinted up at her, looking her up and down. He and Seena might have been twins, small and silver-haired, bright-eyed.

“She’ll do,” he announced to the crowd in general.

“Thank you so much,” said Roland calmly. “I rather thought so.”

Seena winked at her, then she and her husband moved back toward the castle itself.

Roland told the crowd he was pleased to be home but he was starving in the meantime, bringing forth hurried comfort from the women, who claimed they would have a veritable feast ready within minutes.

The tone of the crowd was much the same as the one at
the docks; celebratory, slightly more restrained here in the shadow of the castle. Greeting her in the wake of Madoc and Seena, they were respectful, curious. They formed a lagging congregation behind them as Roland took her into the keep, now mixing with the folk who had come up from the pier, beaming women linked arm in arm with their husbands, or sweethearts, or brothers.

It turned out the claim of a feast was no exaggeration. Inside the great hall, cavernous and round, with three fireplaces and rows and rows of tables and benches, were already the beginnings of a large meal laid out, with people scurrying everywhere to add more.

The head table was close to the largest fireplace, which held a bright, snapping fire. Elysia was already there, seated quietly alone while Marla helped with the meal.

“She was born blind,” said Roland as he escorted her to the table. “Marla made it her duty to look after her, after her mother’s death.”

“She is … different,” Kyla said, struggling to find the right word. Elysia sat with her hands folded primly in front of her, her back to the fire, waiting patiently for the others to arrive. She gave her great, blank stare to the space right in front of her.

Kyla found the word. “She is sage.”

Is she yours?
she wanted to ask, but didn’t.

It was more than the hair that matched them up, more than even the line of their eyebrows, both elegant and straight. It was Elysia’s bearing that resembled Roland’s most, which was peculiar, because there was no way for the child to have ever seen it in the man to mimic. Squared shoulders, the occasional, slanting tilt of the head, slightly mischievous. And oh, that small, crooked smile, which she sent now over to Roland, settling her gaze nearly upon him as they approached.

“Uncle, have you grown while you were gone?” she asked.

Ah
, thought Kyla, and then wondered how the child had known Roland was near.

“No,” Roland replied sadly. “I fear I shall never catch up with Uncle Harrick.”

“Don’t lose heart,” Elysia said, sounding doubtful.

“You shall just have to settle for me as I am. It’s not all that bad, is it?” Roland seated Kyla next to the girl, then reached out and tweaked one of Elysia’s amber curls.

“I have grown,” she said proudly. “Almost a whole hand higher than the last time you saw me.”

“I see that. Soon you will be a colossus over all of us.” Roland took the seat next to Kyla. “But I really think that depends on whose hands we are talking about.”

Elysia laughed, then turned those midnight eyes to Kyla, ardent again.

“Do you like venison?”

“Venison?” The image of the doe flashed in her mind, so tame and wild at once, a moment of innocence in the woods. “No, not really.”

“Good.” Elysia burst into full smile, clapping her hands.

Roland leaned over and explained. “We don’t eat venison here.” There was a note of ruefulness in his voice.

“Oh.” Kyla was left again with that feeling of strange displacement, of being in a situation where the rules and way of life were just slightly beyond her grasp.

“Do you like fish?” Elysia asked now.

“Well …” Kyla wondered what to say.

“We do eat fish,” Elysia said. She sounded regretful.

“And chicken,” added Roland firmly.

“Yes,” agreed the child, now mournful.

“Stay away from the chickens.”

“We do.” Elysia sighed.

“We introduced a pair of wild deer a few years back, hoping they would breed on the main island.” Roland picked up a fresh roll from the wooden bowl placed before them and put it on Elysia’s platter, then put one on Kyla’s. “But the children tamed them while we still had them here at the castle. They named them both.”

“And now their children’s children are here,” exclaimed Elysia proudly. “There’s Katherine and Francis and Jasper and Sammy and Hannah and Belle and Bancroft—”

“Thank you, Elysia,” interrupted Roland. “Why don’t you eat now?”

“I saw a deer,” said Kyla to the girl. “I saw her on the walk over from the pier.”

“Really?” asked Elysia seriously. “What did she look like?”

Roland was smiling down at his plate. Kyla ignored him, thinking back. “She was reddish brown, I think, with a very fine nose, and large eyes.”

“Large or small?”

“Medium.”

“Was she spotted?”

“Yes, she was. Little white spots, I believe.”

Elysia placed a hand on her arm. “You saw Eleanor.”

It was curious, the gravity of the pronouncement, the light touch meant to draw more attention to the moment. Even Roland seemed to be paying attention suddenly, pausing in eating as he listened.

The doe came again to her mind’s eye, vividly this time, and she put the name to the animal, something to recall the stately calm surrounding the deer.

“Eleanor,” Kyla repeated, wondering at her ready acceptance of this strange custom.

“She’s my favorite,” confided Elysia, who then went back to eating.

More food was arriving, grilled fish, boiled eggs, bread and butter, cheese, vegetable dishes of onions, leeks, and peas. There was plenty of salt in small silver dishes set about, something that had been considered more a luxury at Rosemead. But of course, Rosemead had not the advantage of the ocean at its gate.

The noise in the hall was not deafening but still loud enough to make soft comments impossible. Kyla took in the rows and rows of people eating, all of them Roland’s men, their families, the castle servants. She did not miss the covert glances thrown at her, the tilted heads of people comparing opinions, mouthing speculation back and forth to each other about the newcomer, the outsider.

As the meal went on the wine flowed more freely, as well as stories from those who had been separated from their home for so long.

A whole year. Kyla thought about that, considered how hard it would have been on her to be away so long, and then had a painful moment when she realized she had been gone from Rosemead, her own home, more than half of that time. Roland had said that she would be safer here and logic told her this was probably true, at least for the moment. And though this place had its own elemental appeal to her, mystery and sorcery, she would not forget Rosemead, and she would not forget her family.

She was lost in her memories still when Roland stood, gathering the attention of all the people in front of them. He raised his goblet.

“To Lorlreau,” he said, “the last spot of sweetness on this earth.”

The crowd cheered and yelled, at last quieting when they saw that Roland was not finished.

“And to my wife.” He looked down at her, unreadable, his true thoughts hidden behind the turquoise. “May she always add her own sweetness and
obedience
to the peace of our fair land.”

Again came the cheer, a welcoming roar, leaving Kyla to nod her head graciously while her cheeks flamed. She hoped no one else caught the implication.

Roland threw her a rakish smile, then drank to her, emptying the goblet to the rousing approval of everyone.

Elysia touched Kyla on the shoulder, a small tug that pulled her down until Kyla’s ear was level with her lips.

“He likes you,” the child whispered. “I can tell.”