Hawkmistress! (32 page)

“Why coddle the boy?” demanded Alaric, “Let him see something of life, as no doubt you did when you were of his years, Lord Orain!”

Orain scowled. “What I may have done is not to the point; the boy’s in my charge, and so is Lyondri’s son here, and it’s not fit a Hastur should go without service. You stay here, Rumal, and look after the lad, see him into his bed. You’ll get a bath to yourself then.”

“Stand up to him for your rights, lad, you don’t have to be treated like a child,” said one of the men, who had drunk more than enough wine, “You’re no servant to the Hastur-pup!”

Romilly said, relieved at this solution, “Indeed I would as soon stay here; I am a cristoforo and have no taste for such adventures.”

“Oh ah, a cristoforo bound to the Creed of Chastity,” jeered Alaric, “Well, I did my best for ye, boy, if ye’d rather be a little boy hiding behind the skirts of the holy Bearer of Burdens, that’s for you to say! Come along! Who’s for the bath-house, men?”

One after another, they rose and went, not too steadily, into the street. Romilly took Caryl upstairs and sent for the promised bath; when the serving-woman brought it, she would have bathed him as she had done with Rael, but he turned on her, his face pink.

“I won’t say anything before the men,” he said, “but I know you’re a girl, and I’m too big for my mother or my sister, even, to wash me, and I can bathe myself! Go away, mistress Romilly. I’ll have them send you a bath too, shall I? Lord Orain is away and doubtless hell be at the baths half the night, he may be looking for a woman too - see, I’m old enough to know about such things. So you can bathe in his room and go to your own bed afterward.”

Romilly could not help but laugh. She said “As you will, my lord.”

“And don’t make fun of me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Romilly said, trying to keep her face straight. “But Lord Orain charged me with the task of seeing that you wash your feet well.”

“I have been bathing myself in the monastery for more than a year,” said Caryl, exasperated, “Go away, mistress Romilly, before my bath water gets cold, and I will have them send a bathtub to you in Lord Orain’s room.”

Romilly was grateful for this solution - indeed she had longed for a hot bath, and went to the stable for her saddlebags while the bath - women were hauling the wooden tub into the room and pouring out steaming water into it, laying out great fluffy towels and a wooden cask of soapweed. One of the bath-women lingered, widening her eyes at Romilly and saying in a suggestive voice, “Would you like me to stay and help you, young sir? Indeed, it would be a pleasure to wash your feet and scrub your back, and for half a silver bit I will stay as long as you like, and share your bed as well.”

Romilly had to struggle again to hide a smile; this was embarrassing. Was she such a handsome young man as that, or was the woman only looking for her silver bit? She shook her head and said, “I am tired with riding; I want to wash and sleep.”

“Shall I send you a masseur, then, young sir?”

“No, no, nothing - go away and leave me to bathe,” Romilly said sternly, but she gave the woman a small coin and thanked her for her trouble. “You can come and take the tub away in an hour.”

Assured at last of privacy, she stripped and climbed into the tub, scrubbing herself vigorously with soapweed, lying back in the hot water with a sigh of luxurious content. She had last washed herself all over in the old woman’s cabin, when she was pretending she would be married to Rory. At Nevarsin she had washed as best she could, but had not, of course, dared to use the bath-house in the monastery, nor had she dared to try and find a woman’s bath-house in Nevarsin, though there must have been some of them, lest she be seen coming from the place.

What a splendid thing a bath was! She lay in the hot water, soaking and enjoying it, till the water finally cooled and she got out, dried her hair carefully, and put on her cleanest underclothing. She looked longingly at Orain’s bed, spread up for him by the maids; no doubt he was finished at the bathhouse and had found a woman somewhere for the night, and this good bed would be wasted, while he slept in some street-woman’s bed. She realized that she felt a twinge of jealousy - she remembered her dream, where Orain had caressed her, sleeping, and she had been happy that he should touch her - did she really envy the unknown woman in whose bed he was spending this night?

Well, she should ring for the bath-woman to take away the tub and go to her own quarters in the stables; there was plenty of hay to keep her warm, and blankets, and she could even command hot bricks and more blankets if she wished. She pulled on her breeches and rang for the bath-woman, and went, knocking softly at Caryl’s door. He was in bed and already half asleep, but he sat up in bed to hug her as if she were his own sister, wishing her a good night, and slid down, asleep already in the big bed. It was a big bed, big enough for three or four, she was tempted to lie down and sleep beside the child, they had slept curled up together often enough on the road. But she realized that he would be embarrassed if he found her there in the morning - he was just old enough to be aware that she was a woman. It would not matter so much, she thought, yawning and reluctant to go out to the stable, if she lay down to sleep a little - no doubt Orain would not return home before morning, and if he did he would be so drunk that he would not notice her there, nor care whether she was a boy or a dog; he would never know she was a woman, if he had travelled with her all this time and not known, and he had none of the inconvenient laran which had betrayed her to Caryl and perhaps to Dom Carlo.

She would sleep here a little, at least - she could wake and be away to the stable if she heard Orain coming up the stairs. The bed looked so good, after all this time on the road. The bath-woman, when she took the tub away, had warmed the sheets with a pan of hot coals, and they smelled fresh and inviting. Romilly hesitated no more, but lay down in her tunic and drawers, pulling up the covers and drowsing. At the edge of her mind, wary, she thought, I must not entirely go to sleep, I should go out to the stable, Orain may be coming back before I expect him … and then she was asleep.

The door creaked, and Orain, stepping quietly, was in the room, throwing off his clothes and yawning, sitting on the edge of the bed. Romilly sat up, shocked and startled that she had slept so long. He grinned at her.

“Ah, stay where you are, boy,” he said drowsily, “Bed’s big enough for two.” He had been drinking, she could tell, but he was not drunk. He reached out and ran his hand lightly across her hair. “So soft, you must ha’ had a nice bath too.”

“I will go now-“

He shook his head. “The outside door o’ the inn’s locked; ye couldna’ get out.” His voice was again overlaid with the soft low-country accent. “Stay here, lad - I’m half asleep a’ready.” He drew off his boots and outer garments; Romilly, rolling to the far edge of the bed, tucked her head down under the blanket and fell asleep.

She never knew what waked her, but she thought it was a cry: Orain tossed, turned over, cried out, and sat bolt upright. “Ah - Carolin, they will have ye’-” he cried, staring into the empty room, his voice so full of terror that Romilly knew he dreamed. She tugged at his arm and said, “Wake up! It’s only a nightmare!”

“Ah-” he drew a long breath and sanity came into his face again. “I saw my brother, my friend, in the hands of Rakhal, Zandru send him scorpion whips-” His face was still troubled, but he lay back down, and Romilly, curling her feet up, sought to go back to sleep. After a time, however, she was aware that Orain’s arm was around her, that he was gently drawing her to him.

She pulled away, frightened. He said in his gentlest voice, “Ah, lad, don’t you know how I feel? You’re so like Carolin, when we were boys together - red hair - and so timid and shy, but so brave when there’s need.”

Romilly thought, shaking, but there’s no need for this, I am a woman-he does not know, but it’s all right, I will tell him it’s all right- She was trembling with embarrassment, shy, but still the very real warmth and kindness she felt for Orain made her feel, this was not at all as it had been when Dom Garris sought to paw her, nor when Rory sought to force himself on her.

She sat upright and put her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. “It’s all right, all right, Orain,” she whispered, close to his cheek, “You knew all the time, didn’t you? I-I-” she couldn’t say it She took his hand and put it inside her tunic, against her breast.

He sat upright, jerking away, his face flaming.

“Hell’s fire,” he whispered, in incredulous embarrassment, shock, and, Romilly realized with horror, real dismay, “Hell’s fire, you’re a girl!” And he actually leaped out of bed and stood staring at her, pulling his nightshirt together over his body with shock and modestly looking away from her.

“Mistress - damisela, a thousand pardons, I most humbly beg your pardon - never, never, I did not guess for a moment - Avarra’s mercy, mistress, I cannot believe it. Who are you?”

She said, shaking with cold and her whole body trembling with the shock of the rejection, “Romilly MacAran,” and burst into tears.

“Oh, blessed Gods,” Orain implored, bending to wrap the blanket round her, “I - don’t cry, someone will hear you, I wouldna’ hurt you for the world, lady-” and he gulped and stood back, shaking his head in dismay.

“What an unholy mess this is, and what a damnable fool I’ve made of myself! Forgive me, lady, I wouldn’t lay a finger on you-” Romilly cried harder than ever, and he bent, urgently hushing her.

“Ah, don’t cry, little lady, there’s nothing to cry about - look, hush, we’re friends anyway, aren’t we, I don’t care if ye’re a girl, you must have some reasons-” and as she sought to stifle her weeping, he wiped her nose gently with the sheet and sat down beside her. “There now, there now, that’s a good girl, don’t cry - sweeting, I think you’d better tell me all about it, hadn’t you?”

Book Three: SWORDSWOMAN

CHAPTER ONE

Snow had fallen toward morning, and the streets of Caer Bonn were piled high with trackless white. All the same, there was a softness in the air which told the country-bred Romilly that the spring thaw was nearing and this was the last blow of the winter.

Father always said that only the mad or the desperate travel in the winter; now I have crossed the worst of the Hellers after Midwinter-night. Why am I thinking of that now?

Orain patted her shoulder with the same clumsy deference he had shown since last night. It made her want to weep for the old, lost, easy companionship. She should have known he would not have liked her half so well as a woman; it was, when she really took thought, written clear all over him and must have been evident to everyone in the company except herself.

“Here we are, damisela,n he said, and Romilly snapped, raw-edged, “My name is Romilly, Orain, and I have not changed so much as all that.”

His eyes, she thought, looked like a dog’s that had been kicked. He said, “Here is the hostel of the Sisterhood,” and went up the steps, leaving her to follow.

Once he knew - certainly he could not allow her to face the dangers of life in camp and trail. He would always be aware, now, of her unwelcome womanhood. This was, after all, the best answer.

A hard-faced woman, with heavy hands which would have seemed more appropriate holding a hayfork, welcomed them to the front hall - or, Romilly thought, welcome was not quite the right word, but she did let them in. Orain said, “Kindly inform Mistress Jandria that her cousin has come to visit her.” His voice was again the impeccably courteous, well-bred voice of the courtier, with the last trace of the soft country accent carefully hidden. The woman stared suspiciously, and said, “Sit there,” pointing to a bench as if they were a pair of street urchins come a-begging. She went away down the hall and Romilly heard women’s voices at the far end of the building. Somewhere there was the noise of a hammer on an anvil - at least that was what it sounded like - and the small, familiar, friendly, chink-chink-chinking sound made Romilly a little less rigid with apprehension. All the doors along the hallway were closed, but as they sat there, two young women, wearing crimson tunics, their hair all tucked under red caps, went through the hallway arm in arm. They were obviously not what Romilly’s stepmother would have called ladies; one of them had great red hands like a milkmaid’s, and were wearing loose long trousers and boots.

At the back of the hall another woman appeared. She was slender and pretty, and, Romilly thought, about Orain’s own age, forty or more, though her dark, close-cropped hair had faded, with streaks of grey at the temples.

“Well, kinsman,” she said, “What’s that ye’ve got wi’ ye’?” She had the country accent Orain had learned to conceal “And what brings ye’ into this country in winter? King’s business, I hear - and how’s himself?” She came and gave him a quick, breezy embrace and a haphazard kiss somewhere on the side of his face.

“The king is well, Aldones be praised,” said Orain quietly, “and with the Aldarans at the moment. But I have two charges for you, Janni.”

‘Two?” Her salt-and-pepper eyebrows went up in a comical grimace. “First of all, what’s this, boy or girl or hasn’t he or she made up its mind?”

Romilly, with a scalding blush, bent her eyes on the floor; the woman’s good-natured mockery seemed to take her in and sort her out and discard her as useless.

“Her name is Romilly MacAran,” said Orain quietly, “Don’t mock her, Janni, she travelled with us through the worst climate and country in the Hellers and not one of us, not even myself, knew her for a girl. She did her full share and cared for our sentry-birds, which I’d never known a woman could do. She brought them through alive and in good condition, and the horses too. I thought she was a capable lad, but it’s even more extraordinary than I thought. So I brought her to you.”