Claiming Her

The conflagration of Katarina.

From the moment he’d touched her, he’d known.

He charged out the door and was halfway across the antechamber before he slammed to a halt to avoid tumbling over a youth, perhaps nine or ten years old, milling nervously about.

The boy froze like a hare at the sight of him. Aodh’s seventeen-year-old squire, Bran, snapped to attention too, then, as he looked at Aodh, Bran’s hand moved slowly to the hilt of his sword.

“What?” Aodh demanded.

“You…your…” Bran’s hand made a circling move to indicate Aodh’s face.

Aodh was breathing as hard as if he’d run a footrace—and lost. No doubt his face was flushed too, and was that sweat on his brow?

“Stay your sword, Bran, there is no danger.” He glanced at the boy. Bran shrugged as his hand fell away.

The b

oy, small but seemingly determined, circled the landing like a wild creature about to bolt, then, face pale, he cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“I had a question, sir. My lord,” he revised abruptly, then immediately retreated from it. “Sir. Milordsir,” he settled on the mongrel word, and Aodh couldn’t fault him for it.

“A question?” Aodh repeated in the same solemn tones.

“Is my lady…in need of anything?”

That was a loaded question.

The boy plunged on. “I’m to bring her things, you see, milordsir. ’Tis my duty, and I don’t know if she”—he met Aodh’s eye with a sudden spurt of reckless bravery—“if she needs anything.”

A list of things Katarina needed entered his mind.

“’Tis my duty, sir,” the boy repeated stoutly.

“If that is your duty, lad, then you should get to it.”

The page’s body slumped with relief.

“Never let someone stop you from doing what you know must be done, not even a big ugly Irishman.”

The boy drew himself up straight, reinvigorated by this camaraderie and renewed sense of purpose. “Aye, sir! My lord! Sir! And you are not ugly, sir!”

At a gesture from Aodh, Bran searched the boy then allowed him inside. When the door was shut, Aodh called him over.

“Allow the boy out when he is done, but search him first. If the lady wishes to speak with any other members of her household, allow it, but search them fore and aft. Her ladyship is to remain inside, under lock and key, unless and until she wishes to see me. Then she is to be brought directly, and only, to me.”

His squire drew up straight as an arrow. “Aye, sir. Do you want her…bound?”

Yes, bind her, bring her to me like a feast. He forced in another deep breath. “She is a lady, Bran. We do not bind ladies. But we do escort them, everywhere.” He paused. “Even the privy.”

Bran gave a clipped nod, absorbing the new rule. “Do I search her as well?”

Aodh paused to imagine his squire trying to search Katarina. “No, but clear the room of weapons. And, in the event we did not find them all, should you hear anything that sounds like a wheel-lock being loaded,” he added grimly, “investigate.”

Bran’s face paled. “As you say, sir. Should I locate her maidservant?”

He shook his head slowly. “Not yet you don’t.”

Bran looked unhappy about this. “What if she…needs anything?”