2
WITH two horses, changing off, he made good time, and the dogs never seemed to tire. There was only one road to follow until the village of Ferse, nestled in the heel of a portion of land protected by the confluence of two rivers. There he questioned the ferryman about two Eagles who had passed earlier in the day: They had continued south into the forest rather than splitting off on the east-west path. Several startled farmers walking home from their fields along the roadside confirmed that they had seen Eagles riding past.
Neat strips of cultivated fields became scattered woods and pastureland, then forest swallowed everything but the cut of the road. Beneath the trees, summer’s evening light filtered into a haze of fading color. The wind blew in his favor: He heard them before he saw them, two riders and two spare horses.
Wolfhere turned first to see who approached from behind. Sanglant heard the old Eagle swear under his breath, and he smiled with grim satisfaction. Then Liath turned to look over her shoulder. She reined in her horse at once, forcing Wolfhere to pull up as well.
“We have farther to go this night if we mean to sleep in the way station that lies ahead,” warned Wolfhere.
Liath did not reply, did not need to; Sanglant knew how a woman’s body spoke, how her expression betrayed her desire. She tried to master her expression, to give nothing away, but her entire face had lit and a grin kept tugging at her mouth. He knew then that he could succeed if only he behaved as a man, not a dog.
Wolfhere minced no words. “This is madness. Liath, we must ride on.”
“No. I will hear what Sanglant has to say.”
“You know what I have to say.” Sanglant dismounted, staked down the dogs, then crossed to her and offered to take her reins as would a groom. She gave them to him, but did not dismount.
“You are not thinking this through, Liath,” continued Wolfhere furiously. “You will lose the protection of the Eagles, which is all that saved you from Hugh first at Heart’s Rest and this very morning at the king’s court. All this to go to a man who has nothing, not land, not arms, no retinue, no control over his own destiny because he has no inheritance from his mother—”
“Save my blood,” said Sanglant softly, and was happy to see Wolfhere glance angrily at him and then away.
“—and you will live at his mercy. Without the protection of the Eagles or any other kin he is the only protection you will have against those like Hugh who seek to enslave you. And that protection will be offered to you only for as long as he desires you.”
“Marriage is a holy sacrament,” observed Sanglant, “and not to be split asunder on a whim.”
“Marriage?” exclaimed Wolfhere, and for the breath of an instant, Sanglant had the satisfaction of seeing him look panicked. But Wolfhere was too old and wily to remain so for long. He recovered as quickly as an experienced soldier who has lost his footing in the midst of battle: with an aggressive stab. “Mind you, Liath, King Henry’s displeasure is not a thing to be undertaken lightly. He will refuse to recognize the marriage. He has passed judgment: that you serve in his Eagles or return to Hugh. Will he rule differently if you return claiming marriage to his favored son? Or will he wish to be rid of you? And if so, where can you flee, neither of you with kin to support you? Your mother is waiting for you, Liath.”
Sanglant recognized danger instantly. “Your mother?”
“I’ve given up more than you know, Wolfhere,” retorted Liath. “If I go to my mother, then I must leave the Eagles in any case. Why would Henry not object then? Only because he would not know and thus could not return me to Hugh? Is my reunion with my mother to be based on deceit? Why should I trust you?”
“Why should you trust Sanglant?” Wolfhere demanded.
But she only laughed, and her laughter made his heart sing with joy, although the words that came next were bitter and angry. “Because he’s no more capable of lying than are those dogs. Even Da lied to me. You lied to me, Wolfhere, and I wonder if my mother lied as well. If she had made any kind of effort to find us, wouldn’t he still be alive?”
A whiff of smoke rose on the breeze, some distant sparking fire that faded as Liath stared Wolfhere down, her expression as fierce as the king’s when he allowed himself to succumb to one of his famous wraths. But a kind of unearthly fire shone from her, something he could almost smell more than see, an uncanny, pure scent. Sanglant took hold of one of her wrists, and she, startled, glanced at him, then sighed. That scent burned in her, almost a living creature in its own right. Her skin seemed to steam with her anger.
Made humble before it, Wolfhere said only: “She must teach you, Liath. You know by now that you desperately need teaching.”
There was the danger. He saw the shadow of it flicker over her expression: she needed something he could not give her, and Wolfhere would use that need to sway her. But Sanglant had no intention of losing her again. “Wherever you need to go,” he said, “I will take you there.”
“What if your father objects?” Liath asked. “What if he won’t give you horses, or arms, or an escort?”
He laughed recklessly. “I don’t know. What does it matter what might happen—only what can, now, this night.”
“Bred and trained for war,” muttered Wolfhere, “with no thought beyond the current battle.”
She had a sharp flush on her cheeks and looked away from both of them, but he knew what she was thinking of. He found it hard not to think of it himself. He released her wrist abruptly. Suddenly his grasp on her seemed too much like Bloodheart’s iron collar, a means to force her to do what he wanted her to do rather than to let her make the choice. “It is true I have nothing to offer you by way of estates or income as part of the marriage agreement. It is true that my father will object. But he may also see reason when presented with a vow witnessed, legal, and binding. I am not the only man available to marry Princess Adelheid. Let my father object first, then we will see. We may both be set upon by bandits and killed before we can get back to Werlida to receive the king’s judgment! And I have other resources.”
“Such as?” asked Wolfhere, not without sarcasm.
“Where is my mother now, Wolfhere?” asked Liath, cutting him off.
But he remained stubbornly silent.
“You won’t tell me,” she said harshly.
“I can’t speak freely now.”