Lois Bujold - The Sharing Knife - Beguilement

Fawn started to answer Yes, it’s his wedding too, he should have some of his own customs, then instead said more cautiously, “Just how many weapons are we talking about, here?”

“Well, there’s that great pigsticker that he calls his war knife, for starters.

Then there’s one he slips down in his boot, and another he straps on his thigh sometimes, evidently. What he wants with three knives when he only has one hand, I don’t know. Then there’s that funny bow of his, and the quiver of arrows, which also has some little knives stuck in it. He seemed a bit put out that he didn’t have a sword by him—seems there’s one he inherited from his pa back at his camp, and some ash spear or another for fighting from horseback, which he also doesn’t have here. Fortunately.”

Ginger and Filly listened to this lengthening catalog with their faces screwing up.

Whit, nodding silent agreement at them, finished, “You’d think the man would clank when he walked. You wouldn’t want a patroller to fall into water over his head on his way to his wedding, I’ll say.” His own brows rose in gruesome enthusiasm. “You suppose he’s killed anybody with that arsenal? ‘Spect he must have, sometime or another. That’s a right sobering collection of scars he has, I saw when we were down washing up. Though I suppose he’s had a long time to accumulate ’em.” He added after another contemplative moment, “Do you think he’s getting nervous ‘bout the wedding? He don’t hardly show it, but with him, how would you tell?”

With Whit as a helper, it was a wonder Dag wasn’t frenzied by now, Fawn thought tartly. “Tell him”—Fawn’s tongue hovered between yes and no, remembering just what all she had seen Dag kill with those weapons—“tell him just the war knife.”

In case it was nerves and the weapons a consolation. “Tell him it can stand for the rest of them, all right? We’ll know.”

“All right.” Whit did not take himself off at once, but stood scratching his head.

“Did the shirt fit him good?” Fawn asked.

“Oh, yeah, I guess.”

“You guess? Didn’t you look? Agh! Useless to ask you, I suppose.”

“He liked it fine. Kept touchin’ it with his fingertips peekin’ out of those bandages, anyhow, like he liked the feel. But what I want explained is—you know, I had to help him button and unbutton his trousers. So how in the green world has he been managing them for the past week? ‘Cause I haven’t never seen him going around undone. And I don’t care how much of a sorcerer he is, he has to have been doin’ the necessary some time…”

“Whit,” said Fawn, “go away.”

Ginger and Filly, thinking this through, looked at Fawn’s flushing face and began to giggle like steam kettles.

“Because,” Whit, never one to take a hint, forged on, “I know it wasn’t me or Fletch or Pa, and it couldn’t have been the twins, who didn’t warm to him a bit.

Suppose it could have been Nattie, but really, I think it must have been you, and how—ow!” He ended in a yelp as Nattie smacked him firmly and accurately across the knees with her cane.

“Whit, if you don’t go find yourself a chore, I’ll find you one,” she told him.

“Don’t you go embarrassin’ Fawn’s patroller with all your supposing or you’ll have me to answer to, and I will be here tomorrow.”

Whit, daunted at last, took himself out, saying placatingly, “I’ll say just the knife, right.”

Outside, Fawn could hear the sounds of hoofbeats and creaking carts coming up the lane, and calls of greeting, more folks arriving. It felt very peculiar to sit still in this room waiting, instead of being out bustling around doing.

Mama came in, wiping her hands on a towel, to say, “Shep Sower and his wife just got here. They were the last. The sun’s as close to noon as makes no never mind.

We could start most any time.”

“Is Dag ready? Is he all right?”

“He’s clean, and dressed neat and plain. He looks very calm and above it all, except that he’s had Whit switch out his wooden hand for his hook and back again twice now.”

Fawn considered this. “Which did he end up with?”

“Hook, last I seen.”

“Hm.” So did that mean he was getting more relaxed, to let himself be seen so by strangers, or less, to have the most useful tool and maybe-weapon ready, as it were, to hand? “Well, it’ll be over soon. I didn’t mean to put him through such an ordeal when I agreed to stop back here.”

Mama nodded to Fawn’s cousins. “You girls give us a minute.”

Nattie rose to her feet, endorsing this. “Come along, chickies, give the bride a breather with her mama.” She shepherded Fawn’s helpers out to her weaving room and closed the door quietly behind them.

Mama said, “In a few minutes, you’ll be a married woman.” Her voice was stretched somewhere between anxious and bewildered. “Sooner than I expected.

Well, I never expected anything like this. We always meant to do right by you, for your wedding. This is all so quick. We’ve done more preparing for Fletch.”

She frowned at this felt injustice.

“I’m glad it’s no more. This is making me nervous enough.”

“You sure about this, Fawn?”

“Today, no. All my tomorrows, yes.”

“Nattie’s kept your confidences. But, you know, if you want to change your mind, we can stop this right now. Whatever trouble you think you’re in, we could manage it somehow.”

“Mama, we’ve had this conversation. Twice. I’m not pregnant. Really and truly.” “There are other kinds of troubles.”

“For girls, that’s the only one folks seem to care about.” She sighed. “So how many out there are saying I must be, for you to let this go forward?”

“A few,” Mama admitted.

A bunch, I’ll bet. Fawn growled. “Well, time’ll prove ‘em wrong, and I hope you’ll make them eat their words when it does, ’cause I won’t be here to.”

Mama went around behind her and fussed with her hair, which needed nothing.

“I admit Dag seems a fine fellow, no, I’ll go farther, a good man, but what about his kin? Even he doesn’t vouch for your welcome where you’re going. What if they treat you bad?”

I’ll feel right at home. Fawn bit down on that one before it escaped. “I’ll deal. I dealt with bandits and mud-men and blight bogles. I can deal with relatives.” As long as they’re not my relatives.

“Is this sensible?”

“If folks were sensible, would anyone ever get married?”

Mama snorted. “I suppose not.” She added in a lower voice, “But if you start down a road you can’t see the end of, there’s a chance you’ll find some dark things along it.”

About to defend her choice for the hundredth time, Fawn paused, and said simply,

“That’s true.” She stood up. “But it’s my road. Our road. I can’t stand still and keep breathin’. I’m ready.” She kissed her mama on the cheek. “Let’s go.”

Mama got in one last, inarguable maternal sigh, but followed Fawn out. They collected Nattie and Ginger and Filly along the way. Mama made a quick circuit of the kitchen, finally set aside her towel, straightened her dress, and led the way into the parlor.

The parlor was jammed, the crowd spilling over into the hall. Papa’s brother Uncle Hawk Bluefield and Aunt Rose and their son still at home; Uncle and Aunt Roper and their two youngest boys, including the successful water-lily finder; Shep Sower and his cheery wife, always up for a free feed; Fletch and Clover and Clover’s folks and sisters and the twins, inexplicably well behaved, and Whit and Papa.

And Dag, a head above everyone but still looking very surrounded. The white shirt fit him well. There hadn’t been time for smocking or embroidery, but Nattie and Aunt Roper had come up with some dark green piping to set off the collar and cuffs and button placket. The sleeves were made generous enough to fit over his splints, and over his arm harness on the other side, with second buttons set over to tighten the cuffs later. There had been just enough of the shell buttons left to do the job. Fawn had whisked his sling away from him yesterday long enough to wash and iron it, so it didn’t look so grubby even though it was growing a bit tattered. He was wearing the tan trousers with fewer old stains and mends, also forcibly washed yesterday. His worn knife sheath, riding on his left hip, looked so much a part of him as to be almost unnoticeable despite its wicked size.