Andre Norton - Ciara's Song

Ruart came a week later. Aisling was as rude as it was possible to be to a guest, and found her manners ignored. Ruart had expected no better. The girl was almost a peasant, after all, and she’d know no better. Her dress, too, was abysmal. That could be altered anytime he cared to buy the clothing. He was at his most pleasant, but Aisling could see the wolf snarl behind the charm. She was afraid of him. The idea of his touching her made her sick with disgust. She told that to Keelan the second time Ruart called.

“I loathe him, Keelan, please think of something.”

Ruart visited again and again, each time more insistent on a contract. A betrothal would be so suitable. Kirion stood on the sidelines of all this and smirked. He knew the difficulties his grandparents faced. They’d come around, they couldn’t hold off the ardent suitor forever, nor dare they refuse him outright.

He was wrong in that. Trovagh faced Ruart four weeks later, making Aiskeep’s position clear. They would not force Aisling to a marriage she rejected.

Ruart snorted. A touch of the whip and the girl would consent. Holding desperately to his temper Trovagh pointed out that a girl killing herself rather than wed Ruart would not add to his reputation.

“There are ways to prevent that, My Lord of Aiskeep. I’d be happy to suggest a few.”

“So I hear.” Trovagh’s tone was chilled over solid ice. “But we do not believe in dragging a girl to her wedding so drugged she cannot speak.”

“That is your decision? Nothing will change it?”

“That is the word of Aiskeep. Unless Aisling changes her mind, My Lord Ruart, there will be no wedding between you.”

Ruart nodded. Kirion had warned him this was possible. His friend had suggested that there were other ways to reach his desire. He’d use them.

Keelan was now bothered on two fronts. On the one hand, he worried over Shosho. Had she returned, was she all right?

On the other, there was Aisling. Ruart had taken that final rejection too calmly for Keelan’s peace of mind.

He went to Geavon in the end. Keelan had slowly developed a hearty respect for that astute old man. Geavon was careful. Nothing too open in his hints, just enough to assure the boy that Kirion wasn’t the only clever one about. Keelan left wearing a satisfied look.

That changed abruptly three days later. Keelan had gone in search of his sister. They could ride with Geavon’s grandson who planned to circle some of the garths talking over the coming harvest. With him went several men at arms. Aisling would enjoy the ride and in safety. He was well aware that of late she had been fretting at her confinement within the Keep. And it would take Keelan’s mind off Shosho.

To Keelan’s surprise, his sister was nowhere to be found. He hunted, growing more agitated until at last he went to Geavon. There, too, he found his grandparents as he blurted out the news.

Geavon stared for a second absorbing the information. Then he rang his bell violently, shouting rapid orders at those who came. Questions were asked of all those in the Keep. Some had information, not all of it willingly given. In an hour they knew the truth.

Geavon faced his distant cousin, noting the grim set to Trovagh’s mouth. “The girl is gone. A maid and one of the manservants are also gone. I believe them to have been hirelings paid to await their chance. It seems they bought a way in sometime back. Around the time Ruart first offered for the girl.” He held a hand up to still the outcry. “I have other ways of finding the truth of this. I am not so sure that it was Ruart’s doing. One thing is sure, however. Aisling has been taken.”

Aisling had gone to her room to change. It had been one of those mornings, and now a maid had spilled a water can all down her skirt. It wasn’t the girl’s fault, but it just capped a long, boring morning so far as Aisling was concerned. She had the clothing over her head and was squirming out of it when she was seized. She tried to struggle, but muffled in folds of cloth she found it difficult. Then she was struck across her head. Blackness descended shot with red sparks.

The next she knew she was head down still bundled in cloth. It felt like a pony under her. She moved a hand surreptitiously. Yes, that was a pony, with Aisling cross-tied over its broad back. She felt sick, all swimmy. Blurred voices nearby slowly resolved into a conversation she could understand.

“… easy enough. The old fool of a housekeeper will be in trouble when it comes out.” That voice sounded vindictive.

“You’re just mad because she made you really work. The coin’ll be worth it.”

“It’d have to be. If I slaved up them stairs with one can of hot water for them lady-mucks I carried a thousand. All that washing. Rots yer brain.”

There was a coarse laugh, “No fear of that fer you. Reckon you’m as smart as a pin. Letting m’lady here walk right into you, then spilling all that water down ’er. Gave us’n a chance to get her aside at last. Damn me, but how that family do stay around one another.” The other voice only grunted to that and there was a long silence.

Aisling put what she’d heard together. Someone had paid this pair to abduct her. It had to be Ruart. She shivered. But her family would guess, and they’d not rest until they had her back. She could imagine the hue and cry they’d be raising.

If she could have listened to the talk at Gerith Keep at the same moment she’d have been bewildered. No one was looking for her there. Instead, they were grouped in one room with Geavon, making rather labored small talk. Each was almost frantic but they were waiting. They trusted Geavon, and he trusted those he had in other places. Moving too swiftly could risk everything. So they sat, ate food they did not want, making conversation they hardly heard.

Aisling was feeling sicker by the minute. If she didn’t get off this pony soon, she’d be throwing up. She felt the small beast turn, and the sounds of its hooves change. It halted. She was untied and tossed over someone’s shoulder. Then she could feel herself carried up a short flight of stairs. Aisling was dumped on a floor. It would be Ruart’s home, she thought. There was sheepskin under her hands, a fire somewhere near as she felt the heat.

Above her there was a chink of coin. Then the sound of a cork being pulled. An anticipatory mumble as wine gurgled into glasses. She could hear people drinking noisily. Probably the two who’d stolen her drinking to their success and payment. The next sounds puzzled her. A sort of choking, then a couple of muffled thumps followed by the sounds of coins again.

She was lifted to sit in a chair, the cords unwound. She steeled herself to be unsurprised by whatever she saw. It was Ruart as she’d feared. She nodded politely.

“My lord, an unconventional visit, I’m afraid.”

He leered, an aroma of wine preceding him as he leaned close. “But I don’t mind that, my sweet. I have a bedroom awaiting you.” She saw he was very drunk and despaired. Her head still swam and her stomach rebelled.

“So kind, but I do not plan to use it, my Lord Ruart.”

“But I do. Here’s a token of it.” He drew her to him, kissing her with a wet, eager mouth.

Aisling’s stomach finally revolted. She jerked her head to one side and vomited violently. As Ruart released her, she did so again. The sight and smell were too much for Ruart. He joined her and they threw up in miserable unison. From the door an urbane voice addressed the room at large.

“ Not an edifying sight. But don’t worry, I’ll take her off your hands, Ruart.”

Ruart rose clumsily to his feet. “Changed my mind,” he said briefly. “Had a room made up for her. She’s staying here with me.”