R. Salvatore - The Dame

“I worry for him,” Premujon said. “These are difficult times, all the more so because of the decline of Samhaists, making this a time that should be the golden age of our church.”

“It will be,” Dame Gwydre assured him. “If good people stand strong.”

“Stand strong and sail swift,” Dawson added.

“That is indeed our plan and our need,” said Gwydre. “We can hold St. Mere Abelle-of that, I have no doubt. But you must lead my ships with cunning and skill. We cannot allow Palmaristown to seal off the sea routes and control the coast. You have been beside me for so long, my friend Dawson, and now what I ask of you is no less than that I asked of Bransen, Jond, and the others in sending them after Ancient Badden. We must be mobile, quick, and strong. The fewer options we offer to King Yeslnik, the more likely he will be to accept any terms or compromise.”

“Fair winds and following seas,” Dawson replied with a wide grin and a look of sincere love for his dearest friend.

Callen Duwornay moved tentatively toward her bedroom door, surprised by the knock. She expected it to be Cadayle, of course, and feared that something might be troubling her daughter at this late hour, for indeed, the night was past its midpoint.

She flinched, her rich brown eyes going wide to see Dawson McKeege, his floppy cap in hand.

“What trouble?” she started to ask, but Dawson hushed her gently.

“No trouble, pretty lass,” he said. “Or might be for me, but nothing to get yerself upset about.”

“It is very late,” Callen said, and she reflexively grasped the front of her loose nightshirt and slipped a bit farther behind the cracked door.

“Begging your pardon.”

“Given, but what is the matter?”

“It’s about you and yours going to Pryd to live,” Dawson explained, his voice shakier than Callen had ever heard it. “That’s what I’m hearing.”

“That is the plan if Bransen can manage it.”

“No water near Pryd.”

“No water?”

“No sailing water-river or ocean, I mean.”

Callen looked at him as if she did not understand.

Dawson, clearly uncomfortable, rubbed his stubbly, weathered face. “I’m sailing in the morning. Not knowing when I’ll be back.”

“Going home?” Callen asked.

Dawson shook his head and rubbed his face again. “I’ll be on Lady Dreamer for all the season, until winter puts me in dock, either here or back in Port Vanguard. It’s not what I’m wanting, but Gwydre needs me, and that’s a call I’ve never let pass.”

Callen smiled and nodded, though her expression drooped just a bit as she asked, “So you have come to me to say farewell?”

Dawson seemed to Callen as if he might cry. He shook his head. “I’m not wanting to, pretty lady. Not since the first time I saw you.”

“Dawson!” Callen said.

“I know I’m not proper here, and I’m not knowing how to tell you otherwise, but I had to tell-”

He stopped then. He had to, for Callen Duwornay came through her doorway and wrapped him in a great hug and a passionate kiss.

She hadn’t even realized how much she had longed to hear words like that from this man, hadn’t realized the depth of her feelings for Dawson, so busy had she been in the teasing and lighthearted banter with him.

So she kissed him with passion she hadn’t shown since the long-ago night when a wicked Samhaist and the people of Pryd Town had mutilated the one man she had ever dared to love and had thrown her in a sack with a snake for her crime of loving him.

Clearly nervous, and clearly not knowing what he was supposed to do next when Callen broke off the kiss, Dawson stammered and glanced around.

Callen tugged him into her room.

Ma?” Cadayle asked, gently knocking on Callen’s door. It was long past breakfast, and it was typically Callen who awakened Cadayle for their morning meal. Cadayle knew Callen to be a prompt and responsible woman, and her unusual tardiness this morning brought real fears to her daughter.

“Ma?” she asked again and pushed open the door.

To come face-to-face with Dawson McKeege.

“What?” she started to ask, when she noticed Callen, standing off to the side of the shade-darkened room, wrapped in a blanket and apparently nothing else.

“Ma?” Cadayle stammered, and then, “Oh, oh, oh!”

Callen started to call to her, but Cadayle didn’t wait and reflexively slapped Dawson across the face. Then, in horror, Cadayle sucked in her breath and threw her hand over her mouth, her eyes darting from Callen to Dawson to Callen to Dawson.

“Why’d you do that?” a surprised Dawson asked.

“I don’t know!” Cadayle cried, and with a final look at her mother, she gave a sharp yelp and ran off down the hall.

But by then she was laughing, giggling like a young girl.

“Ye’ve got yerself a strange girl there, Callen,” Dawson muttered.

“Have you met her husband, then?”

“Can’t wait to see their kids,” Dawson said with a helpless chuckle. “Ye think the girl’s sensibilities scarred?”

“I think her surprised,” Callen admitted, walking over and reaching with her blanket-gown to wrap Dawson next to her naked form. “And I think her happy, because she’s always happy when I’m happy.”

“And ye are?” Dawson asked.

“Fool,” Callen teased, kissing him, sealing his lateness for his meeting with Dame Gwydre.

Bransen stood with Jameston in the forest to the east of Pryd Town. Jameston leaned on his bow, watching the young man, who seemed confused about his next steps.

“You’ll not find an easy path to clearing your name,” Jameston remarked. “Back to the north and Chapel Abelle, then? Be good to see your family. Let Dame Gwydre take the lead in arguing your case with the idiotic Yeslnik. That’s my advice.”

“You go and do that, with my gratitude,” said Bransen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My road is southeast. To find the other half of a broken sword.”

“You’re thinking to kill the murderer and bring his head in to toss at Yeslnik’s feet? Much like you did with Badden?”

Bransen shook his head through every word.

“Bring him in alive, then, so he can speak the truth that you weren’t involved.”

Still Bransen shook his head.

“Say it, boy,” Jameston prompted.

“I’m not going to fight with the one who killed Delaval.”

“Then how’re you to clear your name?”

Bransen turned and looked at the scout directly. “I’m not sure I care any longer,” he admitted. “So please tell Cadayle and Callen that they may have to remain at Chapel Abelle a bit longer.”

“Bannagran said-”

“I would not trust their safety outside of Chapel Abelle, particularly if Yeslnik or his lackeys come to understand that I go to find he who killed Delaval not out of anger or for vengeance or for their perceived justice.”

“Then why?” Jameston smiled as Bransen took a deep breath. “Because they’re like you-like your ma, at least.”

“Jhesta Tu,” Bransen confirmed. “Long have I wanted to embrace the mystics of that which has guided me from Stork to Highwayman.”

Jameston considered the words for a few heartbeats, then nodded and shrugged. “Your road to choose.”

“And you will go north?”

“Only following your own steps. This is your journey.”

“Because that is what Dame Gwydre asked of you, but now I travel for myself and not for Dame Gwydre.”

Again Jameston shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I travel for myself and have been enjoying the road beside you. And that’s the whole point of it, isn’t it?”

“Enjoyment?”

“Aye.”

“There is more than that,” said Bransen.