Shari Anton - By King's Decree

“I suggest we return to the manor,” Gerard said, halting the hunt. The party had bagged several hares and a few partridges and pheasants. Gerard supposed Harold’s hunting forays were short and infrequent. Then who hunted fresh meat? Ardith? Perhaps. Gerard didn’t doubt she could, not when flying so magnificent a bird as Gwen.

“Shall I take her, my lord?” the attendant offered.

Gerard looked at the hawk comfortably perched on his arm, grooming her feathers. Gerard wrapped the leather jesses around his arm.

“Nay, she is content and not heavy. I will carry her.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the attendant said, looking askance, but hurrying to take Harold’s bird, then Corwin’s.

“Are you content to ride with me, Gwen?” Gerard softly asked. The hawk simply continued her preening. Gerard chuckled and turned his horse in the direction of the manor.

Gerard looked around for Corwin, who’d been riding at his side. For some reason Corwin lagged a pace behind, studying a copse of trees to his right.

“My son remembers his triumph,” Harold said with pride. He called out, “Proud of you, I was, Corwin. Never was there a finer meal than the boar you slew with your sword, and you a bit of a lad and new to weaponry.”

Corwin rode up beside Gerard. “Killing the boar was no great feat, Father. ‘Twas kill or be killed.”

Addressing Gerard, Harold protested. “Corwin nearly separated the beast from his head. Cook had to piece the boar back together before impaling him on a spit. You should remember the feast, my lord. Baron Everart brought you and Richard to help us celebrate Corwin’s bravery.”

“’Twas Stephen who came, Father, not Richard.”

“Are you sure? I seem to recall…”

“Quite sure. Richard was ill and could not come.”

Harold stared at the horizon for a long moment, then said, “Aye, ‘twas Stephen. No matter. ‘Twas a fine feast to honor Corwin’s prowess.”

Gerard remembered the feast. He’d been seated between Bronwyn and Edith, nodding at Bronwyn’s endless chatter and wondering if Edith would ever end her prayer so he could eat. In his boredom his gaze had wandered the hall, finally resting on a head peeking from behind the corner tapestry.

After the meal, he’d circled the hall to investigate and found Ardith crouched in the corner. The discovery had been the one bright moment of an otherwise dreary day.

“Harold has the right of it, Corwin. You saved not only your life, but Ardith’s. ‘Twas a feat to warrant pride.”

Gerard saw Corwin’s pallor, but before he could remark on it, Corwin pulled ahead and grabbed the game bag from the bearer.

“If we are to feast on this meat tonight, I best get it back to the manor.”

“Tell Ardith not to stew the hares,” Harold ordered. “I want them roasted.”

“Aye, Father.” Corwin wheeled and rode off.

Ardith shooed a goat from the manor doorway. Since the weather had turned cold, the animals relentlessly sought the warmth of indoors. The peasants might share their huts with sheep and oxen, but Ardith was firm in herding the manor’s animals toward their outdoor pens—except the hunting hounds, one of which loped past on his way to a spot by the fire.

She glanced beyond where Corwin now dismounted, looking for the rest of the hunting party. Gerard hadn’t yet returned. She fought the disappointment, and lost.

Ardith had always known that someday she would again see Gerard. She hadn’t known how much the meeting would hurt.

Last night, awake on her pallet, she’d relived their first meeting. She’d again felt Gerard’s tender concern for an injured maiden, heard those words he’d uttered to put her at ease. But mostly she remembered the comfort of curling in Gerard’s arms as he’d carried her from hall to pallet.

Just before falling asleep in the wee hours before dawn, she’d convinced herself she was glorifying a childhood fancy. Then had come the dream, of the man Gerard, standing in the glen where the boar had attacked, his arms reaching out to her, beseeching. She’d tried to run to him, but no matter how fast she ran she couldn’t reach Gerard.

Forced to admit a continued enchantment with Gerard, she resolved to stay as far away from him as possible. Later, after Gerard left Lenvil, she would mourn the penalty imposed by her wounding but once more, then put aside for all time the folly of longing for a husband and children.

Corwin handed over the game bag. She almost dropped the heavy pouch.

“A fine hunt,” she commented, inspecting the contents.

“Father says—”

“He wants the hares roasted,” she finished for him, shaking her head. “He will risk his few remaining teeth for the sake of his pride. Who took the hares?”

“Gerard and Gwen.”

“She flew well for him, then?”

“Very.”

By his clipped answers, Ardith knew some problem chewed at Corwin’s vitals. His next words confirmed her belief.

“Ardith, could we speak in private?”

Ardith waylaid a servant as they entered the manor. She gave him the game bag and instructions for the cook. After filling two cups with mead, she sat on a stool across the table from Corwin.

Corwin took a long pull of mead. His blue eyes locked on her own, then he looked away, as though he’d glimpsed her deepest thoughts and recoiled.

“Corwin?”

He leaned forward, his arms crossed on the table. “Ardith, are you happy here at Lenvil?”

The question was so unexpected it took her a moment to answer. “I am content,” she said, keeping near to the truth. “I have duties to keep me occupied, people to talk to. My hawk. My horse.”

Corwin’s tone turned sarcastic. “And Father. He believes you waste away your days doing nothing. Were you to vanish for a time, he would realize who truly runs the manor. He thinks Mother trained the servants so well that they merely carried on with their duties after her death. God’s wounds, he—”

“Corwin, stop,” Ardith said firmly, putting a hand on his arm. “Father is as he has always been. He has never put any store by his daughters. He judges us all witless and useless. Watch tonight how he treats Bronwyn. Do you know he has not said a kind word to her since she came to visit?”

“Bronwyn has a home of her own to return to, a husband who treats her like a princess. But you, you must stay and bear his ill-treatment.”

“You are kind to think of my feelings. But if you must know, I learned long ago to ignore Father’s attitude. The more harsh and loud he grows with the onset of age, the more I close my ears.”

“’Twas not just Father who ignored you, but Mother, right up to the day she died. Then he left you to the mercy of Elva, especially after…”

Corwin took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Amazed by her brother’s distress, she asked, “What happened to rile you so?”

Corwin cleared his throat. “Father complained about you to Gerard, and when we passed the glen where you were…hurt, Father started in again. Not once did he say he had almost lost a daughter that day, only bragged of how his son had provided meat for a feast. Then Gerard said…said I should be proud of how I saved you.”

“Well, you should. Corwin, had you not killed the boar, he might have attacked me again. I could have died.”

“Had I protected you as I should, you would not have been hurt. Had you not suffered the wound, you might have married and escaped Father’s scorn.”

Corwin’s pained scowl and sharp words drove deep into Ardith’s heart. Never had she imagined the horrible guilt he bore, and she knew that if she tried to ease that guilt now, he wouldn’t listen.

Soon Harold would be home. If he found Corwin sulking, Father would surely find her at fault.