Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [68]
“Acern, where’s your brigga?”
“Wet.”
“He did that again, Da,” Aderyn announced.
“Ah, ye gods! Well, I hope your mother wiped you off before you got on the bed.”
“Of course, dearest”, Lyssa said, strolling in. “If you hadn’t been so mean to Cadda, she would have had the lad dressed by now.”
Gweran nodded in a meek admission of guilt. Pieces of his dreams and of his vision were floating in his mind. He wanted to compose a song about them; he could almost feel the words in his mouth. Lyssa sat down next to him—the whole family, settling in.
“What’s wrong with Cadda, anyway?” Gweran said. “She’s so cursed touchy these days.”
“Oh, she’s got a man on her mind. And not much of a man at that.”
“Indeed? Who?”
Lyssa looked significantly at Aderyn, whose little ears grew bigger every day, and changed the subject.
As soon as he’d eaten, Gweran went out alone for a long walk through the fields. He wandered vaguely, hardly aware of where he was, stumbling occasionally in the long grass as he worked out his song. He would sing snatches of it aloud, changing the words around, working over every line until it was perfect. A stanza at a time, he memorized it, linking it together in his mind with chaining images and alliteration. He would never write it down. If a bard learned to read, learned so much as the names of the letters, his Agwen would desert him. Without her, he could never compose a song again.
His mind finally at rest, Gweran came back to the dun just at twilight. In the cooler gray air, the servants and riders were sitting around in the ward, talking softly together and resting after the long, hot day. As he walked toward the broch, Gweran saw Cadda, perched on the edge of a horse trough and giggling up at one of the riders. Remembering Lyssa’s snide comment about Cadda’s man, Gweran paused to look the lad over: tall, blond, good-looking in a rough sort of way with the narrow blue eyes and high cheekbones of a southern man. Although Cadda seemed besotted with him, the rider listened numbly and halfheartedly to her chatter—surprising, because Cadda was a beautiful girl, all soft curves and thick blond hair.
Although Gweran would have preferred to ignore thé matter, his wife was concerned, and for good reason: riders were prone to getting serving lasses pregnant and then doing their best to weasel out of marriage. Gweran walked round the ward until he found Doryn, captain of the troop, who was sitting idly on a little bench and watching the twilight fade. Gweran sat down beside him.
“Who’s that new rider in the warband?” Gweran said. “A southern lad, and my wife’s lass is making a fool of herself over him.”
Doryn grinned in easy understanding.
“Name’s Tanyc. He rode in here a while back, and our lordship took him on. He’s a good man with his sword, and that’s all that should count, truly.”
“Should?” Gweran raised an eyebrow.
“Well, now, he’s an odd lad.” Doryn considered, struggling with this unfamiliar kind of thought. “Keeps to himself, and then he’s dead quiet when he fights. When we rode that raid on Lord Cenydd’s cattle, Tanno was as quiet as quiet in the scrap. Creeps a man’s flesh to see someone make his kill without even a cursed war cry.”
The mention of the cattle raid reminded Gweran that he had yet to sing about it. Although songs about raids were his least favorite, this one deserved the honor as part of the new feud between the Wolf clan and Lord Cenydd’s Boars to the north.
“I don’t suppose this Tanno’s thinking of honorable marriage and suchlike,” Gweran said.
“Ah, by the hells, keep little Cadda away from him if you can! He flies alone, Tanyc. One of the lads started