Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [96]
“Not truly. He’s a half-breed, you see.”
“Councillor Loddlaen.” The words burst out of Jill’s mouth before she could stop them.
When Aderyn turned her way, Jill felt that he was looking through, not at her, as if his casual glance would nail her down the way a farmer nails a shrike to a barn wall. After some moments he smiled and released her.
“Well, his name is Loddlaen, sure enough. Now, you must be Jill.”
“I am.” Jill was certain that she’d never told any of the Westfolk her name. “Have we met, good sir?”
“We have, but not so you’d remember.” For a moment, Aderyn looked melancholy, as if he wished that she would remember. “But why did you call him Councillor Loddlaen?”
“Well, that’s what he called himself. He’s part of Lord Corbyn of Bruddlyn’s retinue now.”
“Indeed? And isn’t that passing strange? Well, at least we know where to find him, then.” Aderyn rose, glancing off into the night. “Most strange, it is—truly.”
He walked off without even a backward glance.
“Here!” One of the muleteers spoke up. “Is that old man daft or suchlike?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call him that,” Dregydd said, thoughtfully scratching his beard. “He has his little ways, but his mind is as sound as an oak.”
The muleteers exchanged doubting glances.
“Must be daft,” Cullyn muttered. “Running off with the Westfolk like he did.”
Although Jill knew better than to say so aloud, she was thinking that running off with these people didn’t seem like a daft idea to her.
Later that night the music started. Across the moonlit meadow a woman’s voice began a melancholy melody. Three other voices picked up a harmony that sounded out of key until Jill realized that they were singing in quarter tones, just like the Bardek minstrels one heard every now and then down in port towns. Suddenly instruments joined in, a cool, clear sound like a harp, then something that made a constant drone, and finally a small drum. The music came faster, faster, flowed from one song to the next with barely a pause. Cullyn and the men crowded close together and concentrated on dice. Jill slipped away and went to stand on the edge of the camp. Across the meadow torches flared among the jewel-bright tents. Drawn as if by dweomer, Jill took a few steps forward, but suddenly Cullyn grabbed her by the shoulder.
“And just what are you doing?” Cullyn snapped.
“Listening and nothing more.”
“Oh, horseshit! Listen, don’t you dare sneak off. Those people are more wild animals than they are men, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you pleased their men well enough anyway.”
“Oh, ye gods, Da! You think every man I meet is lusting after me.”
“Most of them are, and don’t you forget it. Now, come along. You can hear this blasted squawling well enough by the fire.”
Even for a tieryn with a vast demesne, coin was hard to come by in western Eldidd. Since Dun Cannobaen was only Lovyan’s summer retreat, she had to send back to her main residence, Dun Gwerbyn, for silver for the soapmaker’s daughter. When it finally arrived, Rhodry was incensed to find that his mother expected him to deliver it personally.
“Why can’t the chamberlain go?” Rhodry snapped. “Or the wretched equerry? Let them earn their meat and mead.”
Lovyan merely crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. With a sigh, Rhodry picked up the pair of saddlebags from the table and went to the stable to get a horse.
The morning lay clear and sunny over the wild green meadow, and far below at the base of the cliffs the ocean sparkled like a casket of blue and green jewels, but Rhodry rode out with a heavy heart. Olwen’s going to weep, he told himself, and it’s going to be horrible. What Rhodry could never admit to another living soul was that he was honestly fond of Olwen. It was one thing to tumble a common-born lass around in bed; quite another to admit that you liked her and felt more at ease with her than with a woman of your own class.
The town of Cannobaen lay nestled around a small harbor in a break in the cliffs, where the Brog, a stream that only qualified