Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [99]
These were minor problems, however. Lord Samuels’s garden was, in general, well planned, well ordered, and much admired. Admittedly it was small compared to the gardens of the upper class. But Lord Samuels had cleverly compensated for this deficiency. The garden paths that wound among the thick, lush plantings, trees, and flowers were a maze of twists and turns. Once in the garden, the visitor not only lost sight of the house but his sense of direction as well. Walking among the hedges that Lord Samuels caused to shift about in their positions daily, a person could “lose” himself quite pleasantly in the garden for hours.
This was, next to flirting, Gwendolyn’s favorite pastime.
Gwen was relatively well-educated, it being currently in vogue for the Albanara to educate their daughters. Every morning she spent studying her lessons with Marie, supposedly learning advanced theories and philosophies of magic and religion. It pleased Lord Samuels to look in daily on his daughter at her studies, her golden head bent solemnly over a book. When he left for work, that pleasant sight lingered in his memory. What he did not know was that the book either disappeared promptly after his departure or was replaced with one that dealt with more interesting matters — such as bold Sir Hugo, the highwayman.
Occasionally Lady Rosamund took over morning lessons, instructing her daughter on the management of the household, dealing with servants, and the raising of children. These lessons Gwendolyn enjoyed almost as much as Lady Rosamund, both spending a great deal of time building and furnishing splendid castles in the air. But, no matter how much she delighted in being with her mother or in reading about Sir Hugo, Gwen looked forward each day to the end of lessons when she and Marie went for their daily stroll in the garden.
Lady Rosamund always said, laughingly, that Gwen had the blood of a Druid in her veins, for the girl had a way with plants quite remarkable for one not born to that mystery. She could coax blossoms from the most sulky rosebush by her voice alone. Saplings that had lost the will to live lifted their spindly limbs at her gentle touch, while choking weeds cowered at her approach and attempted to hide from her sight.
Gwen was never happier than when wandering through the garden in the mornings. And it was undoubtedly chance that brought Joram into the garden this time of day as well. At least he said it was chance — he had simply wanted a breath of fresh air. Certainly he appeared surprised to see her floating above him amid the rose trees, her golden hair — elaborately coiled and braided about her head — shining in the sunlight, her pink gown with its fluttering ribbons, making her seem not unlike a rose itself.
“I bid you sun arise, sir,” said Gwendolyn, the colors of the roses in her cheeks.
“Sun arise, my lady,” said Joram gravely, looking up at her from where he stood upon the ground.
“Won’t you join me, please?” Gwen asked, motioning upward.
To Gwen’s astonishment, Joram’s face darkened, his black brows coming together in a thick, hard line above his eyes. “No, thank you, my lady,” he said in a measured voice. “I do not have sufficient Life —”
“Oh,” cried Gwen eagerly, “Marie will grant you Life, if your own catalyst is not about yet this morning. Marie? Where are you?”
Looking around for the catalyst, Gwen missed seeing the swift spasm of pain that briefly contorted Joram’s face. Marie, coming up behind her mistress, was looking directly at the young man and saw it quite clearly. Though she could not guess what it meant, she was sensitive enough to understand that — for some reason — he could not or would not use his magic. Like any good servant, she provided him with an excuse — her own failing.
“If my lady and the gentleman will both forgive me,” she said, “I feel somewhat too fatigued. I was up during the night with the little ones.”
“And I’ve been a selfish beast, draining