The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [45]
When Gerran turned, he saw Branna, walking across the ward at some distance. From the look in Neb’s eyes Gerran suddenly realized that the scribe was besotted with the lass. With the realization came a baffling thought: deep in his soul Gerran knew that Neb had the better claim on her. Yet the thought of stepping back for the scribe—this skinny weakling—why he even knew how to read! I’ll not give up as easily as that, Gerran told himself. We’ll just see who wins her.
Without a word aloud Gerran turned to follow her. Neb did the same, but they both stopped when they saw Salamander coming to meet her. The gerthddyn bowed to her with such courtly grace that she smiled and allowed him to take her arm as they strolled away.
“Curse his very soul!” Gerran whispered.
“It’s not his soul that troubles me,” Neb said.
In sullen brotherhood they turned and strode back to the ward, out of sight of Branna and the good-looking gerthddyn both.
Behind the broch, at a pleasant distance from the pigsty and the dung heap, the cook had planted a kitchen garden. Slender beds of herbs separated each plot of cabbages, turnips, and the like. In their aromatic midst stood a little bench, where Salamander led Branna for their talk.
“Tell me somewhat,” Salamander said. “What do you think of young Neb? And of Gerran for that matter.”
“Everyone seems to be asking me that these days,” Branna said. “Are you trying to marry me off, too?”
“Do I look like a village matchmaker?”
“Truly, you don’t. So why did you ask me about Neb and Gerran?”
“They both seem besotted with you. That’s all.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Branna sounded deeply surprised. “How very odd.”
“Now here! Not so odd for a pretty lass like you.”
“But very odd for a lass who has no dowry to speak of.”
“You don’t value yourself highly, do you, my lady?”
“How could I? My stepmother never let a chance go by to remind me how lowly I was. She used to suggest that I become a priestess, since obviously I’d never make a good marriage.”
“A nasty sort, was she? A veritable shrew, virago, termagant, and so on and so forth.”
“All of that, good sir, and more. Do you know what it’s like to have your kin begrudge the food you eat?”
“I do, oddly enough,” Salamander said. “But I didn’t have to suffer it as long. How did you manage to keep from going mad?”
“What? And let her claim a victory?”
They shared a laugh.
“But your question’s worthy of an answer,” Branna went on. “At first, I wasn’t truly alone. When I was small, there were the servants’ children in my father’s dun to play with—not my precious stepbrothers, of course, who weren’t allowed to talk to someone so far beneath them.”
“It’s a pity your stepmother didn’t get carried off by Horsekin. They would have understood each other very well.”
Branna grinned at him, then went on. “I did have Aunt Galla to look out for my interests, too.” The grin disappeared. “Until her husband was offered this demesne, and they moved out here.”
“So our good tieryn’s not held this dun for very long?”
“He hasn’t. He and Galla used to live about twenty miles east of here, not far from my father’s dun, which is farther east still. But when the king established this demesne, the gwerbret assigned it to Cadryc. I saw Aunt Galla but rarely after that, and the servants’ children had all been set to working by then.”
“But you survived.”
“I did. I learned how to be alone, you see. I made up little tales to ease my heart, like, about some other time and some other place in Deverry.” She looked away with a sigh. A long strand of hair had pulled free of the clasp and hung beside her cheek. With an irritated wave of her hand she flipped it back, but when it fell forward again, she ignored it.
“What sort of tales?” Salamander said. “I find myself most curious, if you’d care to tell me.”
“Oh, well, they were stupid things, I suppose.” Branna suddenly blushed. “I’m sorry I mentioned them.”
“Don’t be. Please, they can’t be very stupid if you told them. You strike me as a levelheaded lass.”
“I do? Most people call me strange.”
“Most