The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [96]
“Are there any on my back?” She turned so he could see.
“Only a few.” Neb’s voice turned mournful. “It’s not as if we were rolling around up there or suchlike.”
“You’re going to have to wait for that till we’re formally betrothed.” She turned back and found him grinning at her. “I like to think ahead, you see.”
“And that gladdens my heart.” Neb made her a bow. “Shall we go, my lady?”
They walked together out of the wide stable doors and stood blinking in the bright sun. Dimly, Branna could see a man striding toward them. “Someone’s coming,” she said. “Oh, by the gods, it’s Gerran!”
“And he looks like he’s been peeling Bardek citrons with his teeth,” Neb said, “and washing them down with vinegar.”
Branna giggled at the turn of phrase, and Gerran heard her. His face turned dark with fury as he strode up, his hand on his sword hilt, his red hair gleaming in the sunlight. Neb stepped smoothly in front of Branna.
“What’s vexing you, Captain?” Neb said.
“You milksop little—” Gerran was struggling to get his words out. “What are you doing with Lady Branna?”
“Naught that concerns you.”
“You—” Gerran stopped, and his face turned so pale that its dusting of freckles stood out like flecks of blood. He jerked his hand away from his sword hilt and stepped back. “Nah, nah, nah,” Gerran said. “What am I doing? You’ve never fought with a sword in your life! Ye gods, I can’t—I won’t—ye gods!”
“Very well,” Neb snarled. “Take the cursed thing off and we’ll settle this with our fists.”
Gerran looked him up and down, then laughed. For a moment Branna feared that Neb would charge him, sword or no, but instead Neb suddenly flung up both arms. Wildfolk rushed into manifestation. Sprites swarmed in the air, an army of gnomes clustered on the cobbles, an undine rose from the water in the horse trough and shook a wet fist in Gerran’s direction.
“Laugh at this,” Neb said, and calmly lowered his arms.
Before Branna could yell and stop them, the gnomes charged. Although Gerran couldn’t see them, he obviously could feel them. He yelped, swatted, cursed, and yelped some more as the squad of gnomes leaped, pinching and flailing. The sprites rushed to the attack, swarming like summer flies around his face, pinching him and pulling his hair. With the press all around him, Gerran tried to step back and tripped over Neb’s fat yellow gnome. He went sprawling onto his back and writhed, while Neb laughed and the gnomes pummeled.
“Neb!” Branna screamed. “All of you! That’s enough! Stop it!”
“As my lady commands.” Neb turned to her and bowed.
The chortling gnomes and sprites had already pulled back at her screamed order. When Neb waved his hands, they vanished, leaving a shaking, swearing Gerran lying on the cobbles.
“You’ve got a sword,” Neb said. “I’ve got other weapons.”
Gerran tried to speak and failed. Neb’s smile was so smug that Branna felt like slapping him herself. Gerran got up, but warily, stepping back, glancing around as if he expected enemies to come from all directions.
“Well, Lady Branna,” Neb said. “Truly you’re a prize beyond price.”
“A prize, is it? Is that supposed to be flattering?” Branna had the satisfaction of seeing his smug smile disappear.
“Uh, well, I—”
“Isn’t it?” Gerran said, and his eyes had grown cold. “Lasses always—”
“I can’t stand either of you!” Branna turned on him. “Do you think I’m a mare in heat? Eager to watch the studs fight over her?”
Both men stared openmouthed. With a last snarl Branna turned away, then ran across the ward. At the broch she ducked inside. In the great hall everyone had assembled for the feast, the riders on their side of the hall, her aunt and uncle and their vassals on the other. Laughter and talk rang out; the mead and ale were flowing. It was easy for her to sidle along the curved wall to the staircase, then run upstairs before anyone noticed her, though she was panting for breath by the time she reached her chamber. She slammed the door shut and barred it for good measure.
Her gray gnome