The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [54]
By the front door Morwen was sitting on a little bench in the sun while she watched Evan playing with a leather ball. When Nevyn hailed her, she got up and walked over to the gate. Two big black and tan hounds accompanied her, tails wagging.
‘Good morrow, good sirs,’ she said in her moist lisp. ‘What brings you to me?’
‘I was wondering if you’d seen any sign of Devaberiel yet,’ Nevyn said. ‘He might arrive today, you see.’
‘I’ve not.’ She looked away, fighting tears for a long few moments. ‘Ah well,’ she said at last, ‘I’d invite you in to wait, but my brother takes it ill when I have guests. He’s always afraid I might offer them a bit of his ale or bread.’
‘Ye gods,’ Gwairyc said. ‘From the look of your farm there’s no call for him to be so miserly.’
‘There’s not, and he’s not, except when it comes to me.’
‘I see.’ Nevyn had long since got out of the habit of making small talk, but now he badly wanted to linger. ‘Do you have many guests?’
‘Me?’ Morwen paused for a short bark of a laugh. ‘Hardly, good sir.’
‘What? No friends or suchlike?’
‘There was only one lass in our entire village who ever dared befriend a maimed creature like me, and she—’ Morwen paused for a quick intake of breath that might have been a sigh or a choked back sob. ‘She died but two years ago. Lanmara, her name was.’
Nevyn felt the brush of an omen’s wing across his mind. Might this Lanmara have been someone he would have recognized? ‘That’s very sad,’ he said aloud.
Morwen nodded. She might have told him more, but the front door swung open, and a young woman stepped out. Westfolk blood, indeed, Nevyn thought. The innwife was right enough about that. Tall, slender, with moonbeam pale hair that matched little Evan’s, she walked with such innate grace that she might have been floating over the grass. But she possessed one trait that he’d only seen once among the Westfolk: an utter indifference to her child. When Evan came running, carrying his ball, she gave him a look of such contempt that he stopped and took a step back.
‘Don’t shove that nasty thing at me.’ Varynna pointed to the ball. ‘It’s dirty.’
Morwen hurried over to claim Evan and the ball both. Nevyn took the opportunity to reach over the gate, unlatch it, and let himself and Gwairyc into the garth. Varynna deigned to glance their way.
‘Good morrow,’ Nevyn said. ‘I just stopped by to tell you that Devaberiel’s on his way here. He might arrive this very day.’
‘Then my thanks for the news. I’ll be glad to see the last of him.’ Varynna left it unclear as to whether she meant the bard or his son—perhaps both, Nevyn supposed.
Morwen caught her breath and raised a quick hand to wipe the tears from her eyes.
‘Oh, will you stop snivelling?’ Varynna said. ‘It’s not like he’s really your child.’
‘Then he’s nobody’s child,’ Morwen said. ‘Because you’re not a fit mother for a pig, much less a little lad.’
‘You!’ Varynna raised a hand as if she’d slap her sister, then hesitated, doubtless because Nevyn and Gwairyc were watching. ‘You malformed get! It’s no wonder the gods cursed you.’
In a rustle of dresses, her head held high, Varynna swept into the house and slammed the door behind her.
‘Your sister needs a good spanking,’ Gwairyc remarked. ‘Or mayhap two.’
‘I only wish I could see it, good sir. Or do it myself. With a horsewhip.’ She turned a little away and rolled the ball across the grass. With a giggle Evan went toddling after it.
‘And what will you do,’ Nevyn said, ‘once Evan’s gone with his father?’
‘I don’t know.’ Morwen’s face turned slack with grief. ‘My brother can’t turn me out, but I’m half-minded to go to the Temple of the Moon. The holy ladies told me I’d be welcome should I wish to join them. It’s not a bad life.’
‘Well, it’s not, truly, but—’
‘I’ve been studying the lore,’ Morwen went on as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘It’s an odd thing, but it seems to come to me naturally, like.’
‘Well, don’t be too hasty,’ Nevyn said. ‘Let me think about