The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [60]
‘I’ll tie these on behind my saddle,’ he said. ‘We’ll put them on a mule when we catch up with the caravan.’
‘My thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘If Evan rides with his da, I can walk.’
‘No need for that. You can’t weigh more than a hundredweight, lass, and my master’s a thin stick of a man himself. His horse can carry the pair of you.’
Nevyn kicked one foot free of its stirrup to allow her to mount. With Gwairyc’s help she settled herself behind him on the horse.
‘You can hang on to me, if need be,’ Nevyn said. ‘I won’t mind.’
‘My thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘Here, I was just wondering how I should say your name. Should I call you sir or my lord?’
‘What? Neither! Whatever for?’ Nevyn paused for a laugh. ‘I’m naught but an old herbman.’
‘You may be that, but you’ve done me the biggest favour of my life.’
‘Huh. Only because your life’s been short up for favours. Don’t trouble your heart about it.’
‘I won’t, then. But you’ll have my gratitude forever.’
As they started off, Nevyn took the lead. Morwen kept looking back to make sure that Evan was behaving himself. Every time she did, he would smile and wave to her. Apparently the novelty of riding on such a beautiful horse had made him forget his earlier fears. His father occasionally sang to him, as well, odd little songs that he was probably making up as he went along. Morwen felt like singing herself. Not only did she still have Evan, but she was free of the farm and her wretched kinsfolk, free of the contempt of the town. The only thing she’d miss about either, she realized, was her regular ritual of putting flowers on Lanmara’s grave. Still, at moments she was frightened, wondering if she’d jumped out of a tree only to land in a thorn bush, but during Devaberiel’s visits he and his Westfolk friends had never once stared at her lip or so much as mentioned it. She could hope that the rest of their people would treat her the same way, even though she’d heard that every single one of them was beautiful. After all, she thought, I’d be ugly anywhere, so it won’t make any difference.
Soon enough they caught up with the slow-moving caravan. Since the Westfolk had brought an extra horse with them, Morwen had her own mount, a sturdy dapple grey and easily the finest animal she’d ever ridden. When Evan began whining, she took him from his father.
‘Here, now, you’re tired, little one,’ she said. ‘You’ve not had your nap. Gwairyc, if you’ll lead my horse, I can hold Evan while he sleeps for bit.’
‘Done, then. Toss me your reins.’
Finding a way to settle Evan into her lap took some ingenuity, since she’d never tried to hold him on horseback before. He fussed until he could rest his head on her shoulder, as he was used to doing when they were sitting on their bench with her back firmly against a wall. Eventually he got his chubby little legs around her waist, and she held him securely by wrapping her arms around his midsection. It only took a mile or so for her arms and back to start aching, but it never occurred to her to disturb him and insist he sit some other way. In her entire life only two persons had ever loved her, Lanmara and Evan, and he was now the only one she had left. Her comfort on that long day’s ride meant next to nothing compared to his.
That night they made a camp on the edge of the wild forest that had formerly marked the boundary of Morwen’s life. Devaberiel put together a shelter for her and the child by tying a long rope between two trees. He then draped extra blankets over it and weighted down the corners with rocks to form a triangular tent of sorts.
‘It’s a bit of privacy for you, anyway,’ Dev said. ‘Albeit not of the best.’
‘It will do splendidly, my thanks,’ Morwen said. ‘I can get Evan to go to sleep much more easily if he feels set apart, like, from everyone else.’
After the evening meal, and after the men had drawn lots to see who would stand a watch to guard the mules and horses, everyone but Nevyn went to their blankets.