Chapter 10: Laughter in the Morning
In a dimly lit cottage Gilling sat by the hearth with a small black-haired lass fast asleep in his lap. She had fallen asleep ages ago but he had been talking intently with Sintia. Her father slept on a pallet nearby, now and again snoring loudly. "The new priest tells me that the banns will not need to be read, since there is already a child. That is, if you are willing to name me her father."
"And what happens when your viol wanders over the horizon again, and you follow it? With all your friends among the courtiers, what law would hold you?"
Gilling considered. He wanted to say, "God's law," but knew that that would not be the assurance she wanted. He also could see the struggle in her eyes, and in the set of her mouth: she still loved him, after all. Though she could ill afford it, she had kept one of the gold necklaces to wear; he had seen it glinting on the freckled skin over her collarbone. The rest of the gold had gone to thatch the roof, pay the debts, buy a younger goat and a few fowls, shoes for her senile father, and a field of flax to beat, heckle, spin and weave for the coming year. But it was not in him to flatter and woo her now and win out. Time would show whether he was worthy of her trust.
The Priory bell rang. "I am afraid I have a midnight errand in the Castle, a message to give Lord Gregory," he said, rising and placing the burden of his lap into Sintia's arms. She looked uncertain and maybe regretful of having spoken so; his errand did sound as though he were excusing himself. Gilling resigned himself; explanations would do no good.
When he saw the glance she tendered on the sleeping Deinn, the unconscious smile that stole over her lips, he saw that indeed she was still a beautiful woman and as good a mother, not only to her child but her father as well, as she could be. Quickly, before she turned away with the child, he placed a kiss on her cheek, and turned to go. As he crossed the threshold, he called back over his shoulder, "Marry me, Sintia!" He went out singing into the night.
Margaret felt cool skin against her forearms and heard the gentle rustling of leaves and felt a cool night breeze soft on her face and stirring her hair; she was unharmed. Only Tamlyn's bare arms around her held her from falling to the forest floor, his voice almost singing with joy, "Margaret, my Margaret, it is well. All is over. You have redeemed me, my love, my brave-hearted bonnie lady!"
He held her, swaying gently, in the dark of the woods, by the obscure light of stars and the rustle of the leaves. Margaret sobbed on the skin of his chest with horror, then relief; then she laughed with triumph.
"I've won you, Sievan, I've won!"
She shivered, and with an effort, unlocked her numb fingers and loosened the arms that still tightly encircled him; they were so tired that they fell to her side. When the strength returned to her arms, she kilted her mantle around him, for he was mother-naked, but they were past its disconcerting either of them. As she pinned the brooch at his waist, he put a hand on her cheek. "Margaret, does anything stand between us?"
She pressed her cheek against his hand, smiling, almost afraid. "Nothing in this world."
"Then, Margaret, might I ask your father if you will be my bride?"
"Oh, aye, love, you might." He held her close then, as he had not allowed himself to before. She held him, neither clutching, nor crying.
After a time, she took his hand, and led him down the stream to her horse. Star nickered as they approached. Tamlyn lifted Margaret to Star's back and mounted before her, and they rode, speaking softly to each other, he astride and she sidemounted, her arm about his waist, slowly down the hills to reach the murmuring river as the dawn chorus was swelling and day was breaking over the Cloud Mountains. They talked of many things that they had not had opportunity before.
Caer Aldene was very quiet in the dawn. White tents in rows dotted the bailey grounds. A sheep blatted somewhere in the pastures above. Ragged patches of mist lifted off the Briar River as Tamlyn and Margaret crossed at the ford and dismounted to let Star have a drink. The mare was tired. They stood close, wanting, not daring to stand closer.
"I will ride to the castle, and get you something, perhaps, more suitable to wear?" She smiled at her mantle, his only kilt.
"I would rather appreciate that, much as I do like this," Tamlyn replied, and for the first time, they laughed together, and wondered that they had not before.
"Then you shall see what sort of a welcome you shall have, Elf-knight," said Margaret, turning and leaping unaided to Star's back.
When she had ridden out of sight, Tamlyn moved behind a stand of reeds down the bank, lay the cloak on dry stones and slipped into the clear, cold water. It braced him. He was soon chilled and waded back to shore, where he stood, hidden and dripping, looking up at the spires of Aldene glinting in the morning sun.
He looked back toward the forest, which gave way in the distance to hills blue in shadow, and farther away the twin mountains, mauve against the yellow air of the sunrise, light gilding the peaks. Emotions blended in his face. He breathed deeply and turned, with a resolved half-smile, back to the sunlit towers.
Hooves clattered in the stableyard, and Trin ran from the stableman's house. He was the only sign of life other than the swifts wheeling over the yard and under the eaves. "Trin, fetch you to me the knight Gareth, and tell him to bring a suit of good clothing; I shall soon repay him. Tell him to come at once!"
Trin ran on another strange errand for Lady Margaret, and in a few minutes Gareth came squinting into the early light, stifling a yawn, and incredulous to find the stablemaster holding three fresh horses, and Margaret on a fourth. "Come, Sir, let us show you a merry meeting! Come, Trin, and lead the extra horse as you go!" She rode away even as they were mounting, and they followed after her down to the River.
Gareth was astonished as he rode up to the cloak-wrapped figure on the bank. "In faith, Tame Braewode! Then you are not a ghost!"
"Well met, Gareth Ryleigh; I am alive!"
"Clothe him, if you would, Sir Gareth. I will wait over there," she said, moving away demurely, for in front of kind, rough-hewn Gareth, Tamlyn looked like a shorn lamb. She heard them talking, Gareth exclaiming his astonishment; Margaret tried not to think about what Gareth must be turning over in his mind. Trin caught up to the men with the spare mount.
When he was dressed, Margaret rode back to them. She gazed at Tamlyn, in Gareth's embroidered linen tunic and deerskin trousers and boots, his blond hair drying in the sun, he looked fully human for the first time since she had laid eyes on him. She had a moment of exultation, as if believing for the first time, now he was out of the forest and clothed as any other man, that she had passed the test and won him. The events of last night were already remote and inconceivable in the morning sun. Yet here he was.
She spoke quietly. "I must go to my bower and rest. Sir Gareth, Sir Tamlyn must also be exhausted. Please take him to where he can rest as well, and spare him for now from explanations. Later, please take him to my lord my father and introduce him, then surely all will hear our strange tale."
"Your father will sleep long, for he was up late, into this morning. When I retired I saw him going aside into the Library with the Troubadour, who had some message for him."
A satisfied smile spread over Margaret's lips, and a giggle escaped them. Before mounting the horse Trin held for him, Tamlyn drew near to Margaret and took her hand. He gazed long into her bright, weary eyes, smiling gently. She looked into the clear eyes that held no threat. They had no need of words.
Part 2: The Fey Queen