A savage slap sent Ciara spinning to the ground again. She came up fighting, sinking her teeth into her captor’s arm as he grabbed her. For a moment her face was visible to Trovagh. He saw the desperation behind the rage, the terror behind the determination to fight. Blood trickled down her cheek from one of the blows. Something rose in Trovagh. A chill, deadly fury. He stepped forward, spying the man’s bow. He darted silently toward it even as the outlaw heard the rush of feet. A quick stamp and the bow broke, now Trovagh turned on his prey.
Never fight in” a temper, his father had taught him. Trovagh’s mood was beyond that description,.it was ice, the deadly winter blizzard that comes to kill. It, too, did not slay in a rage, but those who met it died. He feinted. The man he faced was good enough for untrained farmers, but Trovagh had been taught by Hanion since the boy could walk. Swords crossed, flickering and shimmering. Another feint, a bind, and a sword whirling high into the air. The bandit made his final mistake. His eyes followed the blade upward. Trovagh brought his sword lashing around. The outlaw folded in silence to the bloody earth.
Cee? Where was Cee? Trovagh jerked his head around hunting for her. Over Quickfeet’s back an arrow pointed. He slouched in relief and pride, gasping for breath. Even after that she’d run not for a place to hide but for a weapon to aid him. Behind her horse Ciara allowed the bowstring to relax.
“Are there any more?” Trovagh was remaining cautious.
“No, he said he was alone, and the others were wiped out days ago by Aranskeep.” She emerged from behind Quickfeet as she spoke. Her hand went up to wipe away the trickle of blood. The man’s ring had cut high on her cheekbone when he struck her. She walked unsteadily toward Tro.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He hesitated; how did you ask a friend if she’d been raped? “Were you… he didn’t… ?”
She managed a small, shaky smile. “I fought him too hard, then you came.” He looked at her standing there. Hair torn half loose from its braids, clothing wrenched apart. She was bruised, bloody, but still Cee. His arms went out to close about her. Her face turned up to reassure him as their lips met, almost by accident. Long moments later he put her from him a little.
It was his smile that was shaky now. “I think perhaps we should tell Father our marriage could become official. That’s if you feel the same way, Cee?”
She smiled up, long affection and new love in that look. “Yes!” was all she said. It was enough.
8
The wedding was small as Keep weddings went. Trader Tanrae and his family, Geavon and all his, and a sprinkling of the clan who lived within a few days’ travel. There were also the people of Aiskeep, the garths, and those others outside the valley who still looked to Aiskeep as overlord. The preparations took until almost midsummer. But then their own priestess united Trovagh and Ciara by Cup and Flame. Aiskeep rejoiced.
Hard on the heels of that event came another that also delighted everyone. It was all Geavon’s fault, Tarnoor declared. That was no more than the truth. Geavon had sat with Tarnoor after the wedding. Both felt a little fiat after all the excitement. The children were safely bedded down in the tower suite, which was now their own. The guests had mostly departed, and things were returning slowly to normal. Tarnoor sighed.
“I suppose I have only a doddering age to look forward to now.”
Geavon snorted in amusement. “You’re still young enough to consider a third wife. Now that the boy’s off your hands, why don’t you look about? Flames, man. You’re only in your sixties; you aren’t trembling into the grave as yet. Find some widow with a little dowry and no children to complicate Aiskeep’s inheritance.”
Tarnoor flung back his head and laughed. “And find myself landed with someone who’d want to change the Keep about, and who doesn’t know the place! Meddling with the garths, upsetting the servants. If I was going to wed again, I might as well take Elanor, at least she knows Aiskeep and…” He fell abruptly silent. Geavon eyed him shrewdly as Tarnoor sat there. It looked as if his friend had finally realized something Geavon had been hinting at for weeks.
No more was said on that subject. They finished the wine, talked of harvest, then wandered off to their beds. Tarnoor lay in his old four-poster bed thinking late into the night. It was legal to wed Elanor. She was only a distant cousin to Tarnoor, a closer one to his late wife, but that didn’t matter. She was sensible, comfortable, and kind. She’d run Aiskeep for the last twenty-odd years. There’d be no changes just for the sake of it.
He smiled slightly. As for the dowry, Aiskeep was obliged to provide her with one should she wish to wed. That really was keeping money in the family should he marry her. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. There’d be no children, but there’d be a comfortable old age together. She was younger, but then she was wholly of Karsten. Aiskeep didn’t talk loudly about it, but there was the blood of the Old Race in the direct line here. Not a great amount. Just enough to lengthen their lives, keeping them hale barring accidents or sicknesses, until they died.
Ciara had done no more than bring back a stronger infusion of the blood. Aiskeep had always been a little different. He slept then. But in the morning he dressed carefully, going quietly in search of Elanor.
“I would speak to you; walk with me in the herb garden.”
Best to move slowly, Tarnoor considered, as they walked. He’d lived long enough to know that telling Elanor he had begun considering her because she had no children and wouldn’t turn the Keep upside down would not win him favor. Instead, he complimented her on her latest gown, plucked a sprig of rosemary to pin on her bodice, and left her baffled. Tarnoor followed the same plan every morning for a week until Elanor looked for him out of habit. Then he shifted his ground.
At the next evening meal he waited to hand Elanor ceremoniously to her chair. This drew interested looks from his children. They could hardly wait to get away once the meal was done.
“Did you see?” Trovagh was incredulous.
Ciara giggled, “I certainly did. Did you see the defiant way he did it? As if he was daring anyone to comment?”
Trovagh nodded, “It would be a fair match,” he said. “Elanor’s kin, so there’d be no problems there, and she’d cause no trouble at Aiskeep.”
“And she’s a dear!”
“That, too. Remember the time we put a toad in her bed and she made us eat that oversalted porridge?”
Ciara smiled, “I remember, but she didn’t tell Father. I think it would be good. After all, they’re old, and it would be nice for each of them to have company.”
Meanwhile Elanor, no fool, had also come to a conclusion. She’d never known quite when she began to love Tarnoor. Sometime after her cousin had left him widowed, she thought. When she’d seen how good he was with his tiny son, his people, and his Keep. How kind, honest, and caring he was. She’d never let him see it. She ran the Keep, but in a way she was a servant. If she allowed him to see she cared, he might fear it was only to raise herself. She guessed at the reasons she was considered, but there had been real affection when he looked at her.
She waited patiently as Tarnoor moved toward his question. He spoke gently of love then. Could she care? She assured him happily that she already did. Their wedding was quieter still. Just those within the Keep and Geavon who had not yet departed. But a week later Geavon, too, was gone. Aiskeep settled down. Elanor was happier than she had ever been, and Tarnoor seemed to be discovering a new energy.
It took three years before something occurred to disrupt the Keep.
“You’re sure?” Trovagh was delighted.
“Positive!”