"But I don't have anything," Kit began, then she stopped. Her eyes fell on Beck's sword. It was the only thing of true value that she owned.
"Take this," she decided impulsively, though it was truly the most prized of her possessions.
"It is too wonderful, and as you saw-your generous defeat notwithstanding-I have little use for a sword."
"I think it is a fair exchange," Kit said determinedly. "Strathcoe approves," she added, pointing toward the bottom of the hill where the servant lay, snoring contentedly and loudly.
Patric had to laugh. He took her hands in his own, gazing steadily at her. "Kitiara Uth Matar," he murmured dreamily. "I want you to come to Gwynned with Strathcoe and me."
Instantly, without having to think it over, she said yes.
"I'll run and pack my things," Kit told him, "and sneak away."
At that Patric frowned. "What about your father and mother?" he asked with genuine concern.
"I told you, he's my stepfather, not my father, and my mother is too ill to have any understanding of the outside world. Half the time she doesn't know if I'm alive or not."
He placed his hands on her shoulders. "I don't want you to run away without telling them," he said. "I want you to ask their permission to go away with me…"
Her eyes showed that she did not understand.
"And get married."
Kitiara's eyes bugged out in astonishment, astonishment and something else. She couldn't conceal a shiver of distaste. Traveling with Patric and Strathcoe would be fun, an adventure, but the last thing she wanted to do in her life was get married, even to someone she felt as drawn to as she did to Patric. Images of Rosamun, of Aureleen's mother, women who had no life outside their homes or independence from their men, flooded her mind.
"Kitiara," Patric said quickly, "I don't want you to say yes or no now, and I promise never to pressure you. The voyage to Northern Ergoth is a long one, at least four weeks, and you will have plenty of time to think about my offer. Take all that time, and more if you want it."
"But," said Kitiara, groping for words, "I don't know if I could ever get married. Especially not now. There is too much…"
Kit looked at the handsome young man sitting next to her and felt confused. No one had ever extended her the consideration and courtesy he had. No one had ever made her feel the way he did now, looking deeply and approvingly into her eyes.
"Don't worry about it now," Patric said hastily. "We have only just met, but we will get to know each other better. When you return to my country, you will be treated like royalty. Everything you ask for will be yours. You will have food and clothes and slaves to do your bidding. You may find that very appealing."
Indeed, Kitiara thought to herself, I might. "Why me?" she asked.
Strathcoe had roused himself and was making grumbling noises as he stretched and glanced up the hill. The sun had peeked over the horizon and turned everything pink and orange.
Patric sighed deeply. "Because," he said wistfully, "I think I love you."
Kitiara noticed that Strathcoe had stopped his noises and was watching them intently. Until she opened her mouth she didn't know what her answer would be. "All right," she said, not sure precisely what she meant.
Kitiara was a little annoyed that Gilon was the one who seemed most genuinely saddened that she was going away, perhaps forever, though she downplayed the "forever" part. Loudly enough for Patric and Strathcoe to overhear, she advised Gilon to keep her loft for her at least until he heard that she was happily settled in Northern Ergoth.
"I hope that you will be happy, Kit," said Gilon with feeling as she gathered a few belongings and prepared to leave. "But if not, I hope that you return to us, for we will miss you."
Caramon and Raistlin certainly gave no hint of that. This early in the morning, Caramon was still lying sleepily in his bed, tangled up with the blanket. "G'bye," he mumbled before rolling over.
Raistlin, of course, was up, already engrossed in some thick, tattered book. He sat on a stool in a far corner of the cottage's main room. He looked up when Kit gave him a parting peck on the cheek, glancing first at her, then at Patric and Strathcoe who were standing respectfully by the door, then back at Kitiara.
"You'll be back," he said, lowering his eyes again to his book.
Well, she thought to herself, he and Caramon are mere children. What did I expect, an eloquent farewell?
"You must say goodbye to your mother," insisted Gilon stolidly.
Kitiara flinched. "She won't even understand what I'm saying."
Gilon shrugged his big shoulders and stepped outside again to wait, motioning Patric and Strathcoe to come with
him. Patric glanced back at Kitiara expectantly as he closed the door behind him.
Rosamun was not asleep. She lay on her rumpled bed in a state of half-consciousness, eyes staring at the ceiling. Her hair had evidently been brushed by Quivera, who was out at the shops, and it lay around her pillow in a white halo. Rosamun breathed softly through parted lips that were pink and puffy like flower petals.
Kitiara regarded her mother coldly, then approached her as quietly as possible. At Gilon's insistence, she had scribbled a letter, in case the time ever came when Rosamun regained lucidity. Kitiara rolled it up and tied it with one of the hair ribbons Quivera kept for Rosamun. She laid it at her mother's side.
Dear Mother,
I have met a young gentleman who has asked me to marry him. We are traveling to Northern Ergoth, to Gwynned where his family reigns. I will be rich and will be able to send you and Gilon and the twins money.
Love, Kit
Kit knew it was a paltry message, but it was all she could muster for this woman who had alienated her father and whose weakness had kept Kitiara a virtual prisoner in the cottage.
As Kit hovered for a minute near the bed, she thought she noticed a pale light flickering in her mother's gray eyes. But nothing else.
Then, as Kitiara turned to go, Rosamun's right hand suddenly reached up and grasped her near wrist. Rosamun held her tightly, and Kitiara was surprised at her frail mother's strength. Rosamun moved her lips, but no words came out. Her eyes stayed open but unfocused. After several minutes, Kitiara pried away her mother's fingers and lay her hand gently back down on the bed.
Outside, Patric and Strathcoe were waiting next to their horses. Gilon had saddled Cinnamon for Kitiara. A pack mule stood patiently with Patric's great trunk strapped to its back. Strathcoe, his weapons in obvious display, marched about importantly, tying and rearranging bundles. His main audience was Caramon, who had finally woken and now stared in awe at this mountain of a man.
Solemnly Patric shook Gilon's hand, then Caramon's, before mounting. Kitiara nodded at her stepfather, then ruffled Caramon's hair before getting on Cinnamon. When she looked back she saw Caramon waving extravagantly, the sun glinting off his golden hair. Behind him, Raistlin stood in the doorway, still as a statue.
Kitiara had one last thing she wanted to do before leaving. She asked Patric and Strathcoe to wait at the town square while she spurred Cinnamon to Aureleen's. Her friend cried when she heard the news, but recovered rather quickly.
"A nobleman! Wait until I tell my mother. I always told her she underestimated you," Aureleen said teasingly. "Is he handsome?"
Kitiara found herself blushing as she nodded yes. "I have a feeling this is the sort of adventure even you might like," she teased her friend back. The two young women hugged. "You can write me care of the Alwiths of Gwynned," Kit called out over her shoulder as she climbed down to her horse.