“I am told that he has a most extraordinary wife,” Wulfgar replied.
“Lady Meralda,” the man answered, rather lewdly. “As pretty as the moon and more dangerous than the night, with hair blacker than the darkest of ’em and eyes so green that ye’re thinking yerself to be in a summer’s meadow whenever she glances yer way. Aye, but every man doing business in Auckney would want to bed that one.”
“Have they children together?”
“A son,” the man answered. “A strong and sturdy lad, and with features favoring his mother and not the lord, thank the gods. Little lord Ferin. All in the town celebrated his first birthday just a month ago, and from what I’m hearing, they’ll be buying extra stores to replenish that which they ate at the feast. Finished off their winter stores, by some accounts, and there’s more truth than lie to those, judging by the coins that’ve been falling all the morning.”
Wulfgar glanced back at Feringal and his entourage as they wound their way along the far side of the merchant caravan.
“And here we feared that the market’d be thinner with the glutton Lady Priscilla gone.”
That perked up Wulfgar’s ears, and he turned fast on the man. “Feringal’s…?”
“Sister,” the man confirmed.
“Died?”
The man snorted and didn’t seem the least bit bothered by that possibility, something that Wulfgar figured anyone who had ever had the misfortune of meeting Priscilla Auck would surely appreciate.
“She’s in Luskan—been there for a year. She went back with this same caravan after our market here last year,” the man explained. “She never much cared for Lady Meralda, for ’twas said she’d had Feringal’s ear until he married that one. I’m not for knowing what happened, but that Priscilla’s time in Castle Auck came to an end soon after the marriage, and when Meralda got fat with Feringal’s heir, she likely knew her influence here would shrink even more. So she went to Luskan, and there she’s living, with enough coin to keep her to the end of her days, may they be mercifully short.”
“Mercifully for all around her, you mean?”
“That’s the way they tell it, aye.”
Wulfgar nodded and smiled, and that genuine grin came from more than the humor at Priscilla’s expense. He looked back at Lord Feringal and narrowed his crystalline blue eyes, thinking that one major obstacle, the disagreeable Lady Priscilla, had just been removed from his path.
“If Priscilla was at Castle Auck, as much as he’d be wanting to leave, Lord Feringal wouldn’t dare be out without his wife at his side. He wouldn’t leave them two together!” the man said.
“I would expect that Lady Meralda would wish to visit the caravan more than would the lord,” Wulfgar remarked.
“Ah, but not until her flowers bloom.”
Wulfgar looked at him curiously.
“She’s put in beds of rare tulips, and they’re soon to bloom, I’m guessing,” the man explained. “’Twas so last year—she didn’t come down to the market until our second tenday, not until the white petals were revealed. Put her in a fine, buying mood, and finer still, for by that time, we knew that Lady Priscilla would be journeying from Auckney with us.”
He began to laugh, but Wulfgar didn’t follow the cue. He stared across the little stone bridge to the small island that housed Castle Auck, trying to remember the layout and where those gardens might be. He took note of a railing built atop the smaller of the castle’s square keeps. Wulfgar glanced back at Feringal, to see the man making his way out of the far end of the market, and with the threat removed, Wulfgar also set out, nodding appreciatively at the merchant, to find a better vantage point for scouting the castle.
Not long after, he had his answer, spotting the form of a woman moving along the flat tower’s roof, behind the railing.
There were no threats to Auckney. The town had known peace for a long time. In that atmosphere, it was no surprise to Wulfgar to learn that the guards were typically less than alert. Even so, the big man had no idea how he might get across that little stone bridge unnoticed, and the waters roiling beneath the structure were simply too cold for him to try to swim—and besides, both the near bank and the island upon which the castle stood had sheer cliffs that rose too steeply from the pounding surf below.
He lingered long by the bridge, seeking the answer to his dilemma, and he finally came to accept that he might have to simply wait for those flowers to bloom, so he could confront Lady Meralda in the market. That thought didn’t sit well with him, for in that setting he would almost surely need to face Lord Feringal and his entourage as well. It would be easier if he could speak with Meralda first, and alone.
He leaned against the wall of a nearby tavern one afternoon, staring out at the bridge and taking note of the guards’ maneuvers. They weren’t very disciplined, but the bridge was so narrow that they didn’t have to be. Wulfgar stood up straight as a coach rambled across the structure, heading out of the castle.
Liam Woodgate wasn’t driving. Steward Temigast was.
Wulfgar stroked his beard and weighed his options, and purely on instinct—for he knew that if he considered his movements, he would lose heart—he gathered up Colson and moved out to the road, to a spot where he could intercept the wagon out of sight of the guards at the bridge, and most of the townsfolk.
“Good trader, do move aside,” Steward Temigast bade him, but in a kindly way. “I’ve some paintings to sell and I wish to see the market before the light wanes. Dark comes early to a man of my age, you know.”
The old man’s smile drifted to nothingness as Wulfgar pulled back the cowl of his cloak, revealing himself.
“Always full of surprises, Wulfgar is,” Temigast said.
“You look well,” Wulfgar offered, and he meant it. Temigast’s white hair had thinned a bit, perhaps, but the last few years had not been rough on the man.
“Is that….?” Temigast asked, nodding to Colson.
“Meralda’s girl.”
“Are you mad?”
Wulfgar merely shrugged and said, “She should be with her mother.”
“That decision was made some three years ago.”
“Necessary at the time,” said Wulfgar.
Temigast sat back on his seat and conceded the point with a nod.
“Lady Priscilla is gone from here, I am told,” said Wulfgar, and Temigast couldn’t help but smile—a reassurance to Wulfgar that his measure of the steward was correct, that the man hated Priscilla.
“To the joy of Auckney,” Temigast admitted. He set the reins on the seat, and with surprising nimbleness climbed down and approached Wulfgar, his hands out for Colson.
The girl shoved her hand in her mouth and whirled away, burying her face in Wulfgar’s shoulder.
“Bashful,” Temigast said. Colson peeked out at him and he smiled all the wider. “And she has her mother’s eyes.”
“She is a wonderful girl, and sure to become a beautiful woman,” said Wulfgar. “But she needs her mother. I cannot keep her with me. I am bound for a land that will not look favorably on a child, any child.”
Temigast stared at him for a long time, obviously unsure of what he should do.
“I share your concern,” Wulfgar said to him. “I never hurt Lady Meralda, and never wish to hurt her.”
“My loyalty is to her husband, as well.”
“And what a fool he would be to refuse this child.”
Temigast paused again. “It is complicated.”
“Because Meralda loved another before him,” said Wulfgar. “And Colson is a reminder of that.”