Lady of weeds, p.11
Lady of Weeds, page 11
part #2 of Lady Series
She saw Aled looking around for her, and, failing to sight her, leave the fire-lit area again. There was one less nuisance to worry about until Eurion was ready to leave.
Unfortunately, Eurion was either sharper-eyed than Aled, or less inclined to give up. She saw his lithe young figure slipping through the groups around the bonfire, and had just congratulated herself on finding the perfect seat when two familiar arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders and a voice said exuberantly in her ear, “There you are, Lady!”
Carys reached back and pinched his ear between her fingers, yanking him away from her.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Eurion said, perfectly cheerfully; but he let go of her anyway. “Why are you hiding, Lady?”
“I’m not hiding,” Carys said, not quite truthfully.
Eurion gave a gleeful chuckle. “Yes, you are!” he said. “Are you hiding from that old man?”
“He’s not an old man!” said Carys exasperatedly, because she had no intention of discussing with Eurion whether or not she had been hiding from Aled. “What do you want, Eurion?”
“I brought you something,” he said, for the third time that day. There was an impish look to his eyes that suggested he was aware of that, and that he was, in some odd way of his own, teasing her.
“I don’t want anything to eat,” Carys said. She wasn’t sure why she constantly had the need to refuse food these days, but she didn’t care for it.
“It’s not food,” Eurion said, his eyes dancing. “Close your eyes, Lady!”
Carys sighed. Certainly Eurion was very young; did he expect to startle her with a beetle?
“All right,” she said, closing her eyes in the expectation of another sand otter—or perhaps something more slimy. If Eurion got this mischief out of his system, there might be a quiet walk home. “But I’m not inclined to jump.”
She wouldn’t have been surprised to have Eurion drop a toad or a mud-hopper into her lap; nor would it have surprised her if he had tried yet again to give her food, despite his assurances.
He did neither. As Carys sat in the shadows, eyes closed, the cool night at her back and the warm fire to her face, Eurion kissed her; light and soft and sudden.
Carys’ eyes opened at once, startling Eurion into stepping back. He didn’t look mischievous now; he looked apprehensive and pleased, and just a little bit exhilarated.
“I’ve already got the cart,” he said. “So we can go home now before you get too tired. I’ll wait for you.”
He was off through the leaping play of shadow and flame before Carys could answer, and in the wake of the space left by his sudden absence, she saw Enfys close enough to reach out and touch.
The old woman cackled in high glee. “Very nice!” she said approvingly. “Where do you suppose he learnt that?”
Carys, annoyed to be caught in such a ridiculous situation, and more at her own inaction during such a scene, only said, “What can I do for you, Enfys?”
“Nothing at all, by what I see!” the old woman remarked. “Very spry and well, isn’t he? Such a pretty young thing!”
“He’s a cheeky young thing,” Carys retorted. She was not a person to blush, but the fire felt just a little too warm and she was glad for the cool shadows in which she sat.
“So I see! I hear you’re trying to find out where he’s from.”
Carys tried not to sigh. “Where did you hear that?”
“I hear everything!” Enfys told her, with a certain malicious satisfaction. “You should know that. Why the interest? Heal the body, and the mind should follow. He’ll be able to tell you himself one day soon, no doubt.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Carys. She certainly hoped so.
“How did he come to wash up on your shore, if it comes to that?” asked the old woman. “That’s the thing I’d be trying to find out, if I were you.”
“I’ll ask the selkies when next I’m down on the shore,” Carys said dryly, and stood. “I’ll take my leave of Aled now.”
“And here was I thinking you were hiding from him!” said Enfys, cackling yet again in what Carys found to be a singularly annoying fashion. “I’ll leave some things with the boy, shall I?”
Carys thanked her, but she didn’t really expect Enfys to do so; she had never yet seen Enfys give anyone anything for free, and Eurion had no money with which to purchase from her. Still, she saw them together outside the circle of the bonfire when she came back from saying her goodnight to Aled, and Enfys was certainly putting a parcel into the cart.
Eurion caught sight of her across the bonfire, his expression a mix of guilt and mischief, and winked solemnly at her, causing Enfys’ cackle to dance within the crackle of the bonfire.
Carys was too far away to hear properly, but she thought she heard the old woman say, “I hope you’re a fighter. There’s some harder work for you than you might expect.”
As Carys drew closer, unwilling to hear more than she needed to, Eurion said quite cheerfully, “It’s a nice thing, learning about yourself when you’ve forgotten everything. I’m finding out that I’m more obstinate than I thought I was. I’ll take your advice, old woman.”
Chapter Seven
Carys took the handles of the cart while Eurion was still fussing with the package from Enfys. There was no reason to be fussing with it—it was packed, tied, and sat securely on its base in the cart—and Carys came to the conclusion that Eurion was trying his best to present a cool and calm exterior; or at least not to be bashful.
He would need to put up his best defence, thought Carys, rather grimly; because she was certainly not going to let him get away with tonight’s behaviour. If they were to continue to live in the same house, it was just as well for Eurion to learn that he couldn’t be cheeky in that manner.
And they must continue to live in the same house as long as Eurion had memories she needed; Carys was determined about that. She wouldn’t risk losing those memories.
Once she had them, now—well, that was a different matter entirely.
At any rate, Eurion’s determined preoccupation made it possible for Carys to begin her walk home as she had always begun it, pulling her cart behind her. Eurion jumped back with an involuntary sound of surprise, but rallied quickly to trot up beside Carys.
“I can take the cart,” he said. “You don’t usually stay so late, do you? That means it’s my fault, so I should pull the cart.”
Carys flicked a look at him and turned her eyes to where the sea glittered at the end of the dark path. She didn’t see why she should talk to Eurion; she had never particularly wanted to speak with him, and now it didn’t seem advisable.
Tonight it would be nice to be silent, listen to the sea, and go to bed as soon as she got home.
“You were very friendly tonight, Lady,” said Eurion, looking across at her, his face solemn in the moonlight as he walked beside her. “I didn’t think you had so many friends, but you talked all night.”
Aled and Enfys, thought Carys, with a somewhat crooked smile at the path beneath her feet—a very great amount of friends, indeed! Neither of them could really be called her friends, if it came to that. In fact, she couldn’t tell which one was furthest from the description of friend. Aled wished to be more than a friend, but he didn’t know her very well. Enfys was caustic and entirely unfriendlike, and she didn’t seem even to like Carys, but she had a quickness that meant she knew Carys very much better than Aled did.
“You’re smiling,” Eurion said, his voice accusatory. “Lady, I think it’s unkind of you not to smile at me if you’re going to smile at that old man.”
Carys didn’t look at him this time, she simply continued on with the cart as she had every week before Eurion arrived. When she had those memories, her life would again be as it had been before he arrived. Or perhaps it would change forever—but it was too soon to think about that. All she had to do was keep putting up with Eurion until his memories came back; the results of that, one way or another, would bring about a conclusive end to her need for Eurion.
It was best that he didn’t get too fond of his place in her life.
It was best that she didn’t get too used to having him there.
“Lady, are you not talking to me?”
Was that speculation in his voice? Carys tried not to sigh. What was this dreadful boy planning now? She didn’t reply to that question, either, because it had suddenly struck her that she might have been wrong.
Perhaps it wasn’t Eurion who needed to beware; perhaps she was the one who had need of her best defence. For Carys, silence always had been her best defence.
“It’s no good not talking to me,” Eurion said. His voice sounded much too cheerful. “I’ll only keep talking, anyway.”
Carys refocused on the dark, glittering sea. There was nothing in particular that she wanted to say to Eurion, and whether or not she answered back, he was certain to keep speaking. At least this way she didn’t have to take the trouble of answering.
Next time, she would make sure to box his ears.
Next time, she would—
Carys stopped her thoughts in some annoyance. Next time? Where had next time come from? There wouldn’t be a next time, because Carys wouldn’t allow it.
“Are you thinking about boxing my ears?” asked Eurion. In her peripheral she could see him studying her profile, his eyes uncomfortably bright. “Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that, Lady? If you were going to punish me, shouldn’t you do it straight away?”
There would be, thought Carys, even more annoyed, no dinner. No dinner, and no breakfast, either. Eurion could think himself lucky if she let him sleep in the house after this.
“Don’t be cross, Lady,” he pleaded. “Even the old woman—Enfys, I mean— Oh, well, that’s not important, anyway. Next time, you ought to dance with me.”
Dance with him, indeed. Eurion would not so much as set a foot in the village with her again. Let him go by himself if he wanted to dance. There would certainly be no dinner.
By the time they got back to the cottage, Carys was determined that there would be no soft, warm bed for Eurion, either. If he had tried to be silent and contrite, she might have forgiven him and let him sleep in front of the fire; but he was so cheerful and unsquashed that she began to feel more than slightly annoyed.
Apart from a mild, infrequent irritation at Enfys, Carys wasn’t used to feeling annoyed. She was used to feeling—well, she was used to a lack of feeling: a continuous kind of coldness that had no up or down to it. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with this particular emotion.
She was still thinking about that when they arrived back at the cottage. Going ahead of Carys, Eurion opened the door and stepped through with the pleased crow of, “Home, Lady! Aren’t you glad!”
Leaving the cart, Carys seized him by the ear and dragged him back out of the house. Then, in spite of his aggrieved protests, she shut and barred the door, leaving him outside.
“Oh, but Lady!” he said reproachfully, from behind the panels. “I was just lately sick! I’ll be sick again if you make me sleep out here!”
She ignored that and ducked behind her curtain to change. The sooner she went to bed, the more comfortably tomorrow’s gathering would pass.
Eurion’s voice said, “Lady, I’m so hungry!”
His piteous face was pressed up against the kitchen window when she came out from behind her curtain.
“Lady, you can’t be so cruel to me! Not after caring for me so well!”
Carys bundled up a blanket that had at one stage in her life been a picnic blanket, opened the window, and tossed it out at him. Then she shut the window again before Eurion could bring his sad face too close to it again.
He would have to learn that there were consequences for his actions.
She went to bed straight away, turning her back to the window even though the window was mirrored with firelight from the bed, but Eurion didn’t give up so easily. From the window, then the door again, he cajoled, pleaded, and coaxed until Carys was minded to toss the washing water at him through the window as well.
She went to sleep with the sound of his voice still murmuring sleepily at the door, and slept badly. There was little enough time for sleeping after such a late night, and perhaps that made it harder. Perhaps it was the wind wailing around the corners of the roof, sounding like a lost dog whining. Perhaps it was the heat from the fire, far too warm for the night.
Whatever the reason, Carys woke before she needed to do so, a slight headache behind her ears. The fire was smoking a little, which would account for the headache. Carys stirred it to let in a little more air and the smoking wood caught properly, banishing the smoke. It was still too hot in the cottage, but she hadn’t cared to leave the window open in case Eurion tried to climb through it.
It was a weary, tiring thing to pull her overdress back over her slip, and when she opened the front door she did it slowly.
No Eurion fell into the cottage, which surprised Carys; she had fallen asleep at first to the sound of his voice behind the door. But as she shut the door behind her, Eurion’s rumpled head poked up from behind a mound of sand, one eye squinting itself in an attempt to open, his mouth ajar.
“Lady? Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?” Carys said shortly. “Up. Inside.”
There was a scattering of sand and a kicking of limbs, and Eurion scrambled to his feet, staggering slightly. Carys frowned at that, wondering if the night had been cooler than it seemed to her, but Eurion said, yawning, “I’m not dizzy, Lady. Just still asleep. Aren’t you leaving too soon?”
“I was awake,” Cary said. “Go inside. There’s speckled bread if you’re hungry later. You can make your own tea if you want it.”
Eurion’s smile beamed out, as bright as morning sunshine, trailing the blanket from his shoulders. “Have you forgiven me, then, Lady?”
“If you ever try anything like that again, I’ll make you sleep outside for a week,” Carys told him crisply. “And I’ll box your ears, to boot.”
Eurion ducked his head. “All right, Lady. I’ll remember.”
That was all very well, thought Carys a little later, as she pulled her handcart behind her toward the beach, but she would have preferred to hear from him an unequivocal agreement that he wouldn’t do it again. Still, it wasn’t likely he would want to spend a week outside, no matter how angelically she figured in his imagination, and so long as she was careful to promote more meetings between him and the lovely Miss Allen, there shouldn’t be too much danger.
He would probably be kissing Miss Allen before many more days were gone.
Carys stopped on the sandy side of the rocky shoreline, and massaged her temples. If only her head didn’t ache so much. It had been at least a half score of years since she’d spent such a late night as last night had been—or, for that matter, done anything but keep to her own, self-imposed schedule.
Perhaps she was getting old.
She left her cart, stepping lightly from the grass and onto the rocks, and it seemed that there was movement down near the water ahead of her. It couldn’t be selkie activity this early, and Carys was fairly certain her swiftly growing headache wasn’t tricking her eyes.
She closed her eyes briefly and opened them again, and this time it was easier to see.
There was someone on the rocky beach, sable against the diamond dark of the sea; a sword naked in his hand and his booted feet stepping surely across the treacherous surface.
Carys drew closer, her feet soundless against the plashing of the waves on the rocks, and asked crisply, “What are you doing down here?”
He turned swiftly, but his sword didn’t rise; either he only expected danger from males, or from those that weren’t human. This man, then, likely knew what dangers attended the seashore here.
“Are you the keeper of the beach?” he asked.
She couldn’t see his face properly, and it bothered her. With the golden blush of colour that was creeping across the sea, she should be able at least to see his features in relief and form some idea of what he looked like, but she couldn’t. Was he using magic to obscure his face?
“I am,” she said shortly. “Put up your sword; there’s no danger until later.”
“So I was told,” he said. He didn’t put up his sword. “I’ve some questions for you, Lady.”
“Do you?” said Carys. She didn’t acknowledge the sword as she passed him but she felt the cold chill of it against the arm that passed closest to it, though it never touched her. “I don’t speak with strangers on the beach.”
“I’d heard otherwise,” he said, and Carys was almost certain she could see the edges of a curious smile on his lips.
“If I do, I certainly do not converse with those holding swords,” she told him, continuing down the beach to the first of her pools.
She heard his footsteps behind her; felt again the coldness of danger, and fought to keep herself from turning around. A few weeks ago she would have kept going without heeding the cold—perhaps she wouldn’t even have felt it. But these days she had a reason to stay alive that went beyond the villagers who depended upon her to keep the shoreline clean.
There was the rough grate of sword returning to scabbard, and Carys saw him in her peripheral, his face now as easy to see as the rest of him, everything carefully harmless and visible. Even his hands were away from his sides so that she could see he held nothing else.
They had something in common, then, Carys thought, smiling faintly as she dipped in her hook to fetch the seaweed that was boiling in the middle of the pool. She was biding her time until she got her information from Eurion; this man was biding his because he needed information from her.
What exactly was it that a man on the seashore needed? Especially one who was aware of the dangers and came anyway. What else could he want, in fact, but something that had washed up on the shore?
Very wary now, Carys continued to clear out the seaweed, and left it to him to begin the conversation again.
