Bertrice Small - Lara

“How could your father…?” he began, but she hushed him.

“A man must be worthy to be a Crusader Knight,” she said. “I was my father’s only asset.”

“His assets should have been his battle skills, his honesty and his loyalty,” Vartan said.

“It is not the way of Hetar. A man’s appearance is all-important, my lord,” Lara replied. “If he could not look the part, what good his skills and ethics?”

Vartan shrugged. “Indeed,” was all he could think of to reply. He listened again, scorning the foolish futility of the Forest Lords at paying thirty thousand pieces of gold for Lara in the belief she could remove the curse placed upon them by Maeve. “And then they came to Shunnar to reclaim you with a false document? What kind of a magistrate would give them such a parchment?”

“One whom they paid well,” Lara replied. “Commerce is the way of Hetar. If a man does not line his pockets when he can, he will die poor.”

Vartan shook his head. “Wealth is better, I will agree, but a man’s wealth should be gained honestly, not through schemes and trickery.”

“A man thought too honest will be considered a fool,” she replied. And yet his words were giving her pause for thought. Were there other ways than those she had been taught? She suspected she would learn them in her journeying.

Lara finally found her bed, curling up next to Noss, who was sleeping soundly. But her sleep was a restless one, and the dawn came swiftly. She found herself dozing in her saddle as they rode along the next day. When they stopped to water the horses, Dasras scolded her softly in his deep voice.

“What is the matter with you, mistress?”

“I did not sleep well last night,” she told him.

“And you were late to bed as well,” Dasras murmured. “Is it the Fiacre lord who disturbs your rest?”

“Why would Vartan disturb my rest?” Lara muttered. “You had better drink while you can. We’ll be going again very quickly.” She didn’t want to discuss Vartan.

Dasras lowered his head, and drank.

It was almost sunset when they reached the village of Camdene.

“Is there an inn or resting place for travelers?” Lara asked Vartan.

He looked slightly scandalized by her words. “You are my guest, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” he said. “My mother keeps my house. She would be very angry with me if I allowed you and Noss to rest your heads elsewhere.”

“You have no wife, no mate?” Lara inquired bluntly.

“I am responsible for my people, and the Fiacre are a large clan. Seven villages belong to us, as well as much land. I have no time for a wife. My younger brother, Adon, took a wife several months ago. Her name is Elin. My mother is Bera.”

To Lara’s surprise the village looked very prosperous. It very much resembled the villages in the Midlands, but it was better kept, to Lara’s eye. Each cottage sat upon a neat square of land with a garden both before it, and behind. The street of shops they traversed showed windows filled with goods. These people did not appear to be savages at all. The men with them dropped away, each going to his own home. At the far end of the village on a gentle green rise sat a large stone house toward which they rode. The house was long, and built to fit into the surrounding landscape. It would have been difficult to distinguish from a distance, it nestled so closely into the land.

They had but reached the house when the front door opened, and a woman stepped forth. “Vartan! What did you find?”

He slid from his horse, and embraced the woman. “Two little girls all alone on the plain, Mother. I brought them home.”

Bera looked Lara and Noss over with a sharp and critical eye. “They do not appear particularly helpless to me, my son,” she said. “Who are they, and from where do they come?” She was a big woman like her son with the same light blue eyes.

“That is not the welcome I would expect for Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, and her companion, Noss, Mother,” Vartan gently chided his parent.

“She is faerie,” Bera said suspiciously.

“Aye, mistress, my mother was indeed faerie,” Lara quickly spoke. “But she did not raise me. I was raised by my father, who was a mercenary, and my grandmother, Ina. While I have some small magic about me, I mean no harm to any. If you would not shelter Noss and me, I will understand, and seek your inn.”

Bera laughed at Lara’s words. “And she is proud. She looks delicate, but she is made of iron I can now see. Welcome, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, and her companion, Noss. Come in! Come in!” She ushered them into the house, leading them into the Great Hall.

“You handled her well,” Vartan murmured low.

“I can see now why you are not yet wed,” Lara said dryly in low tones.

“I am not wed because until now I had not yet met the woman I wanted for my mate,” he responded, well pleased to see her blush.

“You have arrived just in time for the evening meal,” Bera said. “We eat simply, but there is always plenty.” Immediately servants began entering the hall, bearing steaming bowls and platters. “Sit! Sit!” Bera invited them, noticing that her son put Lara at his right hand. At last, she thought! Was it possible? Dared she to hope? Then she restrained herself. Only time would tell.

Lara’s eyes widened at Bera’s idea of a simple meal. There was fresh broiled salmon with herbs, a roasted goose, a large joint of beef, and a rabbit pie with the flakiest crust she had ever tasted. There were bowls of peas, onions in cream, butter and pepper, tiny carrots in butter and honey dusted with nutmeg. There was bread, a large crock of sweet newly churned butter and a wheel of hard yellow cheese. And when she thought the meal was over, bowls of peaches and sweet cherries were brought to the table along with crisp little sugar wafers. They drank goblets of ale, and it was the best Lara had ever tasted. Again she wondered why Outlanders were called savages.

“You have another son, I am told,” Lara said to Bera when the food had finally been cleared away.

“Aye, but he’s wed now and has his own home,” Bera said. “’Tis just Vartan and his old mother in this great house that cries out for grandchildren.”

Vartan laughed. “Be patient, Mother,” he said. “I have only just found the one.”

Noss’s eyes widened, and she looked to Lara, whose cheeks were again pink.

A minstrel entered the hall, and seating himself by the great fireplace, began to sing songs Lara had never before heard. They were songs of bravery and daring, of battles she had never known and warriors whose names were most unfamiliar. Then he sang of love unrequited, but true, and a hero who died of a broken heart. Bera smiled and nodded with the pleasure the music gave her. A large greyhound sat with his head in her lap, eyes closed, and she stroked him gently as the minstrel played, his music wrapping them all in a blanket of sweetness.

When the musician finally ceased his efforts Bera arose. “Come,” she beckoned Lara and Noss. “I will show you to your sleeping spaces.” She led them upstairs to a smaller hall with another fireplace, assigning them beds that were tucked into the stone walls on either side of the fire. These were the preferred sleeping spaces for honored guests. “There is water for washing.” She pointed. “Good night.” But she did not go to her own chamber. She returned downstairs to find her son still by the fire. “Tell me everything,” she demanded, sitting next to him.

“She is the one,” he said. And then he shared with his mother everything Lara had told him the previous evening.

Bera nodded when he had finished. “But if the Shadow Princes say she has a destiny they do not mean only as the wife of an Outlander leader. There is more, but what more? And she must be willing for she has told you herself that faerie women do not give children to those they do not love. Pleasures she will share with you. But you must have her heart, Vartan. If she favors her faerie blood it is unlikely she has a heart to give you. But if she favors her human side, her heart is there for you to win.”

“Have I your blessing, Mother?” Vartan asked Bera.

“You do. My instincts have never failed me yet, my son. Lara is a good woman, and could make you a good wife if she chooses to be, but you cannot force her decision. Woo her, and we shall see,” Bera advised.

“Liam was taken with her little companion, Noss, but Lara says the girl is too young yet,” Vartan told his mother.

“She seems shy and retiring, the other,” Bera noted. “But she could prove formidable if she fell in love, as all women can be. I am pleased that Liam shows signs of wanting to settle down. I have feared for your cousin almost as much as I have feared for you. I will tell my sister, Asta, in the morning. She will be pleased.” She arose from her place. “Go to bed, my son. You have traveled long and hard the last few days. I am yet concerned you found naught but Lara and her friend. But perhaps that was the plan of the Celestial Actuary. The plain is vast, and yet you found her. Yes, I see the fine hand of the Celestial Actuary in this.” She bent and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Vartan.”

Raising his dark head he kissed her back. “Good night, Mother.” Then turning back to the hearth he stared into the fire’s dancing flames. Lara. How could this have all happened in such a short time? he questioned himself. But he knew he was in love. Never before had he felt this way, and his emotions lacked common sense and reason, which was what many said love was like. She said she had a destiny. But was he part of that destiny? Only time would give him the answer to that query. Vartan rose and sought out his own bed, but his sleep was a restless and troubled one.

LARA SLEPT surprisingly well in Vartan’s house. She awoke at first light and washed her face and hands. She very much wanted a bath, and wondered if such a thing could be obtained. She would ask Bera. Perhaps there was a bathhouse in the village as the Forest folk had had. From her pack she drew a simple gown of pale green with short sleeves, a draped neckline and a twisted rope belt of gold silk. She brushed her gilt hair out, braiding it into a single thick plait, and slipped her feet into her sandals. Then she poked Noss. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said. “I’m going down to the hall. Hurry and join me.” Noss grumbled something unintelligible.

The hall was already busy with servants cleaning and sweeping. Seeing Lara, Bera came forward smiling. “I thought surely a girl from the City, and especially one who had spent her time in the palace of a Shadow Prince, would sleep late. Come and eat with me. Vartan will join us shortly. He is in the stables speaking with the grooms. The two horses you and your companion rode have frightened them, and they refuse to care for them now.”

“Dasras, my stallion, can be very outspoken on occasion,” Lara explained. “Noss’s mare, Sakari, is usually quieter. They are a gift from Prince Kaliq, who was my lover.”

“Did he want you to leave him?” Bera asked softly.

“No, but he understood I have a destiny,” Lara replied. “I feel so foolish saying that, but it is what everyone has told me. I honestly have no idea of what they mean at all. But my mother and grandmother said it, and so does Ethne, my crystal guardian.”

“Who is your mother?” Bera questioned the beautiful girl. Yes, beautiful, and yet Lara had not seemed so when she arrived with Vartan yesterday. Now, however, in that feminine gown with her hair revealed, she was a different girl.

“My mother is Ilona, who with my grandmother Maeve’s death became the new queen of the Forest Faeries. My father is human. He was a simple mercenary, but now rides as a Crusader Knight. I am sure Vartan has told you the rest of my tale.”

“He has,” Bera answered. “I stand in awe of you, my child. You have suffered much, survived it all, and seem strong in spite of it. I suspect you do have a destiny to fulfill. But what has it to do with the Outlands?”

Lara shook her head. “As I have said, I do not know. Given a choice between the Outlands and the Coastal Province, I chose to come here. Every instinct I possess insisted. But had not Vartan and his men found us, we would still be wandering out on the plain.”

“The Celestial Actuary always leads us to where we should be,” Bera said.

“Good morning!” Vartan strode into his hall and going to his mother kissed her cheek. He then turned to Lara, his blue eyes widening in surprise. “You’re beautiful,” he exclaimed. “Very beautiful,” he added.

“A blessing and a curse both,” Lara responded with a small smile. “Did I not seem beautiful to you out on the plain?” she teased him.

“You seemed a pretty girl,” he replied slowly, “and perhaps a bit formidable with that sword on your back you claim to know how to use, but nothing more. Yet this morning in my hall, you are so beautiful it hurts my eyes just to look at you, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword.”