Ours
1283 Words
Ours~
Sethlyan Callan
Glenayre, Aleron.
By the time their party of packhorses, collies, and guards reached the winding approach to Glenayre, a red sky had cast the mountain in dusky rose splendor. Seth slowed the horses to watch Isobel take in his favorite view for the first time. Her mouth fell open. Her eyes darted up and down the mountainside.
“Twin rivers,” she said. “Just as you described.”
He knotted the mare’s reins and dismounted.
“The white mists. The colors on the mountain.”
He climbed up behind her on Gambit and reached around to take the reins.
“What are you doing?”
“The bride’s ride,” he said. “Aleron custom. It’s how a Hawk brings his bride home.”
Isobel curled a curious look back at him.
“The first time we pass through the gates, we ride together. I’d be giving you the greatest of insults if I rode in alone. To say naught of the bad luck we’d be tempting.”
“Hawks have strange customs,” she said. “And you place a curious significance on horses.”
“Horses and cows. Collies and sheep. Goshawks and trout,” he said. “These mountains are home to us all. One depends on the other.”
He clicked Gambit to a brisk gait. Her fingers clutched the skirt of his tunic, and he laughed.
“Why would you be insulting me if we didn’t ride the same horse?”
“Gambit,” he said, enjoying the game. “The significance is Gambit.”
“Calum says he’s a splendid animal.” She loosened her grip to comb a strand of flaxen mane. “He was impressed.”
“He should be. Gambit is the finest horse I could buy with the winnings I took off Blackheart.”
“Gambit. Why, of course.” She caught on quickly enough.
He shielded her head as they passed beneath a limb. The winding lane took a sharp switch-back. A break in the trees exposed a precipitous drop to a stretch of trail they’d traveled earlier. Isobel glanced down without so much as a flinch.
Not squeamish about heights. Good. That would be a harder fix than horses.
“So because Gambit is yours, riding him with you is an honor,” she guessed.
“It goes deeper than that.”
Glenayre’s red gates swung open. Guards whooped greetings from the walls. He tightened his arm around her and nudged Gambit to a trot. The folk of Glenayre cheered as they rode through the gates. Most of the two hundred or so who lived and worked within its walls crowded the courtyard for a glimpse of the woman soon to take a significant role in their lives.
“Sharing my horse is how I announce it to the clan,” he said. “All that was mine is now ours.”
Glenayre couldn’t compare to Monaughty for grandeur. Its castle was a third the size of Dundarien’s or Windermere’s. But at almost twelve thousand acres, the estate was no insignificant holding.
“All that was—”
“The land, the castle. Farms and cottages. Cattle and timber and crops. Even a little village called Bobbin’s Knob. It’s ours to tend and defend.”
He cantered Gambit on a circuit of the courtyard to give them all a good look at the new Lady of Glenayre. He reined in at the manor steps.
“But I don’t know a thing about tending cattle.”
“You also said you couldn’t ride a horse.” He slid down and reached for her. “And you see, there’s naught to it.”
“But a woman can’t own land. The law—”
“The customs of Aleron mean more here than the laws of Innis. A word from you about the running of Glenayre will carry as much weight as if it had come from me.”
“And if we find we don’t suit?”
“An unpleasant notion, considering I just got you here.”
“It isn’t my wish,” she said in quick contrition. “But if we were to part ways—”
“Then all that was ours is mine again.”
He led her up the steps and waved for quiet.
“Clan Callan at Glenayre. Hawks and friends of Hawks. I bring you Isobel Callan, your Lady of Glenayre. Make her welcome.”
Cheers went up again and rounds of good wishes.
“Give them a wave now. And one of those smiles,” he said at her shoulder.
When he escorted his bride inside, his entire household filed into the great hall, eager to satisfy their curiosity. An unexpected twinge of nerves took hold. Isobel might find Glenayre humble by Monaughty standards. No jeweled chandeliers. No gilded cornices. Not a single tile of Laradish marble.
But sunset was the best time of day to see the beauty in the place. Soft shades of rose and amber lit expanses of wood and stonework and warmed the muted red tile beneath his boots.
“It’s so lovely,” she said as she turned to take it in. “So warm. Glenayre seems…alive.”
The sunset wrought magic on her, as well. Her hair shone in the amber light, and life itself seemed to dance in those green eyes.
A cough brought him back to his senses. Steady yourself, boy.
“Lady Isobel is tired from traveling. Renny, show my wife to our chambers. We’ll take supper there when I return.”
“You’re leaving?” The quiver in her voice nearly wielded enough power to turn him around. Already. That would not do.
“Go with Renny,” he said without a backward glance.
# # #
Seth returned later than he intended, well past dark, and rushed through his bath. He was not besotted. It was common courtesy. He’d invited Isobel to dine with him, and he’d kept her waiting. He checked his reflection and smoothed a stubborn wave in his damp hair, then rolled his eyes at himself for bothering.
He cut a brisk pace from the bathing room back to his chambers, wondering what she’d be like when she was peeved. He pulled on an air of authority and opened the door.
Renny was humming and unpacking one of dozens of blue-and-gold trunks crowded into his rooms. Our rooms now.
Dinner sat untouched on the small table where he often ate alone, a crisp white table drape and silver candelabra signaling respect for the new Lady of Glenayre its lord had failed to match.
“Where is she?”
“Sleeping.”
The head of Glenayre’s household staff was a feisty little woman with a button nose and ready smile, and never without a generously pocketed apron tied around her stout waist. Renny brokered no nonsense from anyone, and she was the only person to make Glenayre’s fearsome cook Milo back down from a fight. Theirs was the most unlikely of attractions, but he knew of few marriages as content.
“Did she eat?”
“Not hungry, she said. Ye’d best sit and have a bite, though. Can’t have Milo knowing his fine dinner went to waste.”
Even cold, Milo’s cooking was superb. Before he knew it, he’d wolfed down his portion and most of Isobel’s. He grimaced and set aside a plate of bread and cheese for her, in case she woke hungry. He added an apple for good measure. Then he noticed Renny watching with a fist on her hip.
“What? She might want something when she wakes.”
“Ye ought to leave her be tonight, m’lord,” said Renny. “Poor girl is chafed from riding. Ye knew she wasn’t used to—”
“I had to get her here somehow.”
“That ye did, and she’ll be none the worse in a day or so, but tonight…”
“Yes, Renny. I heard you.”
Renny settled into the chair where Isobel should have been. Seth’s finger traced circles around the rim of a goblet. Renny slid it away from him and poured some wine for herself.
“Yer lady wife has a gentle soul.”
He sensed a scolding coming.
“Ye were not kind when ye left her. ‘Twas not like ye, Lord Seth.”
Gentle, shy, delicate. By the week’s end, Isobel would have everyone in his household rushing to her defense if he so much as frowned her way.
“She’s a Hawk now. She won’t fit in if she isn’t hardy.”
“Hardy, ye want? Ye know who fathered her.” Renny flitted through the signs of the old faith meant to ward off demons lurking nearby. “She’s strong enough to make a fine Hawk. Give her time, m’lord.”
Renny gathered the dishes and left him alone. When he’d polished off the last of the wine, he wandered into his bedchamber. Our bedchamber.
He stood beside the bed and watched his wife as she slept. He reached for her. He wanted…he wasn’t sure what to want. The memory of her waking and fighting him off was enough to still his hand.
He would find another bed for the night.
Chapter 25
- Writer
