The Witch of Lurago

Lady of Dundarien

Lady of Dundarien~

Rory Callan

Dundarien, Aleron

Rain pelted Rory’s cloak in a staccato rhythm, drowning out whatever Nate was trying to tell him to do this time. He tugged the hood down over his brow, pretending not to hear. A fat raindrop trickled down his nose and splattered off his boot before making a muddy puddle’s acquaintance.

It had been raining for days, more than he cared to count, ever since eight hundred head of Callan cattle, their drovers, and collies gathered south of Glenayre and turned their combined herds toward Dundarien. Along with Nate and Harry, he was riding guard over the bulk Clan Callan’s profits this year as the drove made its way to market.

Not an auspicious start to his first trek to Turniff, but it ran rings around staying behind at Glenayre.

Rory would trade comfort for adventure any day, and the wild and rowdy Ochmoon Meet was the adventure at the top of his list. Bawdy tales of Turniff’s temptations had sparked his imagination for as long as he could remember. At a fit and fine fourteen years, he was ready to start living a few tales of his own.

How Cade could choose a telescope demonstration in Ellard over riding guard was beyond him. He’d have to sit through a whole day of astronomy lectures before he even got to see the damned contraption. Rory couldn’t understand Cade’s obsession with figuring out how the world worked, but he was glad it meant he got to take his brother’s place on the drove.

Rory rechecked his pistol and patted his crossbow. He adjusted the sword on his belt for good measure. He was good at wielding them all. He was good because he never stopped practicing. He practiced because he hated sitting still. He had won more than his share of conclave contests already, and the drove was a chance to put his skill to a real test.

Thank the Sweet Mother for shaggy red cows.

The cows ambled down into the green valley corralled by the River Alsa. Dundarien’s walls were as familiar to him as the red gates at Glenayre. The rain gave up trying to drown him and switched to a tired grey drizzle.

Herds from Windermere, Glenayre, and Dundarien would travel south from here and meet up with Gruders from Rothcraig and Medloch, and more Buchanans at Buchanell. From there, Aleron’s teeming herds would rumble across Tavish land and skirt the shores of Lake Jura until they reached Turniff.

Then Rory could ditch the honorable Lord Nathalyan and explore every vice Turniff had to offer.

“Set camp,” Nate shouted as he rode along the edge of the herd.

Settling the cattle along the rain-swollen river and rounding up stragglers was a job for the drovers. Nate rode the flanks at a canter, back and forth, just long enough to see they had the herd under control. He broke off and waved Rory and Harry to follow. Their arrival could hardly have gone unnoticed, with the din of barking dogs, lowing cattle, and the drovers’ caustic cursing. Even so, they’d be expected to present themselves to the Lord of Dundarien and claim his hospitality.

In Dundarien’s courtyard, stablehands hurried up to take their horses. Rory climbed the steps two at a time, shedding his wet cloak as soon as he stepped inside the great hall.

“The hospitality of Dundarien is yours.”

Ava’s voice greeted them instead of her father’s. Captain Royce and his son Shaye stood beside her. Nate caught up and shook the rain from his hair, slowly taking note of the obvious in what became an awkward pause.

“The Lord of Dundarien is indisposed.” The set of Ava’s chin dared them to press for more.

There was no need to press. It was no secret. Uncle Gaven had started drinking like a fish the day Aunt Rosey died, and he hadn’t let up yet. Ava was covering for him.

“How gracious of you to receive us on his behalf, Lady Avalee,” Nate replied with a properly proper bow.

“It is my honor to welcome you, Lord Nathalyan.”

Rory rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Nate had known Ava her whole life and spent plenty of time fussing about how she lived it, but he was here on official Callan business, so he stiffened his shoulders and spouted the prescribed words.

Nate was good at such fluff. It was the propriety Rory lacked the patience to master and avoided practicing with the same fervor he avoided boiled peas. Nasty little things, peas.

“Shaye will ride guard with you,” Ava was saying. “Captain Royce will remain here.”

Rory’s brows shot up before he thought to hide his surprise. Dundarien was scrimping on its share of the escort. The breach of protocol hung in the hush of the great hall, just a heartbeat too long.

Rory inched closer in the silence, but his brother didn’t need prompting. Nate loved Ava, despite his attempts to rein her in. He knew she was trying her best to hold Dundarien together until her father was done wallowing in grief.

“Shaye is a skilled guard,” said Nate. “It’s a most generous contribution to the drove.”

“No, it isn’t, and you damned well know it,” Ava said testily. “Uncle Fergus will compensate for Dundarien’s lack of numbers when you reach Buchanell.”

“Ava, please.” Nate’s pretense vanished. “Do you need help here? Da can send—”

“We do not need help.”

Captain Royce grunted his opinion at her refusal. The old soldier looked ready to speak his mind, but Ava’s elbow and a lifetime of deference to the family he served kept him quiet.

“There’s no need for you to bear this alone,” said Nate. “We’re family.”

Ava didn’t need Nate to tell her that she was carrying Dundarien on her shoulders. Admitting it there in Dundarien’s great hall for anyone to hear was just getting her hackles up.

“Nate, let it be,” said Rory.

Nate rubbed the back of his neck, but he let the matter drop.

“Maeve has a hot meal ready with enough to feed your men,” said Ava, slipping back into the Lady of Dundarien role. “Will you camp here tonight?”

“Until first light, with your leave,” said Nate.

“Captain Royce will guard the herds tonight so you can enjoy a dry night’s rest inside.” Ava was glad to see them, even if pride kept her from admitting so. “When you’re hungry, we’ll share supper upstairs, and leave the hall to the drovers and guards.”

And get privacy to speak frankly.

“I accept,” said Rory. “On behalf of tired, wet Callans. And the scruffy Dael, too, if he can mind his manners.”

“Harry’s manners are better than yours.” Ava’s smile softened the faint creases around her eyes.

“Only because he practices.” Rory laughed and caught her in the crook of his arm. “Enough stuffy pleasantries, woman. Show me to a dry towel and a roaring fire.”

# # #

After supper, Rory plucked an old geddar, coaxing out a tune he must’ve heard somewhere before. Pretending to watch his fingers move over the strings was an excuse not to look at Ava, or the guilt he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Nate had listened to her throughout dinner, barely touching his food. He’d said all the right things when Ava talked about missing her mother and Taegan. Even Harry seemed to find the right words to say. Hell, he’d had her crying on his shoulder at one point.

Rory kept quiet, silenced by uncomfortable realization. He had let her down. He was her best friend, and he hadn’t been back to Dundarien once in the months since the funeral.

It was a deformity in his character, he supposed. He didn’t handle death the way ordinary people did. The melodramatic jumble of sorrow and anger, and wishing away something that obviously couldn’t be undone, had always left him puzzled. Death was final. No amount of grieving was going to change the fact. Refusing to accept Aunt Rosey’s death only seemed to diminish her life.

Stick him a room full of solemn mourners. Within five minutes, he’d be fighting the temptation to laugh. No, he was definitely the wrong Callan to represent the family at a funeral.

But he should have been here for Ava.

“It’s late,” he said. “Go to bed, Nate. You too, Harry.”

“Ah, the mute speaks,” said Nate.

“You talked enough for all of us. Go to bed.”

Harry got the message, stretching with a yawn. Captain Dael’s only son, and as much a fixture at Glenayre as his father, Harry was smart and personable, with looks that stopped one broken nose and a dozen freckles short of handsome. And he had considerable experience keeping Callan brothers from going at each other.

“Get moving, boss,” Harry kicked Nate’s heels off an empty chair. “You need your beauty sleep.”

Rory bit back a snark. Nate would go looking for Hannah Royce, not sleep, at Dundarien. His noble big brother flung back the last of his aurello and gave Ava a peck on the cheek.

“Invite Mum to visit for a few weeks,” said Nate. “Like we said, all right?”

“If Papa is agreeable.”

“And especially if he isn’t.”

“All right, all right.” She shooed him away. “Quit nagging.”

Rory waited until the door closed behind them. He poked at the fire just to have something to do. Ava’s chin rested on his shoulder.

“I believe you have worried that poor log enough,” she said.

Rory set the poker aside and cleared his throat, trying to work out what he meant to say.

“You’re sorry,” said Ava. “You wanted to be here for me, but you didn’t know how.”

“Yes, that. Ava, I’m no good at this, but if you want to talk about—”

“No,” she cut him off. “No, no, and just be clear, no.”

“Am I that bad?”

“Rory, you’re honest. You are incapable of pretending to feel one way when you feel another. You gave me time and let me grieve,” she said. “And now, I need you.”

“Conveniently, I happen to be here,” he said. “What can I do?”

“Make me laugh,” she said. “Remind me how to live as wide-eyed, head-first, and restless as we always have. Promise we’ll go back to doing as we please and damn the consequences.”

“Why stop now? It’s a promise.”

“Good, because I’m going to Turniff with you.”

Chapter 5