“Aye, sir!” Ian said, though within, he trembled at the thought of being alone in the midst of such noise and such strangeness.
“Good lad. Enjoy the adventure.” Gar grinned, clasped his shoulder, then turned to follow the lieutenant.
Ian swallowed heavily and turned to look up at the corporal. “Where are the barracks, sir?”
“Over there, against the south wall.” The soldier pointed. “We’ll follow the curve of the keep—that should get us out of the worst of the jostling. Come along, then.” He strode off down the stair, and Ian hurried after him, his heart in his mouth.
CHAPTER 10
Gar had taught him how to use the curry comb, so Ian was able to see to both animals. He mucked out the horse’s stall too, since no one had done so recently, then took the saddlebags back to the barracks.
He remembered the corporal’s advice, though, so he stayed near the curtain wall, and did indeed move more quickly, even though the route was longer. When it joined the keep, he turned to follow that wall, so he passed by the stairs at the doorway again. “Boy.”
Ian halted and looked around.
“Boy!” the voice called again, demanding. It was high-pitched and clear, an imperious treble. Looking up, Ian saw a girl about his own age leaning over the stone stair-rail. She wore rose-colored satin, and her skirts spread out in a prodigal display of cloth. “Come here, boy—I want you.”
Ian swallowed and climbed the stairs toward her—she was clearly a gentleman’s daughter, at least. But as he came up to her, she smiled eagerly, and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, good! I was hoping you would hear me!”
“Yes, miss—uh, ma’am … uh, ‘selle … uh …if—” She laughed, a clear cascade. “Oh, don’t be so silly! Don’t you know who I am?”
“No, miss … uh, ma’amselle…”
“Milady,” she corrected, rather primly. “You must call me ‘milady,’ for I am Lord Aran’s granddaughter, the Lady Heloise.”
“Yes, milady,” Ian said, relieved to know how to address her, and in a near-panic at the thought that he had made a mistake.
She saw his confusion and laughed again. “Oh, you must not worry so! I think it’s all silliness anyway, these titles and bowing and all, especially since you’re the first child I’ve seen in a year! You will play with me, won’t you?”
Ian’s heart sank; he had seen girls’ games in his village, and didn’t relish the thought of being a mock father to a doll. In a last, desperate attempt at salvation, he asked, “Wouldn’t his lordship be angry? ”
“Not at all, if I command you to do it.” She glanced at the saddlebags. “But you’re on an errand for your master, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, go do it, then come right back!” she said firmly. “And if anyone tries to stop you, tell them you’re running an errand for the Lady Heloise!”
“Yes, milady! Surely, milady!” Ian bobbed his head and turned away in relief, but also in trepidation. There was hope, though—perhaps, before he came back, Heloise’s mother would have found her and set her to her lessons or embroidery, or something.
He found out later that Lady Heloise didn’t have a mother—the Lady Constantina had died not long after Heloise was born. She had died from nursing serfs—there had been an outbreak of disease, and she had caught it herself, on her errands of mercy. Heloise’s father, Lord Aran’s son, had died of a broken heart, some said—but others pointed out that he had devoted himself to the welfare of his people, working night and day to take care of the serfs in tribute to his wife’s memory, and had died protecting them from robbers—though some said he had been hoping for death all along, not wanting to live without her.
All of that was in the future, though. For the present, Ian duly deposited the saddlebags beneath the bunk that would be Gar’s, in the little private room at the end of the barracks, then dodged and twisted his way through the crowd (hoping it would take longer that way) and arrived back at the keep stairs, crestfallen to see the little figure in rose-colored satin still waiting for him.
Though, truth to tell, he could have been more crestfallen than he was. Heloise had long blonde hair, huge blue eyes, a button of a nose, and a wide, full-lipped smile. Ian couldn’t help noticing the skip in his heartbeat, couldn’t help thinking she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen—but then, he reminded himself sternly, he had never seen a lady of his own age before.
“Come!” she demanded imperiously, and swept in through the keep door.
The conference of war was over; Lord Aran nodded at his captains and said, “To your places. They cannot be long now.”
The officers bowed and turned to file out. “Captain Pike,” Lord Aran said, “remain a moment.”
Magnus looked up, startled, then turned back to the white-haired nobleman, ignoring the jealous glances of the local captains. “Yes, my lord?”
Lord Aran glanced at the door, waited till it closed, then turned back to Magnus. “My granddaughter tells me that she commanded your apprentice to be her playfellow yesterday.”
Magnus stood stock-still a moment, letting it register. Then he said, “Indeed, my lord!”
“Indeed,” Aran confirmed. “I see the lad has not told you of this.”
“No, my lord.” Magnus could understand why. “It will not, of course, interfere with his duties to you,” Lord Aran said, “and I am glad to learn of it, for she has had few enough playmates in her life.” Magnus relaxed.
“Indeed, from her reports, he is a wondrously polite little fellow,” the old lord said, “and quite attentive to her desires.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Magnus murmured.
Lord Aran nodded. “Still, I would wish that he were reminded not to forget his place.”
Small chance of that, Magnus thought as he bowed his head in assent—but Lord Aran was thinking of Ian as a gentleman’s son, not knowing that he was a serf, and overawed by nobility.
Lord Aran misinterpreted Magnus’s expression. “No, no, do not misunderstand, he shows no sign of such impudence! But it would not hurt to remind him.”
“I shall, my lord.”
“It is well.” Lord Aran relaxed. “Of course, with the battle come upon us, it does not grieve me to have a freelance’s apprentice near my daughter—she might give the slip to her bodyguards, but she would be apt to take him along.”
Magnus smiled. “True, your lordship. I had not thought of that.”
There was a commotion in the hall, and a sentry burst in. “My lord! They come!”
“To the battlements, at once!” Lord Aran strode out of the room. Magnus followed in his wake.
From the top of the keep, they could see the entire plain, with the ridge line to the southeast and the rocky outcrop to the north. Below them, the last few peasants were straggling across the drawbridge with their carts and livestock. Magnus knew they had been coming in all night, and that the causeway had been so jammed last evening that many of them had had to wait until it cleared. These were the last and most exhausted, and as they came, the drawbridge rose behind them.
“Where?” Lord Aran demanded.
“Yonder, my lord!” The captain of the guard pointed. “From the southeast.”
A file of men had begun moving down the slope. Lord Aran nodded. “They will be here by sunset.” He turned to his officers. “While we wait, drill your men. Warn them that there will likely be no work for them until the morrow—it would be a foolish enemy who would attack with tired troops.”