"How came you here?" asked Delilah. "I see you have no horse."
Cordelia did some quick mental jockeying, trying to decide whether she was better served by Delilah's ignorance, or her probable awe of esper powers. Discretion won out, and she said, "I do not believe a beast should be tethered, but should be free to roam as he will, till I have need of him."
"Then he must be well trained indeed, to come at your call."
Cordelia wondered at the tone of mockery in Delilah's voice, or why it stung. "I shall whistle him up when I wish," she assured the wench.
Delilah sighed in a parody of longing. "I have never learned to whistle."
"Then you have not had the bittersweet fortune of having brothers," Cordelia said, with a sardonic smile.
"I have not," Delilah said, all wide-eyed innocence. "Does that make a lass less hungry to be wed?" And, before Cordelia could answer, "You must forgive my asking. I am too young to know. I am but eighteen."
Eighteen what? But Cordelia did not say it out loud. "You shall know all that a woman needs within a year or so," Cordelia assured her, thinking all the while that Delilah already knew far more than a genuine lady should.
"I trust I shall," Delilah sighed. "What is this `kindling' that you spoke of?"
Geoffrey hailed them from the edge of the wood. "Small sticks and twigs." Cordelia displayed her skirtful of bits of wood. "We shall let the gentlemen fetch logsbut do you quickly catch up some tinder, for they are come with dinner."
"What is `tinder'?"
"Dried grass and leaves!" Cordelia stooped impatiently to catch up several handfuls as she walked toward the riverbank. Geoffrey rode down toward the river. Cordelia went to him, with Delilah trailing behind—which was fortunate, for she could not see how Cordelia's cheeks flamed with anger and humiliation. For some obscure reason, Cordelia felt she had come off the loser in that battle of wits—and was sure it had been a battle, though most of Delilah's comments had seemed entirely innocent.
It was doubly strange that she should feel the loser, since she had certainly given as good as she received, when the comments had been barbed.
Hadn't she?
"Well!" Geoffrey surveyed the heap of kindling that Cordelia dumped onto the bare clay by the water—then the cascade of dead leaves and dried cattails that suddenly fell on top of them. Cordelia looked up, startled, and met Delilah's sweetest smile. The cat had snatched them up by the handful as they had come back to meet the boys! "'Tis a good beginning," Geoffrey pronounced.
"'Twill do to kindle a blaze." Cordelia knelt, brushing grasses from her skirt.
Alain came up with a six-inch rock in each hand, set them by the tinder, and, glancing furtively at Cordelia, mumbled something about needing to fetch more, got up, and went away. She gazed after him for a moment, frowning. Admittedly he should be remorseful, repentant—but how was she ever going to win him back, if he would not talk to her?
"Here is your flame." Geoffrey had dismounted and knelt by the tinder now, drawing his dagger and taking a piece of flint from his pouch. He struck them against one another with an expert touch, several times, until a fat spark fell into the tinder. He struck another, and another. Cordelia breathed on them gently, and they began to flame. Out of the corner of her eye, she realized that Delilah was still standing, looking down in contempt at the hoyden who could get down on her knees in the grass and kindle a fire as well as any boy. Cordelia turned and smiled sweetly up at her. "It is given to women to be the keepers of the hearth."
"Indeed." Delilah's eyes sparked. "But for a lady, the hearth is watched, while servants build it up." Fortunately, Alain arrived before the two of them could go any further, with two more rocks to set by the flames. Cordelia looked up, about to say something about their not being overlarge, but saw how closed his face was, the furtive glances that he flicked at her, and decided it was not the time to say anything that was at all critical.
There was a rustle of cloth beside her. Cordelia glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Delilah folding herself gracefully to sit by the fire, adjusting her skirts to cover her legs in complete modesty—that is, if you disregarded the cut of her bodice. Apparently, she had realized that everybody else was sitting or kneeling. Cordelia smiled to herself as she took kindling from her little pile and fed it to the flames, building them up little by little, letting it grow. "What have you found for us to eat, gentlemen?"
"A hare." Alain proudly held out a spitted blob of pink meat that bore about as much resemblance to a rabbit as a toad to a toadstool. He was obviously very proud of having shot, skinned, and cleaned it himself, but Delilah shrank back with an exclamation of frightened disgust, as a delicate maiden would when coming face-to-face with the world's realities for the first time.
Alain was instantly all contrition. "I pray you, look away, milady. I had forgot that you would never have seen raw meat as it came from the hide."
"Nay, I never have." Delilah turned away, trembling. "I doubt if I shall be able to eat of it now."
Alain stepped over to her side. "Come, come! When 'tis done, you shall not recognize it at all!" He reached out to her, then drew his hand back. "I would not offer a murderer's hands to you..."
She blinked up at him, and forced a smile. "Nay, surely not. You mean only my welfare, I know, to see that I am fed. Forgive me that my stomach is too delicate for such a sight." She relaxed into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. Alain wiped clean hands on his hose before he put his arms around her.
"Sister," Geoffrey murmured in Cordelia's ear, "what is that grinding noise?"
"Only my teeth," she grated back. "Can he not see through her, Geoffrey?"
"Why, no," whispered Geoffrey, surprised, "and neither can I, though her skin is perfectly clear."
"So is her behavior! She is positively transparent!" Cordelia made the comment a lash. "I would have thought that my much-experienced brother would not be so easily deceived."
"Better, or worse?" Geoffrey smiled, amused. "Few of us are born with defenses against a pretty face or form. Be patient, sister. If she truly is as you imagine her to be, no doubt we shall discover it."
" `Beauty is as beauty does,' do you mean?" Cordelia's tone was scathing. "Many a man has discovered nothing of the sort, 'til the priest has pronounced the words."
Then, with sudden despair: "What am I to do, Geoffrey? I have no tricks, no skill in dissembling! How shall I save him from her?"
"Do you care about him?" Geoffrey seemed quite surprised. Then he frowned. "Or is it only that you fear that something belonging to you will be taken?"
The echo of their mother's words irritated Cordelia. "Nay, 'tis more than that." But the image of Forrest came up unbidden before her inner eye.
Geoffrey was not intent on reading her mind at the moment, so he missed the picture, but he caught the hesitation, the uncertainty. "When you are sure, Cordelia, you shall prosper. But I pray you, do nothing extreme until we know whether or not she is the monster you think her to be, or is truly as sweet and kind as she seems."
"Read her mind, brother," Cordelia said, exasperated. "I have tried." Geoffrey's brow knit, puzzled. "There is only a sort of swirling there."
"What—say you that she has no mind?"
"Oh, nay! She is there, surely enough. We do not deal with a witch-moss construct." Geoffrey deliberately mistook her meaning. "Still, her thoughts cannot be read, though she seems to make no effort to block them."