My hand do hold, my love, my light,
My hand do hold, my dearest treasure;
Your love I clasp inside so tight,
As dear to me as Oath and Measure.
It was a poem Morris had written for Ingrid during their brief courtship, and they alone knew of it. A deep, crimson flush colored Sir Morris's face. That was enough to tell Anton Berwick the poem was authentic.
The rotund merchant turned back to the castle. "What do you want from us?"
"I already told you," the man replied. "Stop all this nonsense immediately and return to Hillfort."
Morris raised his armored fist into the air, pointing at the man. "We will leave when Ingrid is returned to us!"
The kidnapper snorted loudly. "Do you think I just fell off the turnip wagon? If I hand her over now, you'll simply resume your attack."
"I give you my solemn word as a Knight of the Rose that we will not," vowed Sir Morris.
"The word of a knight means naught to me," said the man. "I believe only that which I can see with my own eyes. Your lady wife will remain here for two days.
That should give you time to get halfway to Hillfort. At that point we will return her the same way we fetched her. I assure you, Ingrid will be there waiting, as you left her, when you arrive.
"And don't even think about doubling back," the kidnapper added menacingly. "It should be pretty clear to you by now that we are aware of your every move."
There was silence for several moments, as all parties considered the transaction. Then Sir Morris spoke again. "And what of the land you stole from us, with plans to extort our ships with tolls? That injustice cannot be allowed to stand. Especially now, considering what you have done to our Ingrid."
"The land? Oh, yes, that," the man muttered. "Uh, have your representatives contact ours concerning negotiations for the land." With that, he turned quickly to leave.
Baffled, Sir Morris, gloved hands on the tassets covering his hips, glanced up. "Are you not Cormac DiThon's representative?"
"I think I made that clear," said the man.
Sir Morris bristled. "Then we will discuss possession of Stonecliff now, or we will not leave."
The kidnapper rolled his eyes in vexation. "All right, then. If ownership of that small piece of land is to forever be a cause for war between us, we will retire from occupying it."
"And that is acceptable to Lord DiThon?" asked Berwick, astonished.
"I said so, didn't I?"
Both Sir Morris and Anton Berwick eyed the snappish representative on the wall one last, lingering time. "It is done, and we will leave in peace," Berwick announced at length. His glance turned once more on his daughter before he rode awkwardly away through the ranks of disappointed knights and mercenaries who would see no fighting today.
Sir Morris Whetfeld also spun about, and his army followed him. "Have courage, my love," he called to Ingrid with a last longing look over his shoulder at the woman on the wall. "Soon we will be together again."
Ingrid waved a handkerchief at the retreating army.
"We did it!" squealed Kirah, crouching behind the protection of the merlon as the army noisily departed across the heath. "Gods, can you believe he actually said that to me?" She wiggled her newly bent front teeth and tugged at the elaborate frock with disdain. "Hurry up and make me look like myself again," she pleaded.
Lyim dispelled the disguise with a wave of his hand. Kirah stood before him once more in her dirty yellow frock and hair.
"You have no idea how difficult it is to speak around those teeth!" she laughed. "Fooling the Berwicks was easy by comparison."
"Speak for yourself," muttered Lyim, rubbing his temples. He was unused to casting so many spells at once, not to mention the pressure of negotiating peace. Still and all, this good deed had been easy enough to accomplish.
He'd not admit it to Kirah, but he'd expected more of a fight from the Berwicks. All it took to convince them was a poem he'd plucked from the befuddled knight's memory. "We were fortunate you were close enough in size to Ingrid Berwick and remembered her features in enough detail for me to superimpose them on you."
"Who could forget those teeth?" Kirah chortled once more. "I'll tell you who's really lucky-Guerrand, for not marrying into that family!" Kirah almost felt like herself again. The tension she'd held in her shoulders since Lyim had suggested the ruse eased away.
Lyim saw it. "Don't get too relaxed, Kirah. There's much work to be done yet."
"Like what?"
"Like releasing your sister-in-law, Rietta, from the binding spell that kept her out of sight while we addressed the knights."
"Must we?" Kirah pouted, then rolled her eyes. "Oh, I suppose you're right. Someone will surely notice that she hasn't issued a shrewish order for a least an hour."
Lyim laughed, then grew serious. "We also must send a missive immediately to Cormac at Stonecliff, apprising him of the attack, before Berwick finds out he's been duped and returns."
Remembering Lyim's promise, Kirah clapped a hand over her mouth. "What's he going to say when he finds out someone promised to return Stonecliff?"
"He's going to be furious, particularly when he can't find the man who promised it." He shrugged. "Under the circumstances, I had no choice. Besides, it occurred to me later that forfeiture of the land will happen as a matter of course. I didn't really lie about 'retiring from occupying the land.' " Kirah looked puzzled.
Lyim glanced over the battlement to check the retreat's progress. "As I figure it, once your brother hears that his castle is being sieged, he'll return immediately with every man he's got, leaving Stonecliff undefended. If Berwick is smart, he'll take measures to ensure that Stonecliff is not so easily taken from him again. Things will return to normal, unless your brother is foolish enough to start the whole cycle up again."
"I can't wait to see Cormac's face when he returns and discovers some mystery man chased away the Berwicks!" With the impulsiveness of a happy child, Kirah threw her arms around Lyim's neck and kissed his cheek.
Red-faced, the apprentice gripped her by the shoulders and set her back down. He looked intently at the young girl. "You know, Kirah, that you can never tell anyone what we did today. Can I trust you to keep our secret after I'm gone?"
Kirah felt suddenly deflated, and it had nothing to do with their secret. Of course Lyim would leave, she chided herself. How could he stay? He had a life somewhere else… with Guerrand. It was just that, for a day, she'd had someone to confide in again. She would miss it more than ever now. More than Lyim knew, things would, indeed, return to normal again. And normal was nearly death to Kirah.
The young girl sighed. "Of course I can keep our secret," she murmured. Struck with a thought, Kirah gave him a penetrating look. "Why did you do all this?"
Lyim held his palms up. "Never explain, never defend, that's my motto," he said.
Kirah's expression was pure envy. "Rand is very lucky to have a friend who would risk life and limb for his family."
Lyim's dark head shook from side to side, his hair brushing Kirah's cheek. "Rand would do the same for me," said the mage kindly, steering her back down the stairs.
The task done, Lyim felt the pressure to return to Palanthas. It had taken twice as long to reach Guerrand's homeland as they'd planned for, and Lyim was afraid even inattentive Belize would begin to wonder where he was. The faster he released Rietta and sent the missive to Cormac, the sooner he could return to Palanthas and tell Guerrand the good news. Saving his friend's family, Lyim felt certain, more than made up for his behavior at the Jest.