Abruptly Merelan paused, gave him a bemused look, then sat herself down on the stool by his gitar stand and, propping up the music and picking up the gitar, she started to play it.
He had arranged it for first fiddle, or a gitar, harp and pipes, with the occasional emphasis of a flat drum. It wasn't that long a piece, for all its three movements. He had not added a fourth, as his father would have done, because he had said, musically, all that he needed to in the allegro, adagio and rondo. A scherzo would have fractured the mood.
When his mother played the final chords, her hands remained motionless on the strings for a long moment. Then she gave a funny little shake as if she'd had a spasm and looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, Robie, that is the most beautiful thing you've ever written. Does Kasia like it? For I know you wrote it for her."
Robinton gulped. "I haven't shown it to her. I didn't... know ... if it was any good or not." The last phrase came out fast.
"Not good! Not good!" His mother returned the gitar to its stand and rose in indignation. "Robinton, you have never written a bad piece of music yet, and that' – she pointed a stiff forefinger at the roll – "is the best composition to date. How dare you not give it to her? You said she plays the harp. Why, it's the most romantic piece of music I have ever heard. Even better ..." She closed her lips.
"No, there is no comparison. You have a far more romantic soul, my dearest son." She put her arms around his waist and hugged him. "If you don't show her that before tomorrow ..."
"When will I have the time? It is nearly tomorrow now, Mother!" He hugged her tightly to him, smelling the scent she packed her clothing with and wondering at how the two women he loved felt much the same in his arms.
"You'd better do it soon, then," Merelan said. "She'll never forgive you for not doing it sooner ... unless, of course, you've just finished the piece."
"No, I wrote it this summer."
"Oh!" she exclaimed in explosive dismay. "If you were so worried about it, why didn't you send it to me? I'd have reassured you."
Why he hadn't sent it was no mystery to either of them, but he felt relieved and more confident than ever, having her positive opinion. And he knew that she would never have been so enthusiastic if she didn't truly find it good. That courtesy had nothing to do with him being her son.
"Is there a copy of it, Rob? Master Gennell will want to use it for other espousals. It's so ... so lyric. So romantic. Oh, Robinton, you are such a comfort to me." Abruptly she changed moods. "I'm exhausted after that, love. Will you escort me to my room? I don't think I could find my way back down."
When he had returned from escorting his mother, he prepared for bed himself, since it was late and tomorrow would be an exceedingly eventful day. He smiled, and then broke into a chuckle as he shucked off his clothes and settled into the wide bed that he and Kasia would be sharing. It was far too warm to require night-wear, and besides, he seldom bothered and now probably never would, it being so comforting to snuggle Kasia into his arms and have her skin next to his all night long. He exhaled deeply, and then realized that he was far too excited to sleep yet.
So he threw off the light fur and found a long-tailed shirt. His new clothes for the espousal – well, Gather Day, if he wasn't being self-centred – were hanging on the closet door. He ran a hand down the fine, brocaded fabric which Clostan had talked him into having made up. It really was a fine set, and he could see why cut and fit were so important.
"Do harpers really like wearing bags?" Clostan had sarcastically demanded when Robinton would have settled for the first outfit long enough to fit his torso and legs at Tillek's WeaverHall. The MasterHealer was as tall as Robinton, dark-haired and handsome, with fine, long hands which were clever in sewing up wounds and gently strong in setting broken bones. He had been at Tillek for the past seven turns, ever since he attained his Mastery, for the Hold required an experienced healer and Clostan had worked hard to adapt treatment to the needs of a fishing community. "By the Egg, man, you do yourself no favours. You've broad shoulders ..." Clostan flicked fingers at them. "You've a trim waist' – he couldn't pinch much there – "and long shanks ... Show them off." Clostan's trousers tended to cling to his strong, muscular legs, just missing a tension that might be considered lewd. "Especially during your espousal ... show all the girls what a fine one they missed out on. And allow Kasia to be proud of you."
"Because I show off?." Robinton had demanded, almost indignant. "I can't! I'm far too excited to sleep yet."
So he threw off the light fur and found a long-tailed shirt. His new clothes for the espousal – well, Gather Day, if he wasn't being self-centred – were hanging on the closet door. He ran a hand down the fine, brocaded fabric which Clostan had talked him into having made up. It really was a fine set, and he could see why cut and fit were so important.
"Do harpers really like wearing bags?" Clostan had sarcastically demanded when Robinton would have settled for the first outfit long enough to fit his torso and legs at Tillek's WeaverHall. The MasterHealer was as tall as Robinton, dark-haired and handsome, with fine, long hands which were clever in sewing up wounds and gently strong in setting broken bones. He had been at Tillek for the past seven turns, ever since he attained his Mastery, for the Hold required an experienced healer and Clostan had worked hard to adapt treatment to the needs of a fishing community. "By the Egg, man, you do yourself no favours. You've broad shoulders ..." Clostan flicked fingers at them. "You've a trim waist' – he couldn't pinch much there – "and long shanks ... Show them off." Clostan's trousers tended to cling to his strong, muscular legs, just missing a tension that might be considered lewd. "Especially during your espousal ... show all the girls what a fine one they missed out on.
And allow Kasia to be proud of you."
"Because I show off?." Robinton had demanded, almost indignant.
"I can't imagine you ever showing off, Rob," Clostan had said, shaking his head in mock despair. He grinned, a smile which showed his excellent white teeth and echoed in his dark eyes. He turned serious then and grabbed up the swatch of materials the tailor had on hand. He held them up to Robinton's face to see how they looked against the weather-tan the harper had acquired over the summer. "Hmmm, yes. I know what Kasia's wearing, so we must also consider her colours. Can't clash. Hmmm. I think this rich resset shade of the brocade ..."
"Brocade?" Robinton was aghast. He was prudent with his marks, and he had brought the sum he felt adequate with him. But brocade ...
"Well, you can hardly appear in something shabby for your espousal, can you?" Clostan remarked in disgust. "Look at it this way," he said, mastering his impatience, "you'll be able to wear this to Gathers for turns before it frays." He robbed the sample roughly between his fingers, and then pulled both ends of the swatch to show its strength. "You'd have to spend far more to match it for quality over the same period of turns. Good clothing is an investment."
"And you make many," Robinton said, stung to retort.
Clostan gave him a slightly malicious grin. "I may, but they have all been wise choices, and I can change to fit the mood of the day and the weather of the season. Besides, it heartens my patients to see me well-dressed."
Dispassionately, and because it was his espousal to Kasia, Robinton fingered the swatch and then held it against his face, noting that the rich russet shade did enhance his skin colour.