“You silly creature!” the girl snapped, trying to tug free. “ I don’t have to call the servants—didn’t they tell you I’m a mage? I might have hurt you! Especially when you got between me and the light, for Mila’s sake.”
The woman refused to let go of her. “Please, Clehame, I don’t know if they said you were a mage, but it wouldn’t make any difference. I would be better off killed by magic than live on as I live now!”
Sandry pushed herself upright until she could lean over and grab the crystal with her free hand. Holding it, she brought the light closer to her captor’s features. The woman flinched back from it, but her grip on Sandry’s hand did not ease, and her haggard dark eyes never left Sandry’s face.
The stranger looked as if she’d been lovely as a girl, and had not yet lost all trace of her looks. Her hair was light brown and coarse, tumbling out of its pins. Her nose looked as if it had been broken once, and deep lines bracketed her nose and wide mouth. She wore a coarse white undergown and practical dark overgown, short-sleeved and calf-length to reveal the embroideries underneath. The clothing was good in its weave and stitching, the embroideries well-done. With her power Sandry could tell the cloth and embroideries were well-made. Her guest may have been a peasant, but she was not poor.
“How did you get in here?” Sandry demanded. “The castle gates are closed.”
“I came in this afternoon, with a shipment of flour,” her visitor replied. “I smuggled myself up here. I hid in one of the wardrobes so I would not be sent home before the gates closed for the night.”
“Then why not reveal yourself while I was awake?”
The woman hung her head. “I have slept badly all week, fretting over this,” she confessed. “It was warm in there, and there were folded comforters under me. I ... fell asleep,” she confessed. “Truly, I did not mean to frighten you, but I had to speak to you before, before anyone comes to find me.” She was rumpled enough to have spent hours folded up in a wardrobe.
“I don’t know what you think to accomplish by this invasion,” Sandry told her sternly. “I’m only here for a short time.”
“But you can help me!” the older woman whispered, her grip so tight that Sandry’s fingers began to ache. “You’re the only one who can. If you don’t, I will die by my own hand, I swear it!”
Sandry scowled. “I really don’t approve of drama, Ravvi—at least tell me your name.”
“Gudruny, Clehame,” the woman whispered, her head bowed. “I will not give you my married name, because I never wanted it and wish to be rid of it through your mercy.”
Sandry shook her head with a sigh. “I don’t see how I can help you there,” she told Gudruny. “But in any case, let me put on a robe and slippers, and let’s get some real light in here. You can tell me all about it. Now please let go, before my fingers break.”
If anything, Gudruny’s hold tightened. “Swear it on your ancient name,” she begged. “Swear to me by all the gods you will not call for the guards.”
“I swear. Though, really, my word as a noble should be enough!” From the way Gudruny’s eyes scuttled to the side, she didn’t share Sandry’s opinion of a noble’s word. Sandry shook her head, then asked, “May I now have my hand?”
Gudruny released it as if it had turned into a hot coal. Sandry massaged her aching fingers, then started to get up. Gudruny leaped to her feet and fetched Sandry’s robe, helping her into it while Sandry thrust her feet into her slippers. Before Sandry could move, Gudruny knelt before the fire, poking the embers into flame and adding fresh wood. Even though it was spring, the air was chilly.
Sandry lit a taper from the flames, and with it lit the wicks on a branch of candles. She had to be desperate, to do this, she thought, remembering the way her Namornese companions had spoken of dealing with the peasants who didn’t pay nobles the proper respect. I doubt they’d be very kind to someone who crept into a noble’s bedroom. The least I can do is hear her out, and make certain she comes to no harm. Once they had decent light, she nodded to one of the two chairs that framed the hearth. “Seat yourself. Should I ring for tea?” When Gudruny half-leaped to her feet from the chair, Sandry grimaced. “Very well, no tea. Please stop leaping about like that.” As Gudruny settled back, Sandry took the other seat. “Now,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “Tell me what brings you up here. A direct tale, if you please. I’ve been riding all day, and I want some rest.”
Gudruny looked down. “Ten years gone I was considered quite the beauty,” she said, her voice soft. “All the lads were courting me, whether they had prospects or no, and even though I had no fortune of my own. And I was vain, I admit. I teased and I flirted. Then Halmar began to call.” She swallowed hard and added, “Halmar Iarun. He was in his twenties, and I in my teens. He is the miller, like his father, and he’s done well as miller. He said he’d had his fun, and it was time for him to be setting up his nursery, and he’d decided I would do.” Gudruny sighed. “I would do,” she repeated. “As if he had a field of choices, and I met most of his requirements. Oh, I was angered. I sent him off with a host of insults, and went back to my flirtations.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks. “One day my mother sent me out to gather mushrooms for supper. I went to the woods three miles from here, where I knew there were edulis mushrooms—my favorites. I was gathering them when Halmar came for me. He ran me down on horseback, caught me, and took me to a shepherd’s hut up in the hills. There he kept me, according to the custom.” Gudruny’s lips trembled. Sandry found a handkerchief in the pocket of the robe and passed it over.
“He did not strike me, not then,” Gudruny whispered. “He said he wanted me to love him. He said I would love him and agree to marry him, or I would never see my parents again. He tied me up while he was gone, and he came back to me each night, to feed me and to tell me how much I was missed, until ... until I signed the marriage contract. A priest took our marriage vows, or rather, Halmar’s vows, since they didn’t need mine. I am his wife now, and the mother of our two children.”
Sandry listened to this astonishing tale in silence, fury rising up from her belly until so much of it was collected in her throat that she could hardly breathe. “You married a man who would do that to you?” she demanded after Gudruny had been silent for at least a moment. “You live in the house of a man who would treat you that way?” She jumped to her feet to cry, “Where is your pride? How could you bear him children? How could you share his bed?”
Gudruny looked at her as if Sandry had just started to speak Old Kurchali. “I had no choice,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “He would have kept me there forever. Other men do worse to make women sign the marriage contract. And once it is signed, the wife has no rights. Most marriages are not made with a contract for that reason. But in west Namorn ...” She shrugged, her bony shoulders dimpling the cloth of her gowns.
Sandry stared at Gudruny, her hands clenched on the back of the chair. “But you can run away,” she pointed out.
“And with a contract he can ask anyone to give me back,” snapped Gudruny. “The only way a woman can be freed of the contract would be if she petitioned her liege lord to set it aside.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Sandry wanted to know. “Cousin Ambros is a fair man. How could you not go to him?”
“Because he is not the liege lord here,” whispered Gudruny. “Your mother rode by me, twice, when I tried to ask her years ago. Now I come to you. Please, Clehame. I will do anything you ask, if you will but free me of him.”
Sandry realized she was trying to shrink away from Gudruny. Surely she had not just said that about her mother. Sandry had known for years that her mother was a pleasure-seeker, a pretty woman who cared only about her husband, her daughter, and having fun. She had never considered that those things might make her mother a very bad noblewoman. “What about your own family?” Sandry wanted to know. “Surely they protested. Didn’t they search for you while he had you captive?”