‘And Verity will not be glad of such a woman?’ The confusion on Molly’s face was as if I were insisting the sea was soup.
‘Verity deserves a companion, not an ornament to wear on his sleeve,’ I protested in disdain. ‘Were I Verity, I’d want a woman who could do things. Not just select her jewellery or plait her own hair. She should be able to sew a shirt, or tend her own garden, and have something special she can do that is all her own, like scrollwork or herbery.’
‘Newboy, the like of that is not for fine ladies,’ Molly chided me. ‘They are meant to be pretty and ornamental. And they are rich. It isn’t for them to have to do such work.’
‘Of course it is. Look at Lady Patience and her woman, Lacey. They are always about and doing things. Their apartments are a jungle of the lady’s plants, and the cuffs of her gowns are sometimes a bit sticky from her paper-making, or she will have bits of leaves in her hair from her herbery work, but she is still just as beautiful. And prettiness is not all that important in a woman. I’ve watched Lacey’s hands making one of the keep children a fish-net from a bit of jute string. Quick and clever as any webman’s fingers down on the dock are her fingers; now that’s a pretty thing that has nothing to do with her face. And Hod, who teaches weapons? She loves her silver-work and graving. She made a dagger for her father’s birthday, with a grip like a leaping stag, and yet done so cleverly that it’s a comfort in the hand, with not a jag or edge to catch on anything. Now that’s a bit of beauty that will live on long after her hair greys or her cheeks wrinkle. Someday her grandchildren will look at that work and think what a clever woman she was.’
‘Do you think so, really?’
‘Certainly.’ I shifted, suddenly aware of how close Molly was to me. I shifted, yet did not really move further away. Down the beach, Smithy made another foray into a flock of gulls. His tongue was hanging nearly to his knees, but he was still galloping.
‘But if noble ladies do all those things, they’ll ruin their hands with the work, and the wind will dry their hair and tan their faces. Surely Verity doesn’t deserve a woman who looks like a deckhand?’
‘Surely he does. Far more than he deserves a woman who looks like a fat red carp kept in a bowl.’
Molly giggled.
‘Someone to ride beside him of a morning when he takes Hunter out for a gallop, or someone who can look at a section of map he’s just finished and actually understand just how fine a piece of work it is. That’s what Verity deserves.’
‘I’ve never ridden a horse,’ Molly objected suddenly. ‘And I know few letters.’
I looked at her curiously, wondering why she seemed so suddenly downcast. ‘What matter is that? You’re clever enough to learn anything. Look at all you’ve taught yourself about candles and herbs. Don’t tell me that came from your father. Sometimes when I come to the shop, your hair and dress smell of fresh herbs and I can tell you’ve been experimenting to get new perfumes for the candles. If you wanted to read or write more, you could learn. As for riding, you’d be a natural. You’ve balance and strength … look at how you climb the rocks on the cliffs. And animals take to you. You’ve fair won Smithy’s heart away from me …’
‘Fa!’ She gave me a nudge with her shoulder. ‘You talk as if some lord should come riding down from the keep and carry me off.’
I thought of August with his stuffy manners, or Regal simpering at her. ‘Eda forbid. You’d be wasted on them. They wouldn’t have the wit to understand you, or the heart to appreciate you.’
Molly looked down at her work-worn hands. ‘Who would, then?’ she asked softly.
Boys are fools. The conversation had grown and twined around us, my words coming as naturally as breathing to me. I had not intended any flattery, or subtle courtship. The sun was beginning to dip into the water, and we sat close by one another and the beach before us was like the world at our feet. If I had said at that moment, ‘I would,’ I think her heart would have tumbled into my awkward hands like ripe fruit from a tree. I think she might have kissed me, and sealed herself to me of her own free will. But I couldn’t grasp the immensity of what I suddenly knew I had come to feel for her. It drove the simple truth from my lips, and I sat dumb and half a moment later Smithy came, wet and sandy, barrelling into us so that Molly leaped to her feet to save her skirts, and the opportunity was lost forever, blown away like spray on the wind.
We stood and stretched, and Molly exclaimed about the time, and I felt all the sudden aches of my healing body. Sitting and letting myself cool down on a chill beach was a stupid thing I certainly wouldn’t have done to any horse. I walked Molly home and there was an awkward moment at her door before she stooped and hugged Smithy goodbye. And then I was alone, save for a curious pup demanding to know why I went so slowly and insisting he was half-starved and wanting to run and tussle all the way up the hill to the keep.
I plodded up the hill, chilled within and without. I returned Smithy to the stables, and said good night to Sooty, and then went up to the keep. Galen and his fledglings had already finished their meagre meal and left. Most of the keep folk had eaten, and I found myself drifting back to my old haunts. There was always food in the kitchen, and company in the watch-room off the kitchen. Men-at-arms came and went there all hours of the day and night, so Cook kept a simmering kettle on the hook, adding water and meat and vegetables as the level went down. Wine and beer and cheese were also there, and the simple company of those who guarded the keep. They had accepted me as one of their own since the first day I’d been given into Burrich’s care. So I made myself a simple meal, not near as scanty as Galen would have provided me, nor yet as ample and rich as I craved. That was Burrich’s teaching; I fed myself as I would have an injured animal.
And I listened to the casual talk going on around me, focusing myself into the life of the keep as I hadn’t for months. I was amazed at all that I had not known because of my total immersion in Galen’s teaching. A bride for Verity was most of the talk. There was the usual crude soldiers’ jesting one could expect about such things, as well as a lot of commiseration over his ill-luck in having Regal choose his future spouse. That the match would be based on political alliances had never been in question; a prince’s hand could not be wasted on something as foolish as his own choice. That had been a great part of the scandal surrounding Chivalry’s stubborn courtship of Patience. She had come from within the realm, the daughter of one of our nobles, and one already very amicable to the royal family. No political advantage at all had come out of that marriage.
But Verity would not be squandered so. Especially with the Red Ships menacing us all along our straggling coastline. And so speculation ran rife. Who would she be? A woman from the Near Islands, to our north in the White Sea? The islands were little more than rocky bits of the earth’s bones thrusting up out of the sea, but a series of towers set amongst them would give us earlier warning of the sea raiders’ ventures into our waters. To the southwest of our borders, beyond the Rain Wilds where no one ruled were the Spice Coasts. A princess from there would offer few defensive advantages, but some argued for the rich trading agreements she might bring with her. Days to the south and east over the sea were the many big islands where grew the trees that the boat-builders yearned for. Could a king and his daughter be found there who would trade her warm winds and soft fruits for a keep in a rocky, ice-bounded land? What would they ask for a soft southern woman and her tall-timbered island trade? Furs said some, and grain said another. And there were the mountain kingdoms at our backs, with their jealous possession of the passes that led into the tundra lands beyond. A princess from there would command warriors of her folk, as well as trade links to the ivory workers and reindeer herders who lived beyond their borders. On their southern border was the pass that led to the headwaters of the great Rain River that meandered through the Rain Wilds. Every soldier among us had heard the old tales of the abandoned treasure-temples on the banks of that river, of the tall, carved gods who presided still over their holy springs, and of the flake gold that sparkled in the lesser streams. Perhaps a mountain princess, then?
Each possibility was debated with far more political sophistication