a competence more common in a man than a woman. She was tall for a woman, as graceful and purposeful when she moved as the wing of a seagull.
As I guided my horse through the throng, she had looked up and our eyes met. A shock of startled recognition quivered through me. Those eyes were the same colour as my own, a deep, golden brown, as uncommon in these parts as blue pearls. But her hair was a rich, dark honey gold with no trace of the rust-red of mine in it. She wore it braided and drawn severely back from the bold planes of her face, caught up in a netting of woven gold thread.
She did not smile, nor did she drop her gaze as a modest Isgardian woman would. Neither did she look away. Instead, her gaze held mine for a long moment. I felt a sense of challenge in her. I was the one who finally broke the contact. When I looked back moments later, she had vanished into the crowd.
Cullin’s chuckle brought me out of my reverie with a start. I realized I was still staring at the woman, who had been escorted to a table by her companion. She looked up, caught me watching her. Her expression didn’t change as she looked away without haste, obviously dismissing me as a negligible annoyance.
“Not that one, lad,” Cullin said with quiet amusement. “That one’s too like my lovely wife. You’d abrade yourself on her inflexible will if you tried holding that one on your lap.”
Cullin had left Gwynna at the Clanhold six seasons ago with a passionate embrace, but more than happy enough to leave her to go on about his own affairs. Gwynna, he often remarked, had the face and body of a goddess, and the disposition of a mountain cat. “A pity, that, and I’m too often like a bear too soon out of hibernation,” he said. “But between us, we make beautiful daughters.”
He raised his hand casually. One of the serving girls darted over to refill his cup with the pale, crisp wine. Her pert and saucy mouth curved upward as she bent closer to him than was strictly necessary. Before she straightened, she flipped back her profusion of dark curls and whispered something I didn’t catch into Cullin’s ear. He smiled and shook his head. She stepped back, and he picked up a half-silver and flipped it to her. She caught it, laughing, and walked away, her hips swinging outrageously.
Presently, he stood up and stretched. “Bed for me, I think,” he said. “Are you coming?”
“In a moment,” I replied.
The serving girl hurried across the room to intercept him as he headed for the stairs to the sleeping rooms. She caught his arm, smiling impudently at him. He laughed, then turned her around and gave her a gentle swat on the bottom. She walked back to the serving counter, pouting, and Cullin climbed the stairs, still laughing.
I had another flask of wine, watching the serving girls. They were all pretty, but I decided I was too fuzzy around the edges to trust my judgment. I might not be able to pick a woman who would not try to leave with my silver in the small hours, so I simply made my way up to the room, pausing only briefly on my way up the stairs to glance again at the woman with the strange eyes. She did not look back.
The room was clean and comfortable, the bed linen freshly changed. I ordered a hot bath to rinse away the dust of three seasons travel that the bitter cold water of river and pond had missed, then slipped naked between the sheets of the bed. Before I became too comfortable, out of habit, I made sure my sword and dagger were within easy reach of my hand, then closed my eyes and let sleep take me.
VIII
For the first time in many years, I dreamed again of a gently symmetrical hill, lush with grass, rising against a sky streaked with the brilliant colours of sunset. At the top, settled like a crown on the brow of the hill, stood a dance of stones. Tall, blunt menhirs, crowned in pairs by massive capstones, rose starkly against the vivid sky. Within the outer circle of the ring stood a second one, the stones
As I guided my horse through the throng, she had looked up and our eyes met. A shock of startled recognition quivered through me. Those eyes were the same colour as my own, a deep, golden brown, as uncommon in these parts as blue pearls. But her hair was a rich, dark honey gold with no trace of the rust-red of mine in it. She wore it braided and drawn severely back from the bold planes of her face, caught up in a netting of woven gold thread.
She did not smile, nor did she drop her gaze as a modest Isgardian woman would. Neither did she look away. Instead, her gaze held mine for a long moment. I felt a sense of challenge in her. I was the one who finally broke the contact. When I looked back moments later, she had vanished into the crowd.
Cullin’s chuckle brought me out of my reverie with a start. I realized I was still staring at the woman, who had been escorted to a table by her companion. She looked up, caught me watching her. Her expression didn’t change as she looked away without haste, obviously dismissing me as a negligible annoyance.
“Not that one, lad,” Cullin said with quiet amusement. “That one’s too like my lovely wife. You’d abrade yourself on her inflexible will if you tried holding that one on your lap.”
Cullin had left Gwynna at the Clanhold six seasons ago with a passionate embrace, but more than happy enough to leave her to go on about his own affairs. Gwynna, he often remarked, had the face and body of a goddess, and the disposition of a mountain cat. “A pity, that, and I’m too often like a bear too soon out of hibernation,” he said. “But between us, we make beautiful daughters.”
He raised his hand casually. One of the serving girls darted over to refill his cup with the pale, crisp wine. Her pert and saucy mouth curved upward as she bent closer to him than was strictly necessary. Before she straightened, she flipped back her profusion of dark curls and whispered something I didn’t catch into Cullin’s ear. He smiled and shook his head. She stepped back, and he picked up a half-silver and flipped it to her. She caught it, laughing, and walked away, her hips swinging outrageously.
Presently, he stood up and stretched. “Bed for me, I think,” he said. “Are you coming?”
“In a moment,” I replied.
The serving girl hurried across the room to intercept him as he headed for the stairs to the sleeping rooms. She caught his arm, smiling impudently at him. He laughed, then turned her around and gave her a gentle swat on the bottom. She walked back to the serving counter, pouting, and Cullin climbed the stairs, still laughing.
I had another flask of wine, watching the serving girls. They were all pretty, but I decided I was too fuzzy around the edges to trust my judgment. I might not be able to pick a woman who would not try to leave with my silver in the small hours, so I simply made my way up to the room, pausing only briefly on my way up the stairs to glance again at the woman with the strange eyes. She did not look back.
The room was clean and comfortable, the bed linen freshly changed. I ordered a hot bath to rinse away the dust of three seasons travel that the bitter cold water of river and pond had missed, then slipped naked between the sheets of the bed. Before I became too comfortable, out of habit, I made sure my sword and dagger were within easy reach of my hand, then closed my eyes and let sleep take me.
VIII
For the first time in many years, I dreamed again of a gently symmetrical hill, lush with grass, rising against a sky streaked with the brilliant colours of sunset. At the top, settled like a crown on the brow of the hill, stood a dance of stones. Tall, blunt menhirs, crowned in pairs by massive capstones, rose starkly against the vivid sky. Within the outer circle of the ring stood a second one, the stones
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