Free The Tower of Ravens by Kate Forsyth Page B

she has all his gear, his saddlebags and everything. Even the official saddlecloth, with the ensign o‘ the charging stag upon it. And she was wearing the badge o’ the Yeomen.” His voice was thick with outrage.
    Lilanthe chose her words with care. “Do ye fear this lass may have killed the Yeoman?”
    Niall’s frown deepened. “Did ye notice the coat has been torn at the breast and back, as if by an arrow? And the tear cobbled together again? And she carried bow and arrows.”
    “They may no‘ be hers,” Lilanthe said.
    Lewen remembered the callouses on her right palm but said nothing, staring at his plate in dumb misery.
    “No, they may no‘. And she is only a lass.” Niall sighed heavily.
    “No‘ really,” Lilanthe said. “She must be seventeen or eighteen. And certainly she kens how to fight.”
    “No‘ to mention fight dirty,” Niall said.
    “Aye. I’ll never forget the look on her face as she went for ye with that pitchfork. I almost fainted!”
    “Ye almost fainted! Think how I felt when she kicked me. I thought I was going to pass out. I’m afraid I willna be much use to ye for a day or two, leannan , I’m swollen up like a pair o‘ pumpkins.”
    “Why? Where did she kick ye?” Meriel asked, wide-eyed.
    Lilanthe gave her husband a reproving glance and got up to clear the plates.
    “She bit me on the shoulder,” Lewen said, as much as to distract his little sister as because the wound was throbbing nastily.
    Lilanthe put the plates down and came in a hurry to look. She pulled back the collar of his shirt and exclaimed at the round, purple-red bruise.
    “What a wildcat,” Niall said admiringly.
    “I’ll put some arnica cream on it,” Lilanthe said. “It’s a nasty bite. What could make her behave so? It was no‘ as if we were threatening her or trying to hurt her. We were trying to help! She just went mad like a rabid dog.”
    “Happen she was frightened,” Niall said.
    “Or angry because ye held her saddlebags. Happen she thought ye were trying to steal her things. ‘Mine’ seems to be her favourite word.”
    “She had only just woken up,” Lewen said defensively. “She dinna ken where she was or who we were.”
    “Aye, that’s true enough,” Niall said placatingly. “Well, we’ll question her in the morning. Let’s leave the conjectures till then, shall we? Let’s no‘ forget this is our last night together as a family for what may be a very long time. Merry, sweetling, why do ye no’ serve us some of that special pie ye made for Lewen? And I’ll get down some goldensloe wine, to toast our lad on his last night at home.”
    She ‘ll probably be gone in the morning anyway , Lewen said to himself. The thought was cold and heavy as a stone, but he squared his shoulders and took the glass his father gave him with a grin of thanks. No sense dreaming o’ a lass I’ll never see again .
     

Her Naming
      
    Lewen woke early the next morning, and was at once sitting up and reaching for his clothes. The house was quiet and dim. He went down the stairs in his stockings, carrying his boots. His feet were numb by the time he reached the kitchen, for the stone floors were cold, and so he built a fire on the grey ashes in the hearth and willed it into life with a snap of his fingers. Flames roared up, and Lewen warmed the soles of his feet before pulling on his boots.
    Ursa yawned and stretched, and raised her enormous head, gazing at him with questioning eyes. He reached up to rub her greying snout. “Go back to sleep,” he said affectionately. “All is well. I’m just going out to the stables.”
    She moaned softly but put her head back down on her heavy paws, for she was a very old bear now and content to sleep before the fire and amble about after Niall as he went around his chores. Lewen swung the kettle over the fire then, pulling on his coat and gloves, and went quietly out into the early morning mist. The whole garden was wrapped in cloud. The silence was