The Romance of Eowain

Chapter Six Scene Fifteen

       

     Eowain leaped from his horse and pulled the door to the house-wagon. The three ladies and their servants shaded eyes with hands. "What is it?" His aunt squinted at him. "Why have we stopped?"

      "Eowain?" Eithne rose and came to the doorway.

      She wore a rust-colored bodice of linen and curvilinear patterns, trimmed in black, and a dress with her red, gold, and sable tartan. Bands of hack-silver encircled her upper arms. A cunningly-twisted golden torc with wolfs-head knobs rested about her slim throat. The scent of mountain lilacs washed over him.

      Relief rose in Eowain like the floodwaters of the Gasirad in springtime.

      He offered his hand. "Yes, it's me."

      She put her small hand into his larger one, and stepped down out of the wagon. She held her skirts up out of the mud and took a step toward him. She glanced at her father and watchful guards. "Thank— Thank all the Gods you're well, Your Grace." She dropped a maidenly curtsy.

      "I should say the same! I have, in fact. All the way from Gluín Hill. You're unharmed?" One of her sleeves was torn open. A linen bandage showed through the gap. "What's this?"

      She waved it away. "Merely a slice, my lord. Nothing to concern yourself. The Lord-Drymyn and Lady Alva were... attentive."

      He looked to her father. Ciaran gave him a nod. Eowain took that liberty and inspected the wound. A clean and proper field dressing. He commended the two drymyn.

      "We're no strangers to war, away on our mountain." Lady Alva stepped down and sketched a courtesy.

      "So Medyr tells me." He appraised Eithne with new eyes. "I heard you took three of the villains yourself with naught but a belt-knife."

      She raised her chin. "They caught me unsuspecting last time. I swore on my grandfather's honor, I'd never let that happen again."

      He couldn't suppress his grin. "Nor should you, Lady. I am—" He looked to her father, back again, and chose his next word with care. "—Impressed."

      His voice sounded gruff to his own ears. He cleared his throat. It wasn't the best word to describe what stirred his blood. He wanted to pull her off into the bushes and embrace her. But it was the most appropriate word he could muster in polite company.

      She must have seen something in his eyes. Her green eyes glittered at him. She dropped another curtsy and averted her flushed cheeks. "What of you, my lord? You are— uninjured?"

      He nodded. "Aye. Weary to the bone, but well enough for all that. I chased across the whole country after you."

      "I wouldn't have worried you so, but the Lord-Drymyn thought it best to send no further message, lest it be intercepted."

      Eowain put a hand on Medyr's shoulder. "You did the right thing. You had no way to know by which trail I'd come, or where the brigands would have spies."

      Tnúthgal reined his mount to a stop. "It was his idea as well that she should travel in the wagon and in secret, rather than a-horse, as she wanted."

      His cousin seemed sour about that. No doubt, such secrecy does not accord well with your own plan. Eowain commended Medyr again. "Under the circumstances, I'm sure it was the wisest thing to do."

      Eithne's face grew distraught. "Oh, but now that you're here, my lord, I hope you'll permit me to ride again. I do prefer the open air to the—" Her eyes flickered toward his aunt. "To the close quarters of the wagon. It's so... dark and stuffy in there."