A Tapestry of Dreams Read Free

she spoke, and the warm pleasure in her voice drew a smile, in spite of Bruno’s exhaustion. “And you have not changed either,” he said, “although you should have. Will you never grow up, Demoiselle Audris?”
    “Alas,” she said, lowering her eyes for a moment in mock sorrow, “I fear I am as grown as ever I shall be. Have you lost count of time, brother? I have put two and twenty summers behind me. And you are unkind to call me Demoiselle, as if—”
    “No, Demoiselle,” he interrupted her gravely. “You are unwise to call me brother. My mother—”
    “Oh, Bruno, I do not care a rotten apple about your silly mother. Do you not know that you could shave yourself by looking into Uncle Oliver’s face?” She laughed merrily. “Except, of course, that he is bald and gray.”
    “My looks make no difference,” Bruno said severely. “In fact, they are a good reason for you to mind your tongue. I was not speaking only of your inches when I asked if you would never grow up.”
    Audris released Bruno’s face and started to seat herself beside him on the bench. In doing so she touched him and became aware of his condition. Her eyes widened, joy being replaced by apprehension. “Oh, heaven! You are cold as ice and soaking wet!”
    When an old maidservant had come timidly to her door to tell her that Bruno, Berta’s son, had come home, she had been delighted, thinking that her uncle had changed his mind and invited her bastard half brother back to Jernaeve. Now she realized that some dire emergency must have brought Bruno. She jumped up to call to a manservant, only to see her uncle standing and looking at them with a frown.
    Audris met Oliver’s eyes steadily, lifting her chin and straightening her back. “Uncle,” she said, “I see that Bruno has come to us at no small risk bearing heavy tidings.” Her voice, although not raised, could be heard throughout the hall because a new silence had fallen as soon as she faced Sir Oliver.
    Oliver nodded and came closer. “Yes,” he said, watching her keenly and somewhat nervously. “The Scots are attacking. Wark is taken.”
    Audris stared back, startled by the news at first, but then she shook her head, refusing to be distracted. If the Scots came to attack Jernaeve, they came, but it would not be in the next few hours, and she could see no reason why poor Bruno should sit wet and cold while they waited.
    “Even so,” she said, “I cannot see why you could not spare one moment to bid Eadmer to see to Bruno’s needs. Now I will take him to my own chamber—”
    “No,” Bruno said.
    But the rigidity of Sir Oliver’s lips relaxed just a little, his frown lightened, and he nodded. “Yes, Bruno. Go with her. You will be no good to me until you have rested anyway.”
    Bruno might have protested again, but Oliver had already walked away, and it was useless to argue with Audris. Besides, she had slipped away too, beckoning to the nearest menservants and telling them to help Bruno as she ran ahead to her quarters in the south tower. He watched her go, thinking with the old stab of anxiety that her feet barely stirred the rushes as she went, so light and frail she seemed. He remembered his terror when he had first seen her, only a few hours old, at his mother’s breast. He had been sure Audris would die, like the other legitimate children Sir William had sired. Then Sir William would find a hundred excuses to beat him and, even when he could not, would stare at him with burning, angry, hate-filled eyes because of all the young he bred, only the one the castle whore said was his survived. But the lady, Audris’s mother, had died instead.
    Suddenly Bruno smiled, remembering how his mother had laughed at him when he began to weep because he was afraid and also because so tiny and tender and beautiful a creature as Audris should die.
    “She will not die,” Berta had said, “not this one. Do you not see how hard she sucks, for all she is so small? And it is my milk