Alicia Roque Ruggieri Read Free

guile, only kindness and,
Bethan suspected, a certain measure of concealed grief.
    “Please,” she continued,
“follow me.  I will show you to my father’s house.”  Bethan turned and climbed
up the dappled bank, leading the way out of the forest and into the sunny
meadow beyond.
     
    Reins in hand, Deoradhan
followed the determined footsteps of the young girl before him.  To his eyes,
she appeared around fifteen or a little older perhaps, fair, but lacking the
fineness of features that would have made her beautiful.  Her chestnut braids
swung down to and fro, the uneven ends brushing her knees.  Like most peasants,
she wore a rough woolen tunic, belted at her waist.  Her dirty bare feet moved
noiselessly over the dry grass, contrasting with the crunch of his boots and
the heavy hooves of his horse.
    Shortly, they reached
the farm cottage, its low thatched roof shining brightly in the sunlight.  A
few feet from the doorway, the young woman paused.  She drew breath, squared
her shoulders, and turned around to face him.  Deoradhan saw her eyes brimming
with unshed tears and realized how much this departure cost her.  Poor girl.
    “Wait here a moment,
please,” she requested and disappeared into the dark opening.  He waited
patiently, hand resting on Alasdair’s neck.
    Soon, the girl reappeared,
accompanied by an older woman.  She addressed Deoradhan.  “I am Burne’s wife,
Lowri.  You are the lord’s messenger?”
    “Yes.  I am called
Deoradhan.  Lord Drustan commanded me to escort your daughter to Oxfield.  I
understand that she is to be a maidservant there,” Deoradhan answered gently. 
The woman’s tight mouth and creased forehead indicated her worry over her
child.  Did my mother look thus when she sent me away?
    “I see.”  Burne’s wife
stood quietly for a moment.  “Bethan, get your things together quickly.  Bid
Enid farewell.”
    “Yes, Mama.”  The girl
disappeared again into the house.
    Deoradhan and the woman
stood silently until her daughter reappeared, clutching a small bag.  He knew
it probably contained all of her worldly possessions.  She kissed her mother
tenderly and then turned to Deoradhan.
    “I…I am ready,” she told
him.
    He nodded, and swung
himself up onto Alasdair’s broad back.  Then he reached down, pulling Bethan up
behind him with strong arms.
    “Thank you,” he heard
the girl say softly to him.
    Her mother reached up to
touch the girl’s cheek.  “May the gods protect you,” she murmured.
    “Goodbye, Mama.  I love
you,” came the reply.
    The woman nodded, her
lips pressed together tightly.   “Good day, my good woman,” Deoradhan addressed
her.  He heeled Alasdair into a quick trot.
     
    The horse paced along
steadily.  As the animal moved beneath her, Bethan felt the sun’s heat, sharp
and harsh on her face and arms.  She gripped the young man’s shoulders with
both hands, afraid that she might fall off and disgrace herself.  The last
thing I need.   She breathed deeply, bringing under control her shuddering
emotions.  There had been no time to tell Garan that the day of her departure
had arrived.  She knew Papa would get word to his family and hoped he would
understand.  Garan is a good man, she reassured herself.
    “We should be at Oxfield
by nightfall,” the messenger commented, interrupting her thoughts.
    Bethan suspected he was
trying to make her feel comfortable.  I should make an effort to be friendly, she thought.  He’ll think I’m rude.   “Have you worked for Lord Drustan
for many years?” she asked.
    “No.  I came under his
service when I was sixteen, only a few years ago.  I... did other things before
this.”
    His closed tone did not
invite further questioning on the subject, so Bethan turned to another topic. 
“Have you any family?”
    Deoradhan was silent for
a moment.  “I have a mother still living,” he finally said, “but I have not
seen her face for many years.”
    Bethan did not know