Alicia Roque Ruggieri Read Free Page A

what
to say.  This subject, too, appeared unapproachable.  At last, she offered,
“She must miss you.”
    “Aye.”
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    When the sun rose high,
Deoradhan guided their mount off the dusty road and into the wood.  Bethan
sighed, relieved to feel the cool shadows wash over her face.
    “My horse is thirsty,
lass, and I think both of us are as well.  And hungry, I would guess,”
Deoradhan commented.  “We’ll come to a stream soon now.  The water is good
here, and I have some bread and cheese in my sack.”
    Shortly, they did come
to the stream, its deep running water gushing over glossy brown boulders in its
bed.  Deoradhan dismounted first, then reached up for her.  Bethan realized how
strong this young man was as his powerful hands set her down barefoot on the
plush green moss.  She met his eyes momentarily and felt glad that the owner of
that gaze was her protector, rather than her adversary.
    The young man turned his
attention to his horse.  The gelding was thirsty, indeed, and Bethan watched as
he swallowed repeatedly, his long neck stretched out.  Deoradhan stood with his
hand stroking the animal’s shoulder, patiently waiting for him to finish his
drink.  After a moment, he looked up at Bethan.
    “I’ve that bread and
cheese in my pouch yonder,” he directed.  “I’ll be finished with Alasdair in a
trice, then we can refresh ourselves.”
    Bethan nodded, admiring
his kind way with his beast.  Many men she knew, even or perhaps especially,
those who professed the Christian faith, would not exercise such benevolence
toward their animals.  Some treated their inanimate tools more gently than the
dumb companions who faithfully served them.  I’m glad Garan is a kind man.
    Turning, she found
Deoradhan’s leather sack lashed to his saddle pommel.  She untied the leather
cords and brought the bag to a patch of dry grass.  One by one, she withdrew
the food items:  a loaf of fairly fresh bread, some oatcakes, several apples,
and a large chunk of strong-smelling cheese.
    As Bethan finished
arranging their meal, Deoradhan joined her, crisscrossing his sturdy legs.  He
had left the horse to graze by the bank a dozen paces away.  Even while
settling himself down for his meal, however, Deoradhan appeared watchful and a
little restless.
    “My thanks for laying it
out,” he commented, taking out his knife to cut the bread and cheese.  He
sliced both into several chunks, giving Bethan and himself good-sized portions.
    “My thanks to you for
bringing it, otherwise we should go hungry,” she answered.  “Will you bless the
meal, Deoradhan?”
    He paused, and then looked
at her frankly.  “I don’t think you’d want my blessing on your food, Bethan.  I
am neither Christian nor true pagan.”
    Bethan stared,
disappointed at this turn in such a good-natured young man.  Yet, a part of her
grudgingly admired his boldness, his honesty.  At least, he was no fraud. 
Finally, she said, “May I ask the blessing, then?”
    He shrugged.  “If you
like.  It doesn’t bother me.  I just don’t think it does any good, lass.”  His
tone held a bitter tang as Bethan’s ear tasted it.
    Bethan paused a moment,
then bowed her head.  In a few short words, she thanked her Lord for the meal
and for His protection on their journey.  When she raised her eyes, Deoradhan
sat stoically, a study in nonchalance.  Deep ravines lie within that man,
where many a wild beast must prowl.   How different from Garan, whose light
blue eyes always shone with tranquility!
    Deoradhan remained
morose for a little while but then talked readily enough when Bethan began to
ask questions about their journey and Oxfield.  He identified several forest
birds by their call alone and described the servants at the manor, telling her
their names and specific work.  He clearly enjoyed conversation and spoke well,
hinting at an intentionally-acquired education.  Bethan studied him as he talked,
taking in the well-made