Excerpt: Fire of the Covenant

Day 34: Man-at-Arms

Willoe continued to walk and turned toward the old farmer. “Allow us to help you, ancient father.” Willoe spoke in a kind voice with an intentionally friendly expression of respect.

Only four days on the road and Willoe had already learned that the life of a man-at-arms didn’t quite live up to the glamorous world she had envisioned. Even without the hulking armor, the lighter gambeson and surcoat, the hefty leather belt, heavy cotton cloak, and other gear were a lot heavier than her normal raiment. Most of the dresses she usually wore, even in layers, were made of lightweight fabrics like silk or linen. Even in the Winter, the heavier combed wool dresses and furred capes were worn for short times when she would need to be outside, which was seldom.

But she had never had to wear any of her dresses on a horse from nearly dawn to dusk.

She shifted in her saddle and Aeron leaned over. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But even though she denied it she couldn’t sit still.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Aeron moved his horse closer so he could whisper.

“My thighs.” She hated to have to explain, but she was at straw’s end. “They are chapped. From all the riding.”

“That is strange.” Aeron looked thoughtful. “The breeks should prevent that from happening.”

“The breeks?” Willoe snapped her head and glanced over. “They were too thick and baggy.”

Aeron roared with laughter, which only made Willoe angry.

She had tried on Rowyn’s breeks before leaving Westhedge, but they were heavy and hung to her knees. She much preferred her tighter cotton undergarments. She had figured no one would see what she wore under her leggings, so it made no difference.

In between bursts of laughter, he told her, “They are baggy and thick for a reason.” Aeron shook his head. “The breeks are loose, so they adjust as you move with the rhythm of the horse, and they are thick to pad your thighs to help prevent chapping.”

Willoe mumbled unhappily, defeated by her own logic.

“Here, try these on.” They were in their tent and Aeron was handing her a pair of his breeks. She wasn’t thoroughly convinced, but the rash was becoming unbearable.

She took the smallclothes, holding them out with both hands and crunching up her nose. She motioned for him to turn around. “Don’t look.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He turned his back to her.

“I know, you only have eyes for a certain raven-haired lady.” Willoe quipped as she removed her breeches so she could put on the undergarments.

“I do not—” Aeron began to turn back.

“Aery!” she screamed.

He stopped and turned away. “I find her entertaining, but I have no interest in her.”

“Why then, every time Captain Harte calls for a break you happen to find yourself by her carriage? And where do you disappear to after supper?”

“I—” he began to disagree, then changed the subject. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me.” He turned and lifted the tent flap, then walked out.

She tagged along behind him as they approached the supply tent. Supply Sergeant Trystan stood in the light of a lamp, going through a crate.

“Sergeant Trystan.” Aeron spoke as they came up to the sergeant. “I was wondering if you had any of that ointment for rashes?”

“That I do, Lord Aeron.” The sergeant started to go through another crate.

“Do we really need the ointment?” Willoe whispered from behind Aeron.

“Do you want to get rid of the rash?”

She nodded, even though she knew he couldn’t see.

“Here you go.” The sergeant pulled a small jar out of the crate he had been rummaging through. “Just what you are looking for. Marigold petals prepared with clarified fat. My mother’s own recipe.”

He handed it to Aeron, who thanked the sergeant and headed back to the tent.

That night, when Aeron went off after supper, Willoe applied the ointment. She sighed as soon as she put it on. She was glad she had listened to him about the balm. Grudgingly she admitted to herself that in some things he was just wiser than she, but when it came to the Franchon woman, she was sure he had lost his senses. What was going to happen if Mael found out?

Excerpt: Fire of the Covenant

Day 1: Piglets

“Your help is welcomed,” the old farmer said with his back to her. “We got a sow to deliver for a castle merchant.”

The boy was probably his grandson and from the sheepish look on his downcast face, he was the one that had driven the cart off the road.

The farmer stood. “I been flaming well at it for a bit now.” He started to turn back to her while wiping sweat off his forehead with a rag. “Forgive my foul words. My wife says I n’ver should—” He choked on the apology. The man scrambled back several steps, he put his thumb, index and middle fingers together and touched his forehead. He then brought the fingers to his mouth, kissed them, and ended with them on his heart. As he touched his heart, he whispered, “Burning Lady protect us.” He continued to step back until he was even with the boy, to whom he waved to jump down from the cart.

The boy just stared at Willoe; his eyes full of fear. “Are you gonna kill us?” His voice shook with the very same fear she could see in his eyes.

Willoe was stunned. Why would they think such a thing? Then she realized her hood was pulled back and her flaming red hair was hanging loose down around her face. Along with her vivid green eyes she must have appeared to the two as the culmination of every nightmare tale they had been told. She couldn’t help that she and her twin shared the same hair and eye color as a dreaded, half-dead Shade. “I mean you no harm.” She tried to use a soft, soothing voice.

The old farmer was not calmed and dragged the boy roughly from the cart, causing it to rock side to side. The abrupt motion caused the sow to squeal and bang up against the side of the cart.

Casandra had come up next to Willoe and reached over the rear slat. She closed her eyes for a moment and put a hand on the sow until it quieted, then pulled her arm back out.
Repeating the plea to the Goddess, the farmer dropped to one knee. “Take the sow but have mercy; leave the piglets.”

Piglets? A squalling noise came from the cart and Willoe peeked in. A half dozen piglets scurried around behind their mother, a rather small sow. They were so little and kept bumping into each other; Willoe had to laugh at their antics. She realized too late that the farmer must have mistaken her reaction, because he bowed his head and began to whimper. Willoe needed to do something quickly before the old man collapsed. The boy was still staring at her as if she had two heads.

Willoe reached in for one of the piglets, hoping that if the boy saw how gentle she was with it they would know she was only trying to help. But the little pig squirmed and slipped from her grasp, kicking out at Willoe. “No!” She shrieked as she started to fall backward, trying to avoid the piglet’s cloven hooves. She reached out and grabbed for the wooden boards to steady herself, only to pull the restraining slat totally off and tilt the back of the cart down. She fell on the ground and was nearly crushed when the sow jumped out the back, barely missing her. She wasn’t as lucky when all six of the piglets followed their mother out of the cart and two of them landed on Willoe’s right leg. Willoe grunted and could feel a bruise already starting to form.

“My pigs!” The farmer had raised his head and stood at the noise of the pigs squealing loudly as they ran randomly around the base of the cart. He started toward his pigs but then stopped short and stepped back again when he saw Willoe lying on the ground.

“Grab them!” Aeron yelled as he chased after one of the piglets. Rowyn and Casandra each ran around the cart in pursuit of one of the frightened animals. The farmer and his grandson pressed up against the cart, their eyes wide with terror, especially after seeing Rowyn’s red hair fly past them.

Willoe chased one of the piglets and slipped on a grassy patch, falling into the loose dirt along the road’s edge. She got up and finally caught the piglet, then looked around for the others. Aeron also had one as he hunted down another, while Casandra knelt with the sow and two of the piglets in front of her, while she calmly stroked them in turn. Rowyn was closing in on the last of the escaped piglets when Willoe heard the neigh of a horse behind her.

Excerpt: Fire of the Covenant

Day 37: Bathing

Willoe slept poorly and woke early. Aeron still slept and it wouldn’t help her to wake him. After a week she had gotten accustomed to riding all day and Sergeant Trystan’s ointment had made it almost enjoyable, but she still had trouble sleeping at night, even though worn from the long days in the saddle. The Burning Lady’s words still haunted Willoe. She had not yet discovered anything about the promise her ancestors had made and was worried she wouldn’t know when the time was right to find the Lady in the Woods, or where to find her. No wonder sleep doesn’t come. She shook her head. The thoughts just wouldn’t settle.

She dressed and lifted the tent flap, stepped outside into the cold morning air. She pulled up the hood of her cloak and strode to the nearest campfire.

“I will get food.” The page Tomos, evidently up for some time, handed her a cup of warmed, spiced wine, then excused himself and headed off to the supply tent where the cooks would have something to break the soldiers’ fast.

Willoe stood there sipping at the wine, holding the mug in both hands. The bizarre simmering in her body still puzzled her, but she was happy that it kept her from being too cold. The heat and spicy taste of the wine gave her a different kind of warmth.

She scanned the camp, watching the servants and many of the Guardsmen prepare to break camp.

Willoe turned around and nearly dropped her wine when three naked wet men ran toward her. They were laughing and came toward the campfire. Her first thought was to run, but before she could convince her body to move, the men had arrived and stood with their backs to the fire. She tried to keep her eyes cast down at the ground. She lifted one eye, having never seen a man’s buttocks, and realized it wasn’t much different than a woman’s, though she wondered if they were all as hairy as these.

One of the men turned around and Willoe put her head fully down.

“Sorry, My Lord.” The man was still chuckling. “We thought a quick dip in the stream might take some of the grime off. Obliged you sharing your fire.”

She kept her eyes down and could see the man’s feet as he stepped closer.

“Are you well, My Lord?”

One of the things Aeron had taught her was that a gentleman, one of a noble birth, would always look someone in the eyes, whether an equal or someone from a lower class. To do otherwise would be considered dishonorable.

Squeezing the cup tightly with both hands, she looked up into the man’s eyes. She recognized him as one of Captain Harte’s Guardsmen.

“Prince Rowyn.” The Guardsman was a little taken aback. “I… I mean, we—”

“The road has been hard on us all, Guardsman.” She hoped her cheeks were not turning red; her face felt flushed. Not from the fire inside, but the embarrassment.

“We only meant to cleanse the filth.” The Guardsman seemed both flustered and startled.

“I wish more would follow your lead.” She tried to smile, without showing her teeth too much, but didn’t think it came off well. “The horses are beginning to smell better than the men.”

“That’s the truth, Your Highness.” The man laughed. The other two men had turned around and Willoe took a deep breath, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

“If it please Your Highness, we need to get dressed and make a report to our sergeant.” The man continued to smile.

“Do not let it be said that I kept the Captain’s Guardsmen from their duty.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” All three Guardsmen saluted, fist to chest, then ran off toward another part of the camp.

Willoe couldn’t help but watch. She had a strange feeling in her stomach and wondered if her noble husband would look as good. The thought only brought back what awaited her upon her return to Westhedge and she frowned when she saw the page returning with a full platter. Suddenly, food did not appeal to her.

Excerpt: Fire of the Covenant

Day 28: Bags, Smiles & Laughter

“No, no, no!” Aeron shook his head as he told Willoe to stop walking across the room. The chamber was the one that she and Protector Dougal had been using for their weapons training, and it made a perfect location for Aeron to teach Willoe how to look and act like a man.

Willoe stomped a foot and gritted her teeth with fists clenched. What did he want? She was frustrated and quickly became angry. She had done everything Aeron had told her to do all day long. How to slouch the shoulders a little, how to lean up against a wall with ankles crossed, and dozens of other bodily acts that differed between men and women. Yet he still wasn’t satisfied. “What was wrong with that?” Her stomach rumbled; they had worked right through supper.

Casandra and Rowyn sat along one wall, watching, while Dilys sat next to Rowyn, engrossed in her embroidery.

Casandra piped up. “I thought that was fine.”

“I agree with Aery. It just doesn’t feel right,” Rowyn voiced. “There is something that just doesn’t say…man. I still see a woman even though she is wearing my clothes, but I cannot tell you why.”

“I am not sure either.” Aeron walked over to Willoe and looked her over. He stepped back. “Can you walk across the room again?”

Willoe huffed in response. What else did he want from her? But she turned and walked back across the room to make him happy, trying not to stomp as she went. Once she reached the back wall, she turned around to face Aeron, her fists on her hips.

“To start with, do not put your hands like that. Every man knows an angry woman’s stance.” Aeron laughed as he said it.

She dropped her hands and looked up at the ceiling. Can I really do this? She wanted to cry, but Aeron had already warned her, repeatedly, against displaying such emotions.

“You almost have it. But there is still something missing.” He rubbed his bearded cheek as if in thought.

Willoe started to jut her hip out, shifting her weight, then remembered what Aeron had told her and shifted back to standing normally, putting equal weight on both legs.

Dilys continued with her embroidery and spoke without looking up. “Bags.”

Everyone turned to her as Aeron asked, “Bags?”

Dilys stayed focused on her needle and repeated. “Bags. She be having no bags.”

Her frustration temporarily overcome by the mystery, Willoe asked, “What do you mean, ‘no bags?’”

“No bollocks.” Dilys put her embroidery down, made two fists next to each other, held a forefinger out between them and wiggled it. She folded the finger into the fist and held both fists up in front of her to emphasize what she meant. “Ye be having no bollocks.”

“Dilys!” Rowyn and Aeron said together.

Casandra, who didn’t seem shocked at all, asked, “What does a lack of bollocks have to do with the way she walks?”

Now Rowyn and Aeron turned to Casandra, both frowning, which made Willoe smile. Why did men always think women never discussed topics like sexual organs, both their own and those of men? What would they think if they were ever to sit in a circle of ladies working on embroidery?

Dilys pointed at Willoe. “Dear, walk across the room again.” She turned to Aeron. “Watch her feet.”

Willoe walked across the room. She had already tried to correct the sway in her walk, as Aeron had pointed out earlier, and tried to stride rather than sway.

“Rowyn, ye walk across the room,” Dilys politely directed Rowyn.

Rowyn looked at Aeron, who nodded. The prince stood and walked across the room as instructed.

Dilys nodded toward Willoe. “The woman’s feet be close together and she walks almost one foot in front of the other, but not quite.”

Aeron plopped down next to Dilys, taking Rowyn’s seat. He sat with his mouth open for a few moments and, without looking at Dilys, said, “And Rowyn walks with his feet farther apart than Willoe.”

Dilys picked up the embroidery again and looked back down as she pushed the needle through the fabric. “No bags.”

Willoe walked up to Aeron and held out a hand with a big smile on her face. “I am glad to meet you, Lord Aeron.”

“Wrong again.” Aeron shook his head, frowning. “You’re still doing it.”

“I can’t help it.” She huffed again for the hundredth time in two days. “Are you sure that men do it that way?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He turned to Dilys, who was still working on the same embroidery from the day before. She had become Aeron’s advisor in Willoe’s training.

“He is sure,” Dilys agreed.

Aeron twisted his lips, then told Willoe, “Go for a walk around the castle and watch the men and women you pass.”

Willoe changed into her own clothing behind a screen and left the room with Casandra. I don’t see why this is necessary. She stopped and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before they continued. I have to make this work. They strolled down the Middle Gallery, walking slowly so they could run into as many people as possible.

As they passed other women, Willoe and Casandra would smile. In response, most of the girls’ and women’s lips would part, their teeth clearly visible, as they smiled in return, even among the castle staff.

She also noticed that if a man was in the vicinity, many of the older women kept their mouths tight-lipped, their teeth barely visible.

“Aery was right, look at those men over there.” Willoe pointed toward three men standing alone.

They talked vigorously, but their expressions were neutral, maybe with a thin smile, teeth hidden or barely visible. They seemed so much more serious and less social than the women they encountered.

After circling the castle once they walked several levels down to the Lower Gallery and completed the circuit once again, with the same result. They came across several men in a group who were all laughing.

“Look how open they are.” Casandra said it as an accusation.

“I’ve heard you laugh like that.” Willoe didn’t see a difference.

“Not in public, and especially not around a man.”

“Oh no.” It dawned on Willoe that she also would suppress her laughter if someone other than her brother or cousins were around. She wondered if this was as common a trait among women as Aeron had implied. It was confirmed a few moments later when they came across two women, alone along the walkway, who were both laughing similarly to the men they had just seen, but at a lower volume. Casandra grasped Willoe’s arm and stopped her as several men came down the walkway. As the men approached, the women covered their mouths. They giggled politely through thin lips and nodded to the men as they passed.

“Damn the Shades.” Willoe couldn’t believe it. Something as simple as a smile or laughter could have exposed her on the first day of the escort.

When they returned to the training room, Willoe burst into the room and started to talk excitedly. “You were correct! I wouldn’t—”

Aeron held up a hand, a frown spreading across his face. “You obviously did not learn anything.”

Willoe clamped her hand over her mouth. She removed her hand, nodded at Aeron, then walked back to the door and left, closing the door behind her. She reentered the training room. She pulled her dress up enough to see her feet and strode over to Aeron, walking with her legs a little apart and a set expression on her face. She came straight up to Aeron, dropped the hem of the dress, bowed slightly, and addressed him with a thin-lipped yet polite smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Aeron.”

Aeron smiled back, and Willoe noticed that some of his teeth were visible. She did not, however, widen her own smile. He then bowed deeply in return. “It is my pleasure, Prince Rowyn.”

They both laughed out loud with mouths wide open and for the first time she thought, This might actually work.