Rhiana. Michele Hauf

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      “You, my lady, will heed my warning, and thus get yourself into the kitchen, where you can be taught proper skills such as kneading and sweeping and whatever else it is you females do. Isn’t that where your mother works?” A glance to Champrey verified. “Indeed. It is high time the woman trained her child to be the female she appears to be.”

      The very nerve of him!

      With nothing but snickers, male eyes bared, and weapons circling her as if a pack of hungry dogs, Rhiana thought the wiser at protest.

      Nevertheless, her passions always ruled over her better sense. Girls are better than boys.

      “I refuse to stand back and allow the dragons to take another life when I can stop it!”

      The baron whipped a dagger glare from his arsenal. “You raise your voice to me, wench?” he hissed out of the side of his mouth.

      Rhiana focused. She had become irate, her heart pounded, her shoulders tight. Lowering her head, she breathed through her nose, coming to accord with this ridiculous demand. Guiscard was a fool. Yet notions of a woman’s place were not unusual—to a man.

      “It appears you have great concern for the womenfolk in your village. I can accept that.” No, she would not, but small lies were sometimes necessary. “Have you called for a slayer, then?”

      Guiscard shrugged.

      “You cannot dismiss the danger!”

      “Champrey.”

      At a nod from Champrey, three knights surrounded Rhiana, not touching, but it was evident they would wrangle her to their bidding if she spoke so much as one more word out of order.

      A simple kick to their knees and a fist to a few jaws would serve her anger well.

      “Now.” Guiscard sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair in an utterly vain display. “Will you be a good girl and listen to your betters?”

      Betters? Rhiana required proof for that statement, but knew not to ask for such.

      “Very good.” Guiscard took in the masses of hair spilling over her shoulders to her elbows.

      The look made Rhiana clutch her arms across her breasts. ’Twas not a condemning look, more luxurious. Either one, it made her skin crawl.

      Not sure if he considered, or if he merely played the moment out for effect, she waited nervously as the man stepped back from her and studied the floor, hands to hips. Finally he lifted his head, and again slipped close, so close Rhiana smelled his intentions, and they were not sincere. “Be you a witch?”

      “N-no, my lord.”

      “Come now, time to tell the truth. You’ve bewitched my wife.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “You have bewitched me.” Spinning and stretching out his arms in declaration, he stated, “Obviously, you’ve the power to bewitch dragons to lie down before you and seek death.”

      All eyes in the keep fixed to her. Chitters and smirks rose amongst the rough scent of power and dirt and rosemary-tainted curiosity.

      “I have but skill and dexterity, my lord. I have been trained to know the dragon, its habits, its hunting rituals—”

      “And yet you could not foresee the deaths of the three who have been taken from our bosom?” Allowing that fact to settle in, Guiscard grandly stalked the floor. “You know nothing, wench. Now, will you walk from the keep to tend the feminine skills, or must I have you arrested and thrown into the dungeon?”

      “I will walk from the keep, my lord.” But she would vow fealty to no man. Especially one who risked the lives of innocents through his ignorance. “Good day to you.”

      And she turned and walked away, feeling many eyes on her back, and likening it to a nest of hungry dragons. But these dragons did not kill for sustenance, no; these dragons toyed with women for their humor. They had put her in her place, upon a shelf to be regarded only when chores needed be done or fancy be met.

      Not allowed to slay the dragons?

      She’d see about that.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      What manner of soul did she possess?

      That she had physical differences from others could not be dismissed. So she had red hair and freckles. Ignorance caused others to tease her. The color of one’s hair did not make them evil or unclean. There were many in the village with red hair. Of course, it was not so bold as Rhiana’s, as if sun-drenched garnets. And she could not disregard her unusual eyes. Only those who really looked at her noticed. She did not call attention to the fact one eye was gold, the other green. Lydia’s eyes were green. But when Rhiana asked, Lydia would not verify if her father’s eyes had been gold.

      At the end of a stretch of houses, in the row facing the gardens, stood the chapel. Entering the always open doors, Rhiana genuflected toward the front of the church, then straightened and dipped her fingers into the fount of consecrated water. There was no permanent priest, but the one who traveled along the coast was currently in residence at the castle for a fortnight.

      Tracing a cross over her forehead, she whispered a Hail Mary. Confession must be made soon; it would erase her venial sins, but not the mortal ones. So she did not sin mortally.

      Or so she hoped.

      Could slaying dragons be considered a mortal sin? She did not know if, by taking the life of a dragon purposefully, she robbed their souls of divine grace. God had cursed them. What grace could they have? Did they even possess a soul?

      There were a few benches near the door. Most ladies brought along their own simple velvet-cushioned prie dieu to place in the nave. Rhiana liked the open space. No clutter, no sign of the riches upon which the village thrived. Just simple peace.

      Striding to the front of the small church, she knelt upon the stone floor and pressed her hands together.

      A wooden cross hung over the altar, supported by ropes on either arm of the cross. Carved from limewood and not oiled, the wood bore a few holes from burrowing insects, but that only gave it more charm, Rhiana mused. It was far from the grandiose cross embellished with rubies and gold that she had seen in the castle chapel. She did not care to worship a gaudy master.

      Lord Guiscard’s penchant for finery oftentimes made her wonder if Lady Anne were not just another bauble in his collection. For truly, it was as if he had plucked her out from a treasure box. With no family to name, and no origins to claim, the woman had arrived in St. Rénan three years earlier, already wed to the baron. (Yet, for all purposes, she had claimed the grasshopper as her family sigil.) Barely seventeen at the time, Anne had spoken little, yet her round dark eyes had seen all.

      She had reached out to Rhiana one eve during a hoard-raid fête, drawing her close into a hug.

      “So pretty,” Anne had said of Rhiana’s hair. “Like fire. I like fire.”

      That was all Rhiana had needed to hear to comply should Anne ever request her presence.

      Though СКАЧАТЬ