“I fear there is little I can add to what yeve heard from yer mother or ken already, lass. The lord had ye brought here to us when ye were but days old, giving ye into our care. He gave no explanation, no instructions other than to care for ye, and he has not interfered since that day,” he said. Staring off into the corner, Brienne knew he was thinking on that long-ago day. Turning back to her, he shrugged. “We never had the courage to ask his reasons or why he gave ye to us for fear he would take ye away.”
Brienne smiled at his admission. She knew of no one in Yester Village or in the area who would question Lord Hugh—or anyone who had survived questioning him. A shiver traced a path of icy sparks along her spine. She’d never even had the courage to approach him before, but now, now that she was discovering these powers and understanding he was the only person who could answer her questions, she might.
“Do not!” her father warned, taking hold of her arm and drawing her close. “Do not even think about speaking to him on such”—he glanced at the fires now banked low in his hearth—“such matters as these.”
The fear gazing back at her from his eyes should have been enough to steer her from such a path. The whispered warning should have been sufficient to caution anyone not a bairn or a fool. The need that grew ever deeper and stronger within her pushed her in that dangerous direction. The desire to know her origins and the extent of these strange powers that inhabited her never diminished.
Words drifted to her in that silent moment, and she shivered. The power in them tempted her and called to her deepest longings.
Mine. Come to me.
Daughter of my blood.
Brienne, who had belonged to no one, who could call none family or kin, longed to be part of something. And this whispered invitation called to that deep need within her. She tried to shake off the fear and the temptation, but it all settled within her, keeping her blood heated and that unspoken need stoked. Gavin’s sad expression called her back to this cottage and this moment.
“Nay, you are right, Father. ‘Twould be foolish to speak to him,” Brienne assured him, nodding her head. Gavin kissed her on the top of her head, just as he always had when reassuring her, and released her from his arms.
“Ye should be thinking about that offer from Dougal’s son James rather than . . .” He nodded his head, lifting his chin in the direction of the hearth. “Marriage and bairns should be your concern now, lass. Surely yer mother has spoken of such matters to ye?”
Brienne smiled, trying to convince him that such matters did interest her, while her heart broke over her deception.
“Aye. She has spoken of little other than Jamie’s offer.” That much was true. “I have taken her counsel on it seriously.” A truth, but getting closer to the lying. “It is appealing to me.” There was the lie. Would he believe it?
“Any man would be proud to have ye to wife,” he said. “Yer weaving skills do ye much credit.”
No matter that the skills she wanted to practice and develop did not involve a loom and threads. Brienne let this lie stand between them as well.
Noises began to leach into the cocoon of silence that surrounded them, warning them of the approach of others and the return of their everyday tasks and chores. Gavin walked to the window, unlatched and opened the shutters, throwing them wide to allow the cooler breezes in. Though the cold air of winter had barely warmed these last weeks, Gavin could not work the smithy without a flow to feed the flames.
Strange. The flames needed no such flow when she called them forth. Even with the shutters and door closely firmly against intrusion, they grew stronger and higher at her command. Her fingers tingled, reminding her of the power that had directed the heat from within her. Shaking them for a moment, more to erase the memory than to ease any tightness, Brienne reached for the two buckets by the door.
“I will get water,” she said, tugging open the door. She found comfort in the ritual of helping her father work.
Brienne stepped into the path leading from the smithy to the well at the center of the small village, which was not as large as Gifford itself. Those who lived here worked the lands owned by Lord Hugh or provided some necessary service to those in the keep. Now, as she made her way through the village for the noon meal, she nodded to everyone who passed her by. Reaching the well, she chatted with the women there as she tossed the dipping bucket down and then tugged the rope up until it peeked over the stone wall’s edge.
An eerie feeling invaded her body and soul at that moment, just when everything around her seemed so much the norm as it was each day. Instead her blood raced through her veins, and Brienne could feel it as it moved through her. Her heart pumped so strongly that she was certain others must hear it. Glancing around at the gathered women, she saw that they took no untoward notice of her. Then her skin began to heat, and she was tempted to pour the cool contents of the recently filled bucket over her to ease the growing warmth that seemed to control her.
Only when the pounding grew too loud to ignore did she realize it was not her heart making the ground shake beneath her. A group of mounted knights broke through the bushes and headed along the pathway to the keep. Twenty armored men, none taking notice of the villagers as they passed—save one.
Him.
The one who led the group slowed his horse before passing the well and met her gaze. Brienne quickly lowered her eyes, whether out of respect or out of fear she knew not, but when Lord Hugh rode through the village, no one dared look directly upon him.
Now he directed his horse toward her. She watched as the other women began to edge away from the well and from her. No one wanted the lord’s attention, for it usually ended badly for anyone involved. Over the years she’d heard the warnings from her parents about the rumors of the lord’s powers and his attitude toward the women under his control, so Brienne tried to blend in with the others, lowering the buckets to her sides and shuffling back away from his approach. This time it did not work. Glancing up, she saw Gavin walking toward her from the direction of the smithy, but when the lord moved closer to her, Gavin stopped.
She put the buckets down and waited for Lord Hugh to say or do something. Silence filled the area, and she knew that many watched this encounter from safer distances and from behind cover that would keep them from their lord’s sight. No one wanted his molten-silver gaze to fall on them.
“You there,” he called out. “You, girl!”
She startled and began to shake, so she clasped her hands together as she nodded. How could she have wished for just this very thing a short time ago? It was as she raised her eyes that the skin on the inside of her forearm began to itch and sting. Trying to ignore it, she nodded and met his gaze.
And wished with all her heart and soul she had not. Lord Hugh lifted his helm off and pushed back the chain-mail coif that covered his head. Tossing the helm to one of his men, he examined her from her head to her feet and then focused his fearsome gaze on her face. The patch on her arm stung now even more, and she covered it with one of her hands while waiting on LordHugh’s next words.
“Your name, girl,” he demanded as his horse fought his control and pranced in the dirt, throwing up dust and stones in his wake.
“Brienne,” she said. Though her voice shook as she spoke it, she surprised herself with being able to speak at all.
“Daughter of?” he asked, pulling the reins hard and forcing his mount to his will. The huge warhorse relented and stood still under the lord’s iron grip.
