Trist trilled a snore.
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[jL
Tt was the night of the winter solstice, a frigid night with the wind howlling off the sea, coming through the thick walls of the castle, making the tapestries billow and flap. Thick snow filled the courtyards.
Trist had been gone for two days.
Severin was frantic. He would not eat. He just sat in his chair and stared over Edgar the wolfhound’s head into the huge fire that burned in the middle of the great hall. Smoke billowed upward, turning the air blue.
“Hei^de^d.”
“You do not know that.” But Hastings feared the worst as well. Everyone did. Her four sisters were clustered next to their mother, watching her sew, all of them quiet.
“I should never have let him leave me.”
“You had no choice. Trist does as he pleases.”
“He is just like you. I ordered you never to leave the great hall without my permission, yet you were feeding chickens the very next day.”
“I will not leave the great hall now. Trist will be all right, Severin. Have faith.” It sounded hollow, but she knew that Father Carreg had said it several times already to Severin, trying to comfort him.
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“But I knew the storm was coming. I should have kept him close in my tunic. I should have tied him up with the lacings.”
Hastings heaved herself out of her chair. Her belly was large, hej- eves bright with good health, her heart heavy for what she knew had to be true Trist could not survive in this storm.
Severin rose and took his gauntlets and thick cloak that Gwent handed him without comment. He went out every hour to search, corning in again when he could bear the cold no longer. It was then that they heard a shout.
The doors were slowly pushed open. The porter, Alart, stood there panting, his breath heaving out in white puffs, kicking away a pile of snow. There, next to him was Trist, moving slowly into the great hall laden with snow, his whiskers thick with ice, and in his mouth he w^s car_ rying something.
It was a baby marten.
“My God,” Severin yelled, and hurried to Trist. He picked him up holding the small baby in his palm as Trist burrowed against him for warmth. Then Trist pulled away and leapt to the floor. He was out the doors before Alert could pull them closed.
“It’s another baby,” Hastings yelled, and waddled toward the doors. “Take this one,” Severin said, gave her the small baby marten and
ran after Trist.
Man and marten came through the door just a few moments later. Pressed against Severin’s chest were Trist and another baby.
The Healer rose from beside the hearth and said in her commanding voice, “Gwent, you will have MacDear warm milk immediately.” She was silent a moment, her fingers stroking her chin. “Hastings, we will need a bit of white linen to soak in the milk. Aye, that should do it.”
An hour later, Severin held Trist against his chest, and against Trist’s chest were two babies, well fed now, healthy, asleep. Trist looked very
pleased with himself.
“His mate must have died,” Severin said. “Trist brought his babes
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here.” He looked up to see his four sisters-in-law pressing against his leg to see the babies better. He said, smiling at each of them in turn, “The babies must have names. Then we must be very careful to keep them
warm.
Harlette whispered, “I will have Mama sew me a tunic so that one of the babies can sleep against my chest like Trist does you, Severin.”
Matilda crowded her away. “I will take both of them and put them in my bed. I won’t come out of bed until it is warm again.”
Hastings was tired, the babe pulling at her, making her back ache, but st’ll she smiled, so relieved she wanted to weep. “I could offer to let them sleep on me but they would roll off.”
Severin grinned at her.
They were a family. They argued and laughed and yelled and kissed. She looked up hearing gagging. Poor Alice. She was with child. The babe wasn’t making it easy for her. Even the Healer could not find a potion that settled her belly. Beamis, her husband, was hanging over her, wringing his hands, all the while the Healer was saying, “Men, look at how useless they are. Will he puke up his guts for her? Nay, he will just stand there and do naught of anything. I am always telling my Alfred that-“