Romilly, relieved that the tension had passed, began to recite the grown sons and daughters of the middle-aged lord of Scathfell; his Heir, yet another Gareth (“But they call him Garris, in lowland fashion,” she added), “Dom Garris is not wed, he has buried three wives; I think he is only in his thirtieth year, but looks older, and is lame with a wasting disease of one leg.”
“And you dislike him,” said Alderic, and she grinned, her impish smile. “Why, how could you possibly know that, Lord Alderic? But it is true; he is always fumbling the maidens in corners, he was not above pawing at Mallina last year, when she had not even put up her ban-….”
“Lecherous old goat!” Darren said, “Did Father know?”
“None of us wanted a quarrel with neighbors; Luciella only told Mallina and me to keep away from him if we could do so without being uncivil. Then there is Dom Edric, who is blind, and his wife Ruanna, who keeps the estate books as well as any man. And there are the young twins, Cathal and Cinhil, they are not so young either – they are Ruyven’s age; twenty-two. And Cathal’s wife, who was one of my childhood friends – Darissa Storn. Cinhil is not wed, and Father once spoke of betrothing us, but nothing came of it, which gladdened my heart – I would not want to live at Scathfell, it is like a bandit’s hold! Though I would not mind being close to Darissa, and Cinhil is a nice enough boy.”
“It seems to me you are over young to be wedded,” said Alderic, and Darren laughed. “Women marry young in these hills, and Romilly is fifteen. And, I doubt not, she thinks it long till she is in a home of her own, and out from Luciella’s guidance – what’s the ancient saying, where two women rule a hearthfire, the thatch may burn with the sparks flying . .. yet I think Father could do better for Romilly than a younger son, a fourth son at that. Better lady in a cottage than serving-woman in a castle, and when Dom Garris weds again – or if old Scathfell should take a wife – Cinhil’s wife would be lowest of all, not much better than waiting-women to all the rest. Darissa was pretty and bright when she was wedded, and now she looks ten years older than Cathal, and all out of, shape with bearing children.”
“I am in no haste to marry,” Romilly said, “And there are men enough, I suppose, in these hills; Manfred Storn is Heir to Storn Heights, and he is about Darren’s age, so it’s likely, when I am old enough to many, Father will speak to old Lord Storn. The folk of High Crags will be coming too, and they have a couple of unmarried sons and daughters, it’s likely that they will marry Rael into that kindred, or me.” She shrugged. “What does it matter, after all? Men are all alike.”
Alderic chuckled. “By those words I know how young you are, Mistress Romilly – I hope your father does not seek to have you married till you are old enough to distinguish between one man or another, or you may awaken some day and discover you are married to the very last man on earth you would have sought for husband. Shall we go in the house? The sun is high, and your stepmother said something of a festival breakfast – and I smelled the cooks making spicebread as we passed the kitchens!”
Romilly only hoped, now, that she could get up to her room unobserved, to change her clothing and bathe before the festal meal. But, coming around a corridor, she almost bumped into a tall, pale, fattish man with fair hair, coming from the big bathing-room with hot pools, fed by volcanic springs. He was wrapped in a loose robe and his hair was damp and mussed; he had evidently gone to soak away the fatigue of riding. Romilly curtseyed politely as she had been taught, then remembered that she was wearing breeches – curse it! If she had gone on about her business he might simply have taken her for an out-of-place servant boy on some errand. Instead his pale flabby face tightened in a dimply creased smile.