“I shall have that hawk, then, for my lady,” said Cathal Aldaran of Scathfell, “She has not had enough exercise since her children were born, and so fine a hawk will encourage her to be out and about, and to ride.”
“No,” said the elderly Dom Gareth firmly, “No woman shall fly such a hawk as that under my roof; but your training methods are excellent, messire, and I will take one of the smaller hawks for Lady Darissa – have you a good lady’s hawk? Mistress Romilly, can you advise me, perhaps, as to what hawk my daughter-in-law could best fly?”
She said, lowering her eyes modestly, “I fly a verrin hawk, vai dom, but either of these-” she indicated three of the smaller birds, with wing-spans not much longer than her arm, “are well-trained and I think Darissa would have no trouble in handling them. But I give you my word, sir, that if you want to buy the larger bird for her, she is so well trained that Darissa could fly her, and the larger birds are better for hunting for the kitchens; the smaller hawks can bring down nothing bigger than a field-shrew.”
He snorted. “The women of my household have no need to hunt for meat for the pot; if they fly hawks, they do so only to have a reason to take air and exercise. And The MacAran still lets a great girl like you hunt with a verrin hawk? Disgraceful!”
Romilly bit back the protest on her lip – Aldaran might not approve of women flying hawks, but perhaps other men were not so stuffy and narrow-minded as he was himself – realizing that a saucy answer would only alienate a valued neighbor and customer of her father’s. While they produced most of what they needed on the estate at Falconsward, still coined money was always in short supply, and most of her father’s ready money came from this sale every year. She curtseyed to Lord Scathfell and withdrew, handing back the hawk to Davin. While he haggled with the man, she cast a quick frightened glance around the field – her father might have decided to punish her by putting Preciosa up for sale – but Preciosa was not there, but still safe within the mews. At the far end, her father was putting one or two of his best horses through their paces, while the kennel-man was displaying working dogs trained to obedience to word or gesture. The high nobility who had danced last night at their feast nibbed elbows with small-holders and farmers who had come to pick up dogs for their herding, or perhaps to trade for a horse rejected by the nobles. Darren was stationed at the far end, writing down all the details of the transactions for the steward; Rael was running in and out of the crowd, playing catch-the-monkey with a group of small boys his own age, his face and hands already grubby and his jacket torn.
“Can you take me to see your father’s horses?” Alderic said at her elbow, “I would like to trade my nag for a somewhat better one; I have not much money, but perhaps I could work some time for him in return for the difference – do you think he would be interested in a deal like that? I have marked that your coridom is old and feeble – perhaps I could work for him for forty days or so while he finds himself a man better suited to the needs of his business, and the old man could be retired to an indoor steward.”
She blinked in surprise – she had begun to be sure that he was, in fact, the Hastur prince in disguise, and here he was offering to hire himself, a paid worker, to The MacAran in return for a horse-trade! But she said politely, “About the deal, you must ask him yourself; but we have some good horses which are not good-looking enough to attract the attention of the highly-born, and must be sold at a lower cost; perhaps one of them would suit you, if it was well-trained. That one, for instance-” she pointed out a great ungainly horse, an ugly color of brown, spotted unevenly with black, his mane and tail growing somewhat askew, “He is an ugly raw-boned brute, but if you look carefully at his gait, and the way he carries his tail, you will see that he is a fine strong horse, and spirited too. But he is no ride for a lady, nor for any soft-handed fellow who wants his horse to plod along at a gentle pace; he wants firm hands and good handling. His sire was our best stallion, but the dam was only a cull, so though his blood is not bad, he is an ugly brute and not good-colored.”