“Here it is,” she said, reaching behind a tree and raising a basket that had been resting upon the ridges of exposed roots.
“I hope the ants didn‘t get to it,” she said, moving to a shaded area beside the stream and spreading a cloth upon the ground.
I hung the fencing gear on a nearby shrub.
“You seem to carry quite a few things around with you,” I observed.
“My horse is back that way,” she said, gesturing downstream with her head.
She returned her attention to weighing down the cloth and unpacking the basket.
“Why way back there?” I asked.
“So that I could sneak up on you, of course. If you‘d heard a horse clomping around you‘d have been awake sure as hell.”
“You‘re probably right,” I said.
She paused as though pondering deeply, then spoiled it with a giggle.
“But you didn‘t the first time, though. Still . . .”
“The first time?” I said, seeing she wanted me to ask it.
“Yes, I almost rode over you awhile back,” she said. “You were sound asleep. When I saw who it was, I went back for a picnic basket and the fencing gear.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Come and sit down now,” she said. “And open the bottle, will you?”
She put a bottle beside my place and carefully unwrapped two crystal goblets, which she then set in the center of the cloth.
I moved to my place and sat down.
“That is Benedict‘s best crystal,” I noted, as I opened the bottle.
“Yes,” she said. “Do be careful not to upset them when you pour—and I don‘t think we should clink them together.”
“No, I don‘t think we should,” I said, and I poured. She raised her glass.
“To the reunion,” she said.
“What reunion?”
“Ours.”
“I have never met you before.”
“Don‘t be so prosaic,” she said, and took a drink.
I shrugged. “To the reunion.”
She began to eat then, so I did too. She was so enjoying the air of mystery she had created that I wanted to cooperate, just to keep her happy.
“Now where could I have met you?” I ventured. “Was it some great court? A harem, perhaps . . . ?”
“Perhaps it was in Amber,” she said. “There you were . . .” ,
“Amber?” I said, remembering that I was holding Benedict‘s crystal and confining my emotions to my voice. “Just who are you, anyway?”
“. . . There you were—handsome, conceited, admired by all the ladies,” she continued, “and there I was—a mousy little thing, admiring you from afar. Gray, or pastel-not vivid—little Dara—a late bloomer, I hasten to add—eating her heart out for you—”
I muttered a mild obscenity and she laughed again. “That wasn‘t it?” she asked.
“No,” I said, taking another bite of beef and bread. “More likely it was that brothel where I sprained my back. I was drunk that night—”
“You remember!” she cried. “It was a part-time job. I used to break horses during the day.”
“I give up,” I said, and I poured more wine.
The really irritating thing was that there was something damnably familiar about her. But from her appearance and her behavior, I guessed her age at about seventeen. This pretty much precluded our paths ever having crossed.
“Did Benedict teach you your fencing?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What is he to you?”
“My lover, of course,” she replied. “He keeps me in jewels and furs—and he fences with me.” She laughed again.
I continued to study her face. Yes, it was possible. . . . “I am hurt,” I said, finally.
“Why?” she asked.
“Benedict didn‘t give me a cigar.”
“Cigar?”
“You are his daughter, aren‘t you?”
She reddened, but she shook her head. “No,” she said. “But you are getting close.”
“Granddaughter?” I said. “Well . . . sort of.”
“I am afraid that I do not understand.”
“Grandfather is what he likes me to call him. Actually, though, he was my grandmother‘s father.”
“I see. Are there any others at home like you?”
“No, I am the only one.”
“What of your mother—and your grandmother?”
“Dead, both of them.”
“How did they die?”
“Violently. Both times it happened while he was back in Amber. I believe that is why he has not returned there for a long while now. He does not like to leave me unprotected—even though he knows that I can take care of myself. You know that I can, too, don‘t you?”