Not Magic Enough Page 5

  Dorovan came up, laid a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head to look at him, Delae smiled and brushed her cheek against his hand.

  It was time. He could find no more excuse to stay than Forman and his people.

  “When will you go?” she asked, a heaviness lying on her heart.

  In the way of friends-of-the-heart Dorovan loved her in that moment more intensely and more fiercely than he had any other, first for her generosity - that she would make it easier for him to go. As he must.

  They both knew he couldn’t stay, nor could she leave. There was no place for the women of men in an Elven Enclave. His people, even as open-minded as they were, would never accept her.

  Nor could she or would she leave her people and responsibilities here.

  “Tonight,” Dorovan said, brushing his lips over her burnished hair, his heart aching for the loneliness to come, both his and hers. He, at least, would have his people. His voice was soft. “After moonrise. After we’ve loved again.”

  “I’d best go out and see them off then,” she said, brushing her lips across his knuckles.

  She smiled and let out a breath.

  “I’ll return,” he said.

  Her throat tight, Delae nodded.

  He watched her go, a woman of infinite grace in both body and spirit.

  Looking at her, he knew her own people wouldn’t call her beautiful, there was too much strength in her face for that, but she had too much spirit for any other name. Too much strength and too much heart. Honor and courage, too…

  He would call her beautiful. His people would. For she was beautiful in spirit. Dorovan saw only that.

  In the sunlight her hair glowed like fire, her simple clothes a covering and nothing more to the loveliness of her body.

  Delae smiled up at pretty Yana in the seat beside Pell. Behind them, his head bandaged, was Forman.

  “Journey safely,” Delae said, her hand on the side of the wagon.

  “I’ll send payment to you - Lady Delae - for our time here,” Forman promised.

  She patted his hand. “As you can, Forman. It was only my duty to those who cross my lands or by them, as you know.”

  “I do,” he said, “but you did more and for that we thank you.”

  The wagons trundled out through the gates, the children calling out a chorus of goodbyes.

  Delae knew she would miss them, for all the little time they’d been here and the storm had kept them under roof, they’d been some company - folk she didn’t know.

  It would be quieter in days to come.

  Looking up at the sky she reflected that winter had only come for a brief visit. He would be back very shortly, though, with more force and for a longer stay, but for some little time they might have a respite between. Enough for Dorovan to return to his Enclave safely.

  Her breath caught at the thought.

  This had only been a respite, though, and she’d known that from the moment Doravan touched her.

  Calling Morlis to her, she bade him prepare the cart to go to Riverford town for supplies. If they were to have good weather, she must get supplies brought in to make up for what had been lost with a dozen extra mouths to feed. Especially those growing children. She smiled. The sound of their laughter had been sweet.

  Then she turned for the great room and Dorovan. For however short a time they had left, she intended to make the most of what remained.

  He waited with open arms, to welcome her back into them.

  For a time he sat beside her as she worked at the tapestry, telling her of his life among his people, stories she could never share but could hold to her heart in the difficult days to come.

  Among her own folk Elves were considered arrogant and impassive. She now knew different. They simply didn’t show it except among their own kind. It grieved her to know why…because those bonds, those signs of caring had been used against them. By her own folk.

  She knew also that the bond between she and Dorovan was something different, something more, for all that it wasn’t the soul-bond he awaited.

  In a way, she hoped it would come and soon. She would rejoice for him in finally finding it, in finding someone who could love him freely, completely, as she couldn’t. In the meantime, they were a balm for each other and it pleased her deeply that she could give it to him. She loved him - heart and soul - for all that she couldn’t have him. She knew that, understood it.

  It was enough.

  They ate together and then they loved together, sweetly and deeply, one last time before he left.

  It was harder than Dorovan had imagined to go - even as his heart yearned for home, for Talaena, his beloved Enclave, for his people and his place there. To leave his friend-of-the-heart alone, without the empathy of his people to console her, that gave him such comfort…

  He ached as he touched her face beneath the bright moonlight.

  “I will miss you, friend-of-my-heart,” he said.

  Eyes bright with unshed tears, Delae smiled and pressed her cheek against his hand.

  “And I you as well, friend-of-my-heart,” she said, with a smile.

  Taking a breath, knowing delaying made it no easier, Dorovan swung up onto Charis’s back.

  “I will return,” he said.

  Delae looked up at him and shook her head.

  “I cannot hold to that - but you are and always will be the only friend of my heart.”

  It pained him to hear it, but he understood. She must bear the days alone with only the hope of his return.

  “You are loved,” he said.

  She smiled brilliantly. “I know.”

  On foot, she followed him to the gates.

  Just once - because that was all he could bear - Dorovan looked back to see her standing there within the embrace of her gates. Her hair glowed like flame in his Elven-sight. There was brightness in her eyes and on her cheeks.

  He turned his face toward home, leaving a part of his heart behind as he went.

  Watching him until she couldn’t truly see him, Delae took one breath and then another before turning back to the homestead as the light of the full moon washed over it.

  For a moment she stood looking.

  This was her home. Even could she leave, even if she could live amongst the Elves - and that was unheard of - she wouldn’t. These people depended on her, they needed her. There was no one else for them. If she left, what would become of Petra and Hallis? For all they disparaged her, for all they sniped at each other, who would care for Cana and Kolan if not her?

  She’d learned early and swiftly why it was they’d been so happy, so insistent she marry their son.

  A daughter of one of their smallholders, Delae had been a good worker, steady and reliable, with a good head for figures and a better hand for needlework. Her tapestries had sold well in Riverford town and still did, earning them the extra coin they needed. Even the Queen of Riverford had bought one, once. Delae had no illusions about her appearance though - her hair was too red - even less about her temperament - she was too strong-willed - or about her station. She’d looked to going to Riverford or perhaps even Doncerric for work to help her family.

  They’d been astonished when Cana and Kolan had looked to her as bride and wife to their son, Kort. He could have - should have - done better. The thought he might want her had been bewildering but exciting.

  She’d been young and he’d been handsome in his own way, tall and lean, with thick dark brown hair and dark eyebrows over eyes as brown as hazelnuts. He could be charming, too, when he wished.

  And he had been, then…

  Their courtship had been whirlwind. Kort had bought her jewelry - long since sold - and fine dresses - now worn to shreds or turned to rags. He’d spoken fine words, had treated her like a Lady.

  It had been a jump up for her family - a chance to rise in station.

  She had no bitterness; it had been her choice to make and she’d made it.

  If she’d ever been in love with Kort, though, that lov
e had died quickly.

  He’d ever and always had another love, a love greater than any other - gambling - which was why Cana and Kolan had been in such a hurry to get them married.

  They’d barely passed their honeymoon when Kort had vanished for the first time…and with him most of the household funds, leaving her to manage the landholding and all the smallholders who were dependent upon it, with what little was left.

  It had been a shock. But not to Cana and Kolan - who’d been shamefaced but unrepentant at first and then simply unrepentant - despite the fact that they depended on her.

  She’d been heartbroken but even so somehow she’d managed.

  Kort had returned months later, as charming as always, warm and loving, with profuse apologies, excuses, promises and gifts.

  Warily, Delae had accepted them.

  A week later he was gone, and with him most of their coin.

  Delae never knew what possessed her to secrete some away but she had.

  So he hadn’t left them completely destitute.

  Once she’d actually gone after him, following him through the taverns of Riverford to the wine sinks of Doncerric, the High King’s city on the cliffs by the sea, and then to the opium dens of the desert city of Marakis.

  She’d found him finally, dicing his money away - drunk and with a comely wench at his hip. His face had reflected his dissolute ways, his dissatisfaction, the dice his first pleasure, the doxy his second.

  He hadn’t seen Delae but she’d seen him. And she’d noted he was winning for a change.

  Both he and the doxy had been asleep when Delae walked into the room they shared. To her surprise, she’d felt no anger at seeing them, it was simple confirmation of what she’d already guessed. All she felt was weariness, a deep and abiding tiredness. She’d taken half his winnings and left, unobserved.

  For a brief time she’d considered not returning to the homestead, to the duties that weighed on her so heavily, but she wouldn’t be foresworn on this. It wasn’t her vow to Kort that kept her but her promise as wife of the landowner. It was Dan and Morlis, poor damaged Tad, Petra and Hallis and so many of the others who had held her to this place through the years.

  They needed her; it was that simple. It was her duty. She couldn’t desert them, not with honor. She’d made her oaths and promises. Kort had broken his but she couldn’t break hers, not and abandon these folk who needed her as he’d abandoned them. He could but so long as she was here, she wouldn’t, nor would she allow him to be named so, dragging his once good name into the mud.

  If she were to leave, though…

  Dan was a good enough smith but he had no head for figures. Morlis couldn’t read and could barely sum. Some of the smallholders were worse, although now that Delae tutored the children through the good weather there was a chance they would.

  There was no one else.

  In the winter she and Dan would make a circuit of those who didn’t come into the landholding to be sure they were all right, that no one had been injured or become ill. On bad days she worked at her tapestries from wool and linen made and dyed here on the holding and offered it for sale in Riverford in spring and summer. That money gave them what they needed to tide them over through the winter.

  The truth was though, that she loved this land. She loved the bitter, stark beauty of it in winter, the promise of it in spring, the sight of the lambs bouncing gaily on the green hills. The lush beauty of it in summer, the apple-laden limbs of the trees amid the brilliant leaves of fall, the immense wonder of the great Gorge hidden deep in the forest and the sweeping roll of the hills she could see from her window.

  She already missed Dorovan and the pain in her heart was scalding in her chest.

  Walking back to the great room, knowing it to be empty, she held her precious memories to her heart and closed the door behind her.

  Resolutely, she walked to the bar that held the door to the west wing closed and lifted it. She set it in place. For a time she would have some privacy. Cana and Kolan rarely had cause to visit but Petra made certain they were fed.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face wearily and went to her lonely bed.

  Pressing her face to the pillow, she could still smell Dorovan’s scent on it.

  And wept.

  In the morning, she rode to Riverford for the supplies.

  Chapter Six

  It had been a long day but the weather had finally broken from another storm. Winter was winding up. The good thing was that there was a thick covering of snow, which meant the wells, springs and creeks would likely not go dry in summer unless it was as harsh as the winter promised to be. For that, Delae could only be grateful. She was mildly drunk on wine from toasting Dan and his handfasting to one of the miller’s daughters. Dan was only a scant five years younger than she and yet she felt that an age that lay between them, the years weighing heavily on her.

  They seemed happy together though, Dan and his bride.

  Still, it was a joyful occasion and there had been a great deal of laughter, some singing and dancing as Morlis played the gitar and one of the smallholders his pipe.

  Escorting the last of the revelers out of the great room, listening as the wagons rumbled away into the night, Delae watched the clouds drift across the half moon. Had it only been a week? She smiled at her memories and took herself to bed, the wine sending her instantly and thankfully to sleep.

  It was the sound of furniture scraping across the floor in the great room and a voice muttering hoarsely that woke her, sent a chill through her, a quick rush that made her knees weak. Had she left the bar off the door? She couldn’t remember. There was rarely any need.

  No one else was here to do it, to defend, and so she must.

  Grasping the sword behind the door, remembering when Dorovan had spotted it, she took it up. She feared his lessons might come in handy this night.

  On bare silent feet, she hurried down the hall to the great room, a covered lantern in her free hand.

  With the fire banked to coal and the moonlight that streamed through the shutters in the windows casting the only light, so the man who stood there was only a dim shadow.

  The room was cold from the doors having been left open too long. One was still slightly ajar.

  Quickly, Delae uncovered the lantern and stepped aside.

  “Who are you to enter my home?” she demanded.

  The figure turned, straightened and then swayed…

  At first, she nearly didn’t recognize him he’d changed so much. His once handsome features were bloated. There were bags under his eyes. He’d gained an unsightly roundness in his belly and his skin was pale and white like a fish.

  “Delae,” Kort said, drunkenly. “I’m home, wife.”

  She wanted to weep but there was no point.

  Her stomach churned and her jaw tightened. “Kort. What, wasn’t I sending you enough money? Have you lost it all already?”

  After the third time he’d stolen from them, she’d simply paid him to stay away. It was simpler. Far easier than this.

  Staggering only a little, he came toward her. “Where’s my greeting, wife? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “No,” she said and turned her head just enough to call over her shoulder, “Hallis, Petra, come welcome my husband home. My lord Kort needs a bath. Desperately.”

  She evaded his reach, darting around him and back into the great room on nimble feet.

  “A bath, Kort,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “You reek.”

  “My lady?” Hallis said, coming down the hall.

  “Don’t call her Lady,” Kort snarled, shifting as drunks can do from sweet to sour in an instant. “She’s no Lady - she’s nothing but a common peasant.”

  It was only true and had no power to hurt her anymore.

  “Would you draw my Lord Kort a bath, Hallis?” Delae said, “Petra, would you fetch Milord’s parents? They would be glad to see him, I’m certain. And then prepare his rooms?”

  She needed
time, desperately.

  “Yes, Delae,” they both said, eyeing Kort with wary displeasure before hurrying off to their assignments.

  “A bath would be good,” he muttered, wandering back out to the great room, looking around blearily.

  Cana and Kolan hurried out from their quarters with Petra behind them looking concerned.

  “A meal for my lord, Petra,” Delae said quietly, “with plenty of fortified wine. I’m certain he had a long journey from wherever he was.”

  Eyes widening knowingly, Petra nodded and hurried off.

  Glancing back at the family reunion taking place in the great room as Kort’s parents fawned over him, Delae sighed. She’d never felt more alone.

  She could only hope he drowned in the tub, as wrong as that thought was. Not that she’d be so lucky. She fought the urge to weep.

  Quietly she made her way down the hall to her own rooms. This might be her only and last chance to hide what coin they had and she would take it, before giving Hallis a hand tightening the ropes of Kort’s bed and with his bath water. That water must be warmer than tepid; she wanted it to make him relaxed and drowsy, too sleepy to bother her.

  Kort’s room was better appointed by far than any other in the house, with heavy draperies on the windows, thick padding on the mattress and thicker carpets on the floors. As a young girl it had amazed her.

  She no longer slept in these rooms and hadn’t since Kort had left the second time.

  Only one room was better than this one, the guest room where Dorovan had slept.

  Thankfully, on the rare occasions Kort returned, he hadn’t sought her out beyond berating her during the daylight hours, drinking his nights away before stealing off into the darkness. Along with whatever he thought he could sell.

  It was with relief that she heard him stagger to his room and slosh into the tub.

  She took herself off to her own bed, wearily.

  Only to be awakened by rough hands and Kort’s body pressed down on top of her, his breath thick with wine. She fought but he punched her, his fist glancing off her cheekbone, his heavy frame pushing her into the mattress as he entered her despite her tears.