Medieval 01 - Untamed

the ones we brought from Normandy breed. It’s foolish to lack for meat.”
    Simon listened as Dominic continued to list the necessities for setting up a small freehold. As always, his brother’s command of detail fascinated Simon. Whether it was war or farming, Dominic made a thorough study of the matter, assembled what was required for success, and then attacked with breathtaking swiftness.
    â€œDon’t forget the cooking pots. They are more valuable than gold,” Dominic concluded.
    â€œAnything that keeps a wife contented is more valuable than gold.”
    Dominic threw his brother a sharp look. Simon’s black eyes held both understanding and carefully shielded amusement.
    â€œWas there more?” Simon asked.
    â€œAye. Tell Sven to keep an eye out for my wife. I want to be quite certain that she meets no one from beyond the keep.”
    â€œDo you really think she will try to go to Duncan after marrying you?”
    â€œShe is the key to everything I have ever wanted in life,” Dominic said flatly. “Until I am certain she is breeding my heir, I will watch her as carefully as an eagle watches a foolish rabbit.”
    Â 
    T HE dream condensed slowly, relentlessly, eroding the peace of Meg’s hard-wonsleep.
    Danger .
    Meg whimpered and turned on her other side as though to escape something only she could see. But there was no escape, for the dream was caught within her mind and she was caught within the dream.
    Bleak, colorless, cold, the nightmare engulfed her.
    Death .
    A silent scream froze in Meg’s throat, tearing at her with claws of ice.
    Disaster .
    Wordlessly Meg clawed against the silence, asking what she must do.
    The answer was equally wordless. Green welled up through the emptiness surrounding her. Shapes condensed from the void. Plants growing in secret, drinking raindrops, opening their leaves to an unseen sun. The plants were all the same color, the same shape, the same leaves, the same sense of silence and ancient, undisturbed ground.
    Go .
    Eyes still closed, Meg sat bolt upright, her heart hammering. Her head throbbed from the violence of the dream. A single certainty resonated through her mind and body.
    Danger .
    With a muffled cry, Meg opened her eyes, ran to the window and threw open the shutters.
    Nothing greeted her but the eerie silence that comes just before dawn. In the next few moments a cock would crow the sun awake and then strut before his hens, arrogant with his prowess and with the certainty of future generations coursing through his loins. In the moments after the cock crowed, the cotters and serfs would stir, cooking fires would be lit, men would call across the bailey as they discussed chores to be done and maids to be wooed.
    In the next few moments…
    But not now. Now there was only a transcendent hush as the earth awaited the coming of the sun.
    Breath held, Meg stared out the narrow window, straining toward the ghostly mist rising from millpond and fish pond, meadow and lake. No movement was visible. No sound of armor or bridle came through the silence, no hoofbeats, no muffled orders to men creeping through the dawn.
    Yet danger existed. Meg knew it as surely as she knew her eyes were Glendruid green.
    The certainty of peril was a knife in her heart. She had thought her marriage would end the danger of war. She had thought her marriage would ensure the safety of her people and the survival of Blackthorne Keep.
    And now she was certain only that something was savagely wrong.
    Death .
    Meg shuddered.
    Disaster .
    She had not dreamed so vividly since the night her mother walked into the forest and did not return. Ever.
    Are you calling to me, Mother? Will I finally know the secrets of the ancient mound?
    As soon as the haunted place occurred to Meg, a certainty grew in her that she must go there. There, where the ground was undisturbed by man, where plants grew on ancient soil steeped in primeval secrets; there she would find the harvest that was all that stood between Blackthorne Keep and ruin.
    She didn’t know how she knew it.
    She knew only that it was as true as death.
    With a stifled sound Meg threw off her nightshirt and yanked on the cotter’s clothes she wore while working in the herb garden or mews. Fingers stiffwith cold and fear fumbled her hair into loose braids and bound them with leather thongs.
    Simple head cloth and circlet in place, wool stockings pulled on, boots in hand, Meg slipped soundlessly