Medieval 01 - Untamed

dark gatehouse. As Meg walked through, Harry bent forward and spoke quietly.
    â€œSir Duncan has been asking after you.”
    Meg turned quickly toward the gateman. “Is he ill?”
    â€œThat one?” Harry scoffed. “He’s strong as an oak. He wondered if you were ill. You weren’t in chapel this morning.”
    â€œDear Duncan. It was kind of him to notice.”
    Harry cleared his throat. Not many men would have described Duncan of Maxwell as kind. But then, the mistress was a Glendruid witch. She had a way about her that soothed the most savage creatures.
    â€œHe wasn’t the only one to notice, I hear,” Harry said. “The Norman lord was fair put out not to see you.”
    â€œTell Duncan that I am well,” Meg said, hurrying through the door.
    â€œâ€™Tis certain you’ll see him before I do.”
    Meg shook her head. Her unraveled braid shimmered in waves of fire as she hurried forward, speaking over her shoulder.
    â€œMy father has asked that I not attend his sickbed after chapel. As Duncan rarely leaves Father’s side these days…” She shrugged.
    â€œWhat shall I tell Lord Dominic if he asks?” Harry said, giving his mistress a shrewd look.
    â€œIf he asks—which I doubt—tell him the truth. You saw no well-dressed lady leave the bailey this morning.”
    The gateman looked at the simple clothes Meg was wearing and laughed. Then his smile faded and he shook his head sadly.
    â€œYou are your mother’s daughter, always wanting to be outside stone walls. Like a falcon she was, crying to be free.”
    â€œShe is free, now.”
    â€œI pray you’re right, mistress. God rest her poor soul.”
    Meg looked away from Harry’s wise, faded blue eyes. The pity he felt for her was all too clear inhis expression. She was Glendruid, daughter of a Glendruid woman; and like her mother, she wouldn’t be free short of death.
    Just beyond the fish pond a kingfisher waited hopefully for a meal to disturb the still surface of the water. In the reeds at the edge of the pond, motionless as a statue, a heron gleamed ghostly gray. Ravens called hoarsely from the battlements at the top of the keep. As though answering, one of the gardeners berated his helper for stepping on a tender new plant.
    For a moment it was as though nothing had changed, as though Meg was still a child and her mother was singing softly of love lost while Old Gwyn embroidered runes on Meg’s undertunic, where they could be felt but not seen; as though no arrogant Norman knight had ridden up to the keep, demanding a wife, an estate, and heirs to stretch into a future no one could see.
    Meg breathed in deeply, drawing the clean air into her body, savoring its chill spring scents. Her skirts swirled in a gust of wind. The cold bite of the air on her legs warned of an uncertain spring, riven by the death throes of the hard winter past.
    The cry of a wild hawk keened over the meadow where green shoots pushed through the last year’s hay stubble. Nearby a sparrow hawk fluttered above the meadow, seeking the first meal of the day. A few days past, the priest’s falcon had hovered just like that, then stooped to the kill. But the kill had been contested by an untamed falcon thrice her size. Before the priest could intervene, the gallant little bird had been sorely wounded.
    Abruptly Meg turned and went back to the gatehouse. Her seedlings could wait. The falcon could not.
    As though expecting her, Harry opened the doorbefore she had taken three steps, allowing her to hurry back through into the bailey. When she set Black Tom down on the damp cobbles, he gave her a look of green-eyed disbelief.
    â€œYou can’t come with me just yet. I’m going to the mews first,” she explained.
    The cat blinked, then calmly began grooming himself as if he had never expected to be taken for a romp through the catnip in Meg’s herb garden.
    As soon as Meg came in sight of the wooden buildings that housed Blackthorne Keep’s array of hunting birds, the falconer came forward, relief clear on his face.
    â€œThank you, mistress,” William said, touching his forehead. “I was afraid you would be too busy with the wedding preparations to see the wee falcon.”
    â€œNever,” Meg said softly. “Life would be so much poorer without the fierce little creatures. Have you my gauntlet?”
    William handed over a leather gauntlet