Medieval 01 - Untamed

her small sound of protest. He turned, looked at her thoughtfully, and added a bit more wood to the fire. She let out her breath in a long, almost soundless sigh of relief.
    Dominic heard it and smiled to himself, knowing he had read his small falcon well. The first battle was won; she had agreed to her captivity. Now they would negotiate the terms of it.
    He sat in the big chair and gestured to his lap.
    â€œSit. I will serve you.”
    Uncertainly, Meg stepped forward. Countless tiny bells stirred and sang.
    â€œOh,” she said, hesitating and then moving again, listening. “’Tis very beautiful.”
    â€œLike flowers singing?” Dominic asked.
    â€œAye,” she said, smiling despite her unease, “or butterflies laughing.”
    â€œI’m glad my gift pleases you.”
    â€œIt does, lord—er, Dominic. It was very kind of you.”
    â€œI’m glad you think me kind,” he said with an enigmatic smile.
    Gingerly Meg lowered herself onto Dominic’s knees. He picked her up and rearranged her across his lap until she was half reclining against his left arm. Meg wondered at the silver blaze of his eyes. In the dim light they glowed like clear crystals.
    With his right hand, Dominic plucked a drumstick from the heaped platter. Meg reached for the food. He held it beyond her reach.
    â€œNay,” he said. “I will feed you, small falcon.”
    She gave him a startled look. He smiled and stripped a bit of meat from the drumstick with teeth that were as white and clean as a young hound’s. Then he plucked the morsel from between his teeth and held it out to her with his fingertips. When she reached to take the meat with her hand, the food was withdrawn once more.
    â€œNay,” Dominic said softly. “Falcons have no fingers.”
    Meg’s mouth opened in surprise. Deftly he slid the bit of meat between her lips.
    â€œThere,” he murmured as though talking to his peregrine in the mews. “That wasn’t such a difficult thing, was it?”
    Chewing slowly, she shook her head. Bells at the end of her braids rang like a falcon’s jesses.
    â€œMore?” Dominic asked.
    She nodded.
    He smiled darkly. “Some falcons—the special, magical ones—speak.”
    â€œAbout what?” Meg asked as Dominic stripped another bit of meat from the drumstick.
    â€œFood, water, the hunt, the kill, the wildness of flight…”
    â€œFreedom,” she whispered.
    â€œAye,” he said, holding out the morsel. “I suspect untamed falcons talk about that most of all.”
    Meg watched Dominic’s eyes as she ate from his hand. There was an odd intimacy in the act. A bond as tenuous as a single silk thread stretched between them with each bit of food she accepted; and like silk thread, when one was laid next to another, and then another, and then another, the resulting strand strengthened until there would be no breaking it.
    As the moments slipped by in a hush defined rather than broken by the tender chiming of bells, Meg understood in a way she never had before precisely why the best hunting hounds were fed only by their master and why babes learned closeness with their mother’s milk.
    And why falcons—the most free of God’s creatures—were fed only from their lord’s hands, rode only on his wrist, came only to his special call.
    â€œIs the food not to your taste?” Dominic asked.
    â€œIt’s very good.”
    â€œThen why have you stopped eating?”
    â€œI was thinking of falcons and masters,” Meg said.
    â€œFalcons have no masters.”
    â€œThey hunt only at their lord’s pleasure.”
    â€œFalcons hunt at their own pleasure,” Dominic countered, popping another bite of food between her lips. “Their lords simply provide an opportunity.”
    â€œDo all men see it thus?”
    Dominic shrugged. “It matters not to me how other men see the bond between falcon and man. If foolish men wish to believe they fly the bird rather than vice versa, who am I to disturb their shallow understanding?”
    Chewing thoughtfully, Meg considered what Dominic had said. As soon as she swallowed, bread and cheese appeared before her lips. She opened her mouth for the food, received it—and felt the distinct caress of his fingertip on her lower lip as he withdrew.
    â€œBut falcons are captive and men are not,” she said.
    â€œHave you ever freed a