He stood at the window, so tall his head brushed the top of the sill, shoulders so broad they spanned the shutters on either side. The light of a spring morning spilled in to silhouette his perfect form and gleam on his sandy golden hair-- long on the top, currently tousled from sleep, shorn close on the sides, as was the northern Taeghan fashion. Wordlessly, Reynhild watched the play of muscles beneath his skin, watched the light caress the curves and planes of his back and the long limbs corded with muscle. She'd seen those powerful arms hew the head off a bandit as effortlessly as a child might flick the top off a dandelion. She'd also seen them cradle a cairnhound pup whose mother had rejected it, and wean it himself using a rag and some ewe's milk.
He stood at the window every morning. Before attending to the business of the day or concerning himself with the process of taking over his aging father's lordship, he would simply stand at the window and gaze out over Wilder's Gorge, admiring, adoring, reminding himself of his responsibilities and the sacred trust he would one day assume over it.
Aye, which suits me just fine, as it offers me just as breathtaking a view, she thought with a smirk.
Her gaze fell on a red-violet ugly swollen welt on his upper arm. "Corrac?" she said, sitting up in bed. "Love? What happened to your arm?" Cuts and bruises were hardly an uncommon occurrence on either of them, but this was a particularly painful-looking one, and he hadn't been engaged in anything particularly dangerous of late, merely overseeing the training of a few new recruits.
Corrac turned, and he smiled at her, and she felt the way she did whenever she saw that smile-- that all the joy that had been denied her during her first twenty-four years was being repaid in full all at once. For all his fierceness in battle, his smile was still a guileless little boy's, open, trusting, giving and receiving love so easily. She had watched that smile make so many people-- from angry farmers with grievances to settle in his court, to foreign dignitaries-- fall half in love with him.
"Oh, this? Never you mind, my star. I got it because I was a trifle too cocky while sparring with one of our new recruits. Gods, was she a prize find. Just a farm girl from Three Corners, a farrier's daughter, but give her a few years and she'll be one of the finest swords in Wilder's Gorge!"
"Oh? What's her name? I've a mind to speak to the new blood myself later, see if any of them can hit the side of the stables with an arrow."
"Magda, she said. You'll love her, Reyn. Gods, we NEED more men and women like her. We spoke at length after drills yesterday. She's not like the ones who sign up to serve because they want a steady flow of silver and a drier roof over their heads than they're accustomed to, though gods know I can't fault them either. She told me she has dreamed all her life of serving Wilder's Gorge with her sword arm, protecting the people, and serving the Fulcairns who've always been good to the people. She said it was the happiest day of her life when we accepted her." Aye, thought Reynhild, that definitely doesn't sound like currying favour when said by a farmgirl to the next Baron. But she would never voice her cynicism, not to Corrac, not when his happy smile blazed the life-giving warmth of the summer solstice.
"She sounds delightful," she returned, "and I shall go introduce myself later and show her around the grounds. But first..." She flung back the covers and reached for him. "Come here, my love. I've a mind to put you through some drills of my own."
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The young woman standing at Merrec's desk glanced back, saw her, and immediately dropped into an awkward gesture somewhere between a bow and a curtsy. "L... Lady Fulcairn!"
Reynhild held up a gauntleted hand. "Call me Reynhild, please. I've searched the whole keep for you. I scoured the training grounds and the barracks high and low, and here you are in Merrec's office!"
"Oh, milady, please don't think I was shirking my training. I'd never!" And immediately Reynhild knew that Corrac's judgment of Magda's character had been correct, as it usually was. The girl shone with sincerity, honesty, eagerness to please... almost as much as Corrac. People like them are like great warm bonfires that cold black souls like myself warm our hands at. "It's just that Merrec told me about something he had heard of in Stormpoint that he could help me with. A promise-- A permit--"
Merrec smiled gently. "A promissory note. Good morning, Lady Reynhild! Our new recruit has requested a promissory note. The Great Bank of Stormpoint is issuing promissory notes that, once sealed with the sigil of a Great House, can be exchanged for currency or goods. Young Magda here has requested that four-fifths of her pay be in the form of promissory notes, that I then send by raven to her family at Three Corners."
"Oh, Lady Reynhild, I'm so grateful you've hired me onto the guard! It'll be such a help to my family! You see, my father is a farrier, and he was gravely wounded in an accident and can't work, and my mother's taken ill, and I'm the oldest and my siblings are just babes still, and--"
A loving family who sacrifice for each other in the lean times. Reynhild felt a pang of... jealousy? Aye, that's something I've never known. But I have it now.
"We will be happy to accommodate you in this regard, Magda. My husband speaks quite highly of your sword arm. The Gorge has need of skilled warriors, and we're most pleased to have you. "
The girl's face turned redder than beetroot soup. "I... I don't deserve the honour... I..."
"Once you're done with your promissory note, why don't you join me at the archery range and we'll see how your bow arm is?"
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Reynhild turned her back and ran, ran with all of her considerable speed, for the flickering and rapidly closing portal at the entrance to the ensorceled villa.
Oh gods, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, Corrac.
I'm sorry, Magda.
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