Ravensmuir as if it were my own.
Because, of course, it was.
* * *
III
There is something in the wind when foul fortune is pending. Dogs are made uneasy with it. Cats will coil themselves into watchful balls before the fire when they sense it. And I, too, since my burn was inflicted, feel it in the wound.
Indeed, I began to itch with it as soon as we crossed the threshold of Ravensmuir. I was certain that I was watched, that some hungry gaze kept vigil over me. It was an eerie sensation and made the hairs prickle on the back of my neck.
I attributed it, though, to Ada’s sour welcome and refused to bend to her malicious will.
The great hall was cold and barren, not so much as a candle lit within its echoing expanse, and it seemed to me to be haunted by Merlyn. He must have stayed here recently, if not several nights past, and the yawning emptiness of the keep seemed to echo with that.
I peered into every corner, expecting to find him laughing at me. I glanced over my shoulder a dozen times, anticipating that he would be lurking in the shadows, a gleam of triumph in his eyes that he had made me the butt of his jest yet again.
There was nothing but dust in the shadows.
Dust and memories.
Unexpected tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. I would not weep for Merlyn Lammergeier. I knew too much of his dark secrets to mourn his passing.
All the same, I was uneasy. Perhaps Merlyn’s ghost would have preferred that I mourned him as diligently as Ada. His specter would have to wait an eternity for that.
Indeed, I sought festive cheer with a vengeance, as if I would thwart even this meager expectation of me.
“Look at this old hall,” I declared to none in particular. “It has not seen a merry Christmastide in years. Matters shall be different now that we abide here.”
“These rushes are withered and filthy beyond belief,” Mavella said, poking at them with her toe.
“We could make it clean!” Tynan said with the enthusiasm of one who will do little of the work.
We had need of some task to occupy us. We lit candles and set to work while we were yet dirty, sweeping the old rushes and dust from the hall. I did not expect that Ada would contribute, for she clearly had not tended to the chamber in years. Fitz began a song and Tynan sang with him, the two of them making such a ruin of the tune that Mavella and I were compelled to join them.
“We have need of a Yule log,” I said, for the empty fireplace was not only cold but disheartening.
“What is a Yule log?” Tynan asked. I ruffled his hair as he stood beside me.
Mavella and I exchanged a glance of guilt, for the boy knew so little of festivities. Celebration costs coin and for all of the boy’s short life, I had spent what coin we had upon food and fuel for the fire. We had considered ourselves fortunate to have tallow for a candle on Christmas Day.
“You are clearly too young to remember the merriment of past Yules,” Fitz said heartily, though his eyes revealed that he understood the truth. He smiled at Tynan. “A great hall has need of a great log, to warm the hearts and the hands of all who come to the hall on this festival of festivals.”
Tynan tugged at my hand. “Who will come, Ysabella?”
I looked to Fitz, who said nothing, then shrugged. “Traditionally, all of the peasants come to share at the bounty of their lord’s table.”
Tynan frowned. “What peasants?”
“I do not know whether there are any sworn to Ravensmuir any longer.”
Certainly, there was no village and no cultivated fields near Ravensmuir. Originally, Ravensmuir had been the summer abode of the lord of Kinfairlie. In former times - well before my own days! - its sustenance came from further inland, from the fields pledged to Kinfairlie proper. The destruction of Kinfairlie keep had been just before the first onslaught of the plague, the one which had killed nearly half the peasants hereabouts. Perhaps whatever peasants remained had simply
Because, of course, it was.
* * *
III
There is something in the wind when foul fortune is pending. Dogs are made uneasy with it. Cats will coil themselves into watchful balls before the fire when they sense it. And I, too, since my burn was inflicted, feel it in the wound.
Indeed, I began to itch with it as soon as we crossed the threshold of Ravensmuir. I was certain that I was watched, that some hungry gaze kept vigil over me. It was an eerie sensation and made the hairs prickle on the back of my neck.
I attributed it, though, to Ada’s sour welcome and refused to bend to her malicious will.
The great hall was cold and barren, not so much as a candle lit within its echoing expanse, and it seemed to me to be haunted by Merlyn. He must have stayed here recently, if not several nights past, and the yawning emptiness of the keep seemed to echo with that.
I peered into every corner, expecting to find him laughing at me. I glanced over my shoulder a dozen times, anticipating that he would be lurking in the shadows, a gleam of triumph in his eyes that he had made me the butt of his jest yet again.
There was nothing but dust in the shadows.
Dust and memories.
Unexpected tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. I would not weep for Merlyn Lammergeier. I knew too much of his dark secrets to mourn his passing.
All the same, I was uneasy. Perhaps Merlyn’s ghost would have preferred that I mourned him as diligently as Ada. His specter would have to wait an eternity for that.
Indeed, I sought festive cheer with a vengeance, as if I would thwart even this meager expectation of me.
“Look at this old hall,” I declared to none in particular. “It has not seen a merry Christmastide in years. Matters shall be different now that we abide here.”
“These rushes are withered and filthy beyond belief,” Mavella said, poking at them with her toe.
“We could make it clean!” Tynan said with the enthusiasm of one who will do little of the work.
We had need of some task to occupy us. We lit candles and set to work while we were yet dirty, sweeping the old rushes and dust from the hall. I did not expect that Ada would contribute, for she clearly had not tended to the chamber in years. Fitz began a song and Tynan sang with him, the two of them making such a ruin of the tune that Mavella and I were compelled to join them.
“We have need of a Yule log,” I said, for the empty fireplace was not only cold but disheartening.
“What is a Yule log?” Tynan asked. I ruffled his hair as he stood beside me.
Mavella and I exchanged a glance of guilt, for the boy knew so little of festivities. Celebration costs coin and for all of the boy’s short life, I had spent what coin we had upon food and fuel for the fire. We had considered ourselves fortunate to have tallow for a candle on Christmas Day.
“You are clearly too young to remember the merriment of past Yules,” Fitz said heartily, though his eyes revealed that he understood the truth. He smiled at Tynan. “A great hall has need of a great log, to warm the hearts and the hands of all who come to the hall on this festival of festivals.”
Tynan tugged at my hand. “Who will come, Ysabella?”
I looked to Fitz, who said nothing, then shrugged. “Traditionally, all of the peasants come to share at the bounty of their lord’s table.”
Tynan frowned. “What peasants?”
“I do not know whether there are any sworn to Ravensmuir any longer.”
Certainly, there was no village and no cultivated fields near Ravensmuir. Originally, Ravensmuir had been the summer abode of the lord of Kinfairlie. In former times - well before my own days! - its sustenance came from further inland, from the fields pledged to Kinfairlie proper. The destruction of Kinfairlie keep had been just before the first onslaught of the plague, the one which had killed nearly half the peasants hereabouts. Perhaps whatever peasants remained had simply
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