Duty: a novel of Rhynan by Rachel Rossano Page B

provision
enough to turn and reclaim what was taken.” He moved his food about
without eating. “Until then, we wait.” He dropped his bowl and
rubbed his forehead. “I am not hungry. I think I shall bed down.”
He rose to his feet and offered me a hand up. “We both need our
rest.”
    We settled in under the tent. For the first time I
was thankful for his presence at my back. His body heat kept the
growing cold from overwhelming me.
    ~~~~~
    The defeated appeared at dawn as we gathered up our
gear for the day’s travel. They arrived in a cloud of dust white
with sleepy sunlight. The healer plowed into the fray seeking
wounded.
    The leader rode straight to Irvaine. Not bothering to
dismount, he inclined his head. “My lord, Quaren has deserted.”
    “What?”
    “After sending Kuylan ahead, he ordered us to find
you. He took only a water skin and three day’s rations. Last we saw
him, he was moving south.”
    “Wise man,” Irvaine muttered. “He intends to
intercept the supply caravan. Someone needed to do it. I wouldn’t
have chosen Quaren to accomplish it, but he most likely needs a
task to occupy his mind.”
    “My lord?”
    “Nothing of consequence, Ryon. You have been granted
a temporary promotion until Quaren returns. Go see to your
men.”
    Ryon bit down on a protest and saluted with two
fingers to his left brow. He then prodded his horse back to his
company.
    Irvaine resumed his interrupted task, lifting me onto
my horse.
    “You don’t consider Quaren’s action desertion, do
you?”
    “Going up.” He hoisted me up into the saddle.
    I settled myself. He handed me the reins.
    Once mounted himself, he guided his horse to my
side.
    “No, Brielle, I don’t consider Quaren a deserter. He
saw to it that his men were safe. Once accomplishing his duty, he
turned his energy to his more important duty of protecting his
daughter and our resources. We don’t want our rations and loved
ones riding straight into the enemy’s waiting arms. I hope he
reaches them in time.” The distant focus of his gaze planted a
revelation in my mind.
    “You have someone in that caravan too.” My tone
accused more than I intended. His back tightened and his shoulders
came up. He didn’t meet my gaze.
    The horn signaling for us to move on tore through the
tension. In the following cacophony of shouts and horses’ hooves,
snorts, and whinnies, I almost didn’t hear his response.
    “My son.”
    My world shifted.
    “I will answer your questions.” He studied my face.
Wariness tightened his shoulders as though he expected me to be
angry.
    I was, but not a large measure. Despite my disquiet,
my brain proceeded to process everything. It made sense for him to
not tell me of his son at first. Still so much about him remained a
mystery to be discovered. I still felt awkward about the idea of
being his wife. Motherhood carried a whole new set of
responsibilities. The most pressing thought, though, was for the
woman who gave him the child. “What was she like?”
    “My wife?” His focus shifted inward. “She was
vibrant.”
    I noted the lack of emotion in his voice. My relief
at the boy’s legitimate origins quickly transitioned into shame. I
was a fool to think Irvaine immoral enough to produce otherwise. If
there was one thing I had learned about my husband, he valued the
marriage bed.
    “How old is the boy?”
    “Five summers. She succumbed to fever shortly after
giving him life.” His features aged at the memory.
    That made the boy a year older than Loren’s
step-daughter. Just placing his age in relation to her made him
more tangible. Tempted to visualize him, I resisted. Regardless of
how I viewed his father, I wanted to see him for himself. Others
always judged me by my connections. I was the former lord’s
daughter, Orwin’s cousin, the remnant of a great family left among
the ashes of once vibrant traditions and power. Now I was Lord
Irvaine’s wife…a mother. Simply the word made my heart swell