The River's Gift by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online

finished primping her
as if she was a giant doll, one of the servants appeared in the door of her
room.
    "He's
here, Lady Magda!" the girl said excitedly. "He's waiting in the
great hall!"
    Still
fussing with the veil, Lady Magda drew Ariella to her feet and pulled her along
by the hand. "Come, child, it's time to meet your cousin. Let's have no
more sulks, but only smiles."
    Smiles? What did she have
to smile about? But Magda wouldn't hear a word she said, so she didn't even try
to contradict the old biddy; she simply let herself be drawn along in Magda's bustling
wake to the great hall, where candles flickered uneasily in the drafts, and the
room seemed suddenly too small to contain all the huge and armored men who
crowded into it. Strange, dark faces beneath coifs of chain turned to stare at
them as they entered at the door.
    "Here
she is!" Magda sang out. "Here's your little maid, Lord Lyon!"
    Before
Ariella could wonder who Lord Lyon was, the sea of tall, grimly dark men
parted, and a single golden figure strode out of their midst.
    He
alone of all of them was bare-headed, and his hair was as brilliantly sun-hued
as the grain at harvest. His chainmail armor had been washed with gold, and it
glittered in the candlelight. Over it he wore a surcoat of brilliant scarlet,
with a seated lion embroidered proudly on the front. He was taller by half a
head than the men around him, with piercing black eyes, a jutting chin, and a
firm mouth, which just now was smiling as he held out both hands towards her.
    "Lady
Ariella! We meet at long last!" he boomed in an overwhelmingly loud and
deep voice as he seized both her hands in his, hands which engulfed hers
completely. "They told me you were the image of your blessed mother, and
they spoke truth! Truly the Wild Swan of Swan Manor is the loveliest maiden in all the world!"
    Everything
about him was—much too large, too overpowering. Ariella stared at him in
confusion, trying to make some sense out of what he said. He bent to kiss her
hands and she looked down at the top of his head with its sun-gold curls
cascading down the back of his neck, wanting to pull her hands away from his
proprietary, too- firm grip and not daring to. He looked up, and caught her
gazing at him; she glanced away in confusion, feeling heat mount in her cheeks
as he straightened again, towering above her.
    "Ah,
shy, sweeting? No matter. A little shyness is a proper thing in a maiden."
He turned his head and looked past her at Lady Magda. "I have no cause to
regret our fathers' pact, cousin Magda. Your lady is all the prize that rumor
claimed her to be. I shall be glad and proud to be the man who tamed the Wild
Swan."
    Pact? Prize? Ariella finally reclaimed her hands and twisted them together as she tried to
make something of the perplexing words. What pact? Was there—she tried to
recall—something that the Abbot had said?
    The
man was still speaking, although Ariella had lost the first few words. ".
. . be on our way," he said to Lady Magda. "Immediately. We have much to do."
    "Oh,
surely you'll stay a fortnight at least," Lady Magda protested. "The
child has only just buried her poor father! And surely you'll wish to look over
the Manor!"
    There
was steel beneath the man's voice, and his brows creased together in a faint
frown. "I fear that is hardly possible," he replied. "I have my
own lands to see to, after all, and I must assemble a gathering of guests and
witnesses before the snow flies to make our pact binding. My steward will take
care of everything necessary here— you, of course, will remain as chatelaine to
see to the domestic affairs. I trust that the Lady's gear is packed and ready
to be taken?"
    "Well,
y-y-yes," Lady Magda stammered. A single wave of his hand dismissed any
other words she might say. "Then get your Lady's cloak, have her litter
prepared, and we will be off!" he said imperiously. "My steward will
take charge here for me, and he will take the room that was Lady Ariella's.
Obey his