Year of the Unicorn by Andre Norton Read Free Book Online

would see me gone.
     
    And he did not! Though, as I reached the side corridor, I leaned limply against the cold stone of the wall, spent with the effort of that willing. And the excitement in me was augmented by another emotion-that of wonder and triumph mixed. For a period out of real time I stood so, savouring what I believed I had done-but one cool portion of me doubted, acted as a brake. Then I went up the stairs facing me and out on to a terrace or lookout walk. The snow gave a certain lightness, but the bulk of the dark heights were only slightly silvered by the moon veiled by drifting clouds.
     
    There was a wind, fresh, as if it blew from yet higher peaks-free lands where the dust of the Dales could never linger. Only, now that I had reached this place, that urge which had brought me here was fast dying, and I could find no reason for it. In spite of my cloak I shivered in the wind, drew back to the doorway for protection.
     
    "What do you do here?"
     
    There was no mistaking that voice. Why or how Lord Imgry shared my need for deep night wandering, I did not know. But our meeting I could not escape.
     
    "I wished the fresh air-" My reply was stupid, meaningless. But to seek delays was useless.
     
    As I turned I held my hand to my eyes for he swept me with the dazzling light of a hand lamp. He must first have read the device on Marimme's borrowed tabard, for his hand flashed out and gripped my shoulder with punishing force, dragging me closer to him.
     
    "Fool! Little fool!" Passion stirred under that adamant tone, not one soft-turned to Marimme, but rather one concerned with his good or ill. And somehow that thought armoured me and I dropped my masking hand to meet him eye to eye.
     
    "You are not Marimme." He kept grip on my shoulder, swung the lamp still closer to me. "Nor are you any other rightful of this company. Who are you?" And his fingers were five sword points in my flesh, so that I could have cried out under their torment but did not.
     
    "I am of this company, my lord. I am Gillan, out of Norstead-"
     
    "So! They would dare, those mouse-squeak women, to do this-"
     
    "Not so." I did not strive to throw off his hold, since I knew that I could not, but I stood straight-shouldered under it. And I think my denial of his accusation broke the surface of his anger and made him listen. "This was of my own planning-"
     
    "You? And what have you to do with decisions beyond your making? You shall rue this-"
     
    Passion curbed, but perhaps all the more deadly for that curbing. But to meet his anger I summoned will. Somehow I knew that I could not impress upon this man my desire as I had upon the sentry-if I had-still will gave me a shield to arm-sling for my own protection.
     
    "The time for rue is past-or has not yet come." I tried to choose my words with care, those best to hold attention and make him think. "Time is not one of your menie this night, my lord. Return me to Norstead and you have lost. Send me back with one of your men, and again you have lost-for at the Throat of the Hawk there must be twelve and one, or honour shall be broke."
     
    His arm moved and he shook me to and fro, his strength so that in his grasp I was a straw thing. But my will held and I faced him. Then he flung me away so I slipped in the snow and went to my knees, jarring against the parapet of that walk. And I do not believe in that instant he would have cared had I been hurled over it and down.
     
    I pulled to my feet and I was shaking, my bruised shoulder all pain, the fear of what might have been brushing me still. But I could face him head up and still clear of thought, knowing what I must say.
     
    "You were to provide one of the brides, my lord. I am here, nor will I nay-say that I am here through your will, should witness be needed. And still you have Marimme who is of such beauty as to make a fine match. Have you truly lost aught by this?"
     
    I could hear his breathing, heavy as that of a man who had tried to