Peaceweaver Read Online Free PDF Page A

wide, before he took it back.
    “Come, younglings, and watch where you step,” Siri said, and a slave ran forward to usher the boys back inside.
    As Hild rose, she heard her aunt Var’s deep voice greeting them from down the path. “I thought I’d find you here.”
    She suppressed a groan.
Goddess help me
. She had to get away before a new round of faultfinding began.
    Careful not to let her eyes meet her aunt’s, she called a bright “Greetings, Auntie!” and gave a little wave before she turned and hurried back down the path toward the geese. She could hear her aunt calling her name, but she waved again and kept going, her lips turned up in what she hoped was a convincing smile. Just beyond the geese, the lane branched. With a last glance behind her, she turned.
    Although her loom beckoned and her fingers itched toget back to the pattern she was weaving, it wasn’t worth hearing more about how foolish she’d been. And who knew how many other women—neighbors, aunts, cousins—would show up to offer their opinions. She couldn’t go home yet. She needed to talk to Beyla, and she knew just where her friend would be.
    At the stables, she paused in the doorway, inhaling the pleasant scent of horse and hay. A boy hurried over, bowed, and stood waiting for her instructions, but she waved him away and headed for Fleetfoot’s stall. As she approached, she could see her horse baring his long teeth in a ridiculous face of bliss. Beyla, who had no horse of her own, was currying him.
    “You’re spoiling my horse.”
    “Of course I am.” Beyla didn’t look up from her work. “Let your auntie Beyla spoil you,” she crooned at Fleetfoot, who slobbered his approval.
    Hild laughed and touched her forehead to her horse’s nose, letting his warmth steady her after the tension in the hall.
    “I saw your mother running after you. What did she say?” Beyla asked.
    “What you’d expect.”
    Beyla shook her head and reached for the horse’s front foot, pushing the battered silver arm ring she wore as a bracelet over her elbow when it threatened to fall off her wrist. “Someday she’s got to see that you’re right.”
    “But today …,” Hild began, and when Beyla grinned up at her, they finished the line in unison: “… is not that day.”
    They laughed and Beyla straightened, brushing horsehair from her skirt and blowing her own hair, which had come loose from its knot, out of her face. “You didn’t know Garwulf would be there, did you?”
    “Not till this morning when I saw him ride in. Turn around.” Hild took Beyla’s unruly brown hair in her hands, retying the knot. Her work wouldn’t last long. Beyla spent a good part of her life being told to stand still while somebody knotted her hair again or repinned one of her brooches or straightened her gown.
    “I wish I could have seen his face when you gave him the horn,” she said. “From where I was standing, I could barely see the back of his head.”
    “He blushed,” Hild said, smiling.
    Beyla turned, her grin revealing the gap between her front teeth. “I’ll bet he did.”
    “You should have seen what happened at the gate this morning, what Mord did.”
    A woman’s voice from the stable doorway interrupted her. “Beyla? Are you in here?”
    “Goat’s breath,” Beyla whispered. “It’s my turn with Granny.” She called out, “Coming, Mother,” before lowering her voice again and speaking apologetically. “I want to hear what happened, but not now.”
    “I know,” Hild said. She wouldn’t see Beyla for the restof the day—not when she had to care for her grandmother. It was hard to believe Beyla’s granny had ever been young or happy, so difficult and unpleasant was she now, demanding the undivided attention of the person caring for her. From experience, they knew it was easier for Beyla when Hild didn’t try to help. “I’ll tell you tomorrow at the festival.”
    Beyla nodded and gave Fleetfoot’s mane one last tug before she