Leta tried to demonstrate interest as she looked into the small, damp chamber housing the castle water supply. Like Aiven’s, it was located within the keep itself so that should siege come upon the castle, the defenders could retreat all the way to the keep and still have everything necessary for life and defense.
“It’s the best water you’ll find anywhere in the North Country,” Alistair claimed proudly.
Leta nodded. Then she asked, “Has this castle suffered under many sieges?”
“More than you can count, though not since my uncle’s mastery,” Alistair replied and seemed pleased to be asked. “And never once has Gaheris fallen!”
Leta knew he expected some comment, but she could think of nothing, so she smiled again.
“Yes,” said Alistair, turning away from her with something of a sigh. “Shall we continue?”
They emerged at last through a door into the inner courtyard. Alistair waved a hand to indicate the castle’s guest wing, where, he informed her, the steward and other servants of high rank lived. “The castle chronicler has rooms there as well, but he rarely emerges from his library,” Alistair said. “And beyond that wall”—he indicated the opposite side of the courtyard—“is a sheer drop down to the river below. Another of Gaheris’s defenses.”
“What is that?” Leta asked, pointing to something along that same wall. It was a small mausoleum in marble with a heavy wooden door, rather finely made, eye-catching amid the harsh and militaristic lines of Gaheris.
“The entrance to the family crypt,” Alistair replied, leading her toward it. “Beyond the door, a stairway leads down to the vaults where my ancestors are laid. My father is there. What’s left of him.”
Leta shivered at this and drew her cloak more tightly about herself. She felt as though she looked upon her own final resting place. After all, she would marry into the House of Gaheris and someday be laid among the lords and ladies of the castle. “Our woman’s lot,” she whispered.
“What was that?” her betrothed asked.
But she merely shook her head. He beckoned her to follow him to the outer courtyard, which was a veritable market square open to the farmers who tilled the fields beyond Gaheris’s walls. The housecarls’ barracks lined the north wall, with the stables and smithy on the west. It was all much grander than Aiven, though Leta knew her father was considered the second most powerful earl in the North Country. No wonder all talk of possible kingship centered on Gaheris House and no other!
“Do you hunt?” Alistair asked as they neared the stables.
“I . . . I never have,” she replied, ducking her head before she could see the disappointment on his face.
“Well, never mind,” he said, his voice cheerful if a little forced. “My mother dislikes the hunt herself. She calls it a bloody ritual of—”
“My lord! My lord Alistair!”
A stableboy came running up to them, bowing and touching his forelock and hardly sparing a glance for Leta. “It’s your red hunter, my lord! Master Nicon wishes you to come at once!”
“Ah, the same old trouble, eh?” Alistair said, his voice light but with a trace of concern behind the lightness. He turned to Leta. “I must see to this. The stables are no place for a lady. Shall I . . . shall I escort you back?”
He looked frustrated at the prospect despite that ever-determined smile. Leta hastily replied, “Oh no, I can find my way well enough. And if I miss a turn, surely someone will direct me.”
Relieved, Alistair bowed over her hand and kissed it in a distracted manner. The next moment, he was hastening off behind the stableboy, and Leta watched his red head disappear into the gloom of the stables.
There was nothing for it. She must return to her rooms and the boredom of a day highlighted only by a prospective supper with her future mother-in-law. “Our woman’s lot,” she muttered again and retraced her steps through the gates. Determined to ignore the crypt with its fine marble, she turned her head away and saw, on the opposite side of the inner courtyard, a humble shed.
Even as she watched, a wizened little man emerged from it, a lowly scrubber carrying a mop over one shoulder. He saw her too and grinned and bowed. What an ugly creature he was, as old as age itself! She gave a cool nod and hastened on to the keep.
Oddly enough, as she passed through the doorway into the dim and drafty halls, Leta met no one. She continued to meet no one as she climbed the first set of stairs and paused at the top, trying to remember from which way she had come. The passages right and left looked exactly alike to her, so she took the right one and went up another winding stair, though she was certain by then she’d chosen incorrectly. Arriving at a long, well-furnished passage that seemed familiar, she hurried to its end and opened the final door, expecting to come upon her own rooms.