Eadred shows his breeding

Condal’s head turned slightly as Eadred stepped up to her, and her cheek rounded into a hint of a smile, but there was no shy dipping of her chin. There were no dimples of delight.

He had meant to proclaim his disbelief that no man had asked such a pretty girl to dance, but the remark dried and curled up like a flake upon his tongue. She was not some leather-​​booted village maid in apron and braids. This was not a country dance on a packed-​​dirt floor.

Then Lady Gwynn gave him such a look that he suspected she was having the same thoughts herself, and wondering at the impudence of this ill-​​bred, freckle-​​faced upstart.

Eadred’s struck pride boomed like a drum, and in its swell he had another idea.

“How are you liking the music, Connie?”

Condal’s head tipped slightly to the side as she considered the question, lifting her ear towards the musicians overhead.

She did not seem to notice she was also tipping her cheek up to the gaze of Eadred’s eyes, nor illuminating the delicate, kissable curve of her jaw, nor baring the silky skin of her neck.

Eadred drank up one deep look and then turned back to the dance.

Solemnly she declared, “It’s very pretty music, I’m thinking. Very grand.”

“Ahhh.” Eadred nodded, attempting to cloak his naturally jovial face with a gravely thoughtful expression. “I was wondering, you see.”

As he had hoped, Condal looked up at him and cheeped, “Why?”

“Because…” He lowered his head and asked in a confiding whisper, “Are you knowing what Mammie used to say?”

Condal’s face blossomed into a smile she could not contain. Her round face was all soft curves and crinkles – and dimples!

“What did Mammie say?” she whispered eagerly.

“She used to say, ‘The girl who can’t dance says the piper can’t play.’”

She laughed! Eadred thought a man would never notice the winter had come and the birds had flown if such merry, warbling laughter met him every morning. And in spite of all her sorrows he could make her laugh!

But Lady Gwynn heard, and as she turned in the dance, she sent Eadred a look that she must have meant for a slap.

Eadred ignored her and leaned his head down to Condal’s. “I was thinking that was why you weren’t dancing, for surely you’d been asked.”

The brightness of her face clouded, but he hurried to speak before she could protest.

“Like a fencepost between four dogs you must be feeling tonight – as Mammie used to say,” he winked.

“Ach, Mammie!” she giggled, and her cheeks darkened like ripening apples at the slight impropriety of the remark.

At that moment Eadred forgave Mammie every whipping she had ever delivered him.

“But I truly can’t dance these English dances!” Condal protested when she had caught her breath.

“That suits me fine,” he said, “for I’m finding the piper can’t play them.”

“You can’t either?” she whispered.

“I can only dance our country dances,” he said frankly, “for I wasn’t bred to this. I’ll have to be learning now. But I’m thinking I’ll always like our old dances better. More leaping and laughter, less – less – ”

He looked at the dance for inspiration, but Mammie had never seen the like to offer up a comment. His eyes rested on Lady Gwynn, and he said in English, “Simpering.”

Condal looked down and seemed to hold her question for a moment like a strange taste upon her tongue. Then she asked shyly, “What’s simpering?”

“It’s… it’s a… it’s when you’re smiling without your… your dimples,” he sighed in defeat.

“What are dimples?”

“Ach! Do you know what Mammie used to say?”

“No! What?” she giggled.

“Nothing! I was just wanting to see you smile so I could be pointing out your dimples–here and here.”

He touched her cheeks as gently as he could, with no more than his fingertips, and still he found his hands big and crude against her little face – and still he wanted to hold her little face between them and look into the tabby whorls of her eyes.

She told him the Gaelic word, but her living dimples had faded even before it was pronounced.

All her apple-​​like color and curves, all her brightness, all her merriment drained away, and her face was the ghastly reverse of her look of livid horror at being told he was trying to marry her. His heart twanged like a snapped string.

Gwynn glanced at him and smiled – or rather simpered.

“Tell me if I’m bothering you,” he said softly to Condal. “Or all of us dogs – I’ll chase them off before I go.”

“Ach, no!” she whimpered. “You’re so funny and kind… and… and jolly,” she said in English. She hesitated a moment before whispering, “What’s jolly? I hope it isn’t bad.”

“Funny and kind,” he smiled.

“I thought it sounded like a funny, kind word,” she said with a relieved smile of her own. “So, do you see? You know it’s true.”

She curled her fingers quickly around his arm, too gently even to be called a squeeze, but with the magical touch of her light hand she rendered him big and strong.

“And I like to hear about Mammie,” she added.

God bless Mammie!

“May I be coming to tell you stories about Mammie some other time?” he ventured. “When I may be the only dog?”

The sudden, soft gravity of her face was heartrending even as she turned it away. This young lady appeared to consider every question with the same seriousness, from a polite query about the music to such life-​​altering matters as these. It was a wonder she ever found the lightness to laugh. And yet he could make her laugh!

“I yap a lot,” he added slyly, “but I don’t bite.”

“Good sir,” she murmured, “if you’re wanting to… to pay attention to me, I wish you would be speaking to my Cousin Egelric first. He’s the guardian of me.”

It was not a refusal!

“If you like,” he shrugged.

Condal peeked up at him. “Aren’t you afraid of him?”

“Of Egelric? He’s a good friend of mine. All you need to know to get along with Egelric is when to leave him alone.”

“Oh!” Condal gazed at him in wonder, and Eadred took the opportunity to drink deeply of her face. He thought a man would never notice the sun had set and night had fallen if such softly shining beauty met him every evening.

Then Finn’s hands clapped close by him as the dancers passed, and Eadred recalled that Egelric might have objections on his own account.

“And if he says I may no?” he asked her.

“Then I shall respect his decision,” she said gravely. “I think you are kind and good, but I think my sister Flann was thinking the same of her first man, and my sister Eithne was thinking the same, too. But Cousin Egelric will know whether you are bad.”

They both watched the dancers for a moment. Now that Condal was looking, Gwynn only smiled vaguely.

At last he said, “You are very wise for so young a lady.” He admired her for it, too, though he might have had better luck with a fool.

“Ach, not at all!” she gasped pleadingly. “I’m not wise at all! That’s why I’m asking Cousin Egelric to be wise for me!”

“That’s the only real wisdom there is, Connie,” he sighed. “Knowing when you don’t know.”

He nearly clapped a hand down on her shoulder, as he did his friends and fellow guards at the conclusion of philosophical discussions held at the tavern or atop the wall.

But his hand found nothing – her shoulder was so very thin, and she was so very small. The only proper way to hold her, he thought, would be to pass his arm around her, pull her snugly against his side, let her head rest against the broad, flat muscles of his chest…

“Is that something Mammie said?” she asked.

He was not touching her; she stood apart from him. Her thin, delicate body was unsupported, unsheltered, but he was bred to be a guard.

“Ach, no, Connie,” he said thoughtfully. “But I’m thinking it was Mammie who taught me it was true.”