Egelric gets the news

“They’re just sitting down to supper,” Egelric whispered to Bertie as they came up the stairs. It was dreadful of him to be peeking in the window, but it was a lovely picture.

However, all was not quite what he had expected: Alwy sat in a clean white shirt such as a gentleman would wear and had his beard neatly trimmed, although his hair was as unruly as ever. Little Wynna was wearing a pretty yellow dress, and her dark hair hung as straight and as smooth as Iylaine’s, instead of being twisted up into uneven braids. It seemed that the magic of Gunnilda’s transformation had spread throughout the household.

“Wait until you see your sister,” he whispered to Bertie—but Bertie had already burst into the kitchen with a whoop worthy of a young Scot. Egelric paused a moment at the window to smile at the surprise and delight on the faces within before following Bertie into the house.

Thus Iylaine was in his arms before he had even closed the door behind him, and he had to kick it shut with his foot and carry her inside before he could allow her to properly cover his face with kisses. What a beauty she was! And what a sight after a month of dark-​haired, dark-​eyed little lasses!

But when Iylaine left him to give the same treatment to young Bertie, it was a dark-​haired, dark-​eyed little lady who embraced him, and he thought he would not soon tire of this one.

Over the past month, the recent images of Gunnilda in her green gown had been submerged by his older, deeper memories of her coarse dresses and heavy apron, with the wild locks of hair streaming down around her face. And so it was again a wonder to see her looking so trim and neat and small, and to feel the curves of her back beneath the smooth fabric.

Only… she smelled different—and yet familiar. “My God—do I smell elder flower water?” he laughed suddenly.

“Oh!” she blushed. “I guess I been putting some on my face and hands. Githa says it will make me less brown.”

“But why would you want to be less brown?” he smiled. “I think you and I are quite handsome just the color we are.”

“But you’re a man.”

“And?” he chuckled, drawing her away from the children’s commotion and into the shadows of the hall. “But continue to use your elder flower water, by all means. It reminds me of my grandmother—the only woman who ever loved me truly, I think. But I must warn you that I may become sentimental.”

“Oh, pish!”

“Is Alwy a wealthier man than I thought?” he asked, suddenly realizing that the jewels she wore were not the sort of trinkets of tinsel and glass that her sisters used to flaunt.

“Oh, my, no. It’s His Grace the Duke what gave me these,” she said, blushing more deeply. “For saving his daughter.”

“He should have given you pearls then.”

“So he said, but rubies was all he had—funny as that sounds for a little bird like me to say,” she giggled.

“But they are lovely on you. Lovelier, I think, than pearls would have been—although I should like to see pearls in your hair once before I say.”

“Oh, go on with you. I feel like—”

“Ma! Look at my knife!” Bertie interrupted.

“Oh, heaven help us! A knife on the boy!”

Bertie pulled Gunnilda away into the light, and it was Alwy who came to him next, looking both shy and proud. “Was he a real good boy like I told him to be?” he asked.

“A much better boy than my two young cousins were, but I shall not say any more than that,” Egelric winked. “I think we worked some of the devilment out of him for a while, though. What about you? You look quite the gentleman these days!”

“Well, I don’t know, but I guess I got to dress this way now. Don’t tell Gunnie, but I just take this shirt off whenever I go out to work, and put it on again when I come home. Else it gets real dirty.”

Egelric laughed. “Someone should warn Githa before she gets back on her feet!”

“How come?”

“Never mind, Alwy, it’s just my joke with Githa. But I know what you mean about white shirts. That’s why I still wear the red.”

“That’s real clever of you,” Alwy said admiringly.

“What’s the news, Alwy? It doesn’t look as if there has been much rain.”

“There hasn’t been any, but that’s not what’s got me worried.” Alwy’s face went suddenly grim.

“What has?”

Alwy led him a few steps back into the hall. “Haven’t you talked to the Duke?”

“I came directly here with Bertie. The King was going to the Duke, though—but why?”

“Well, I don’t know, but I guess you didn’t kill that elf after all, what was already dead.”

“What?” Egelric felt a dreadful chill for such a summer evening.

“Well, there was a lady killed on the new moon. And that place where we buried the elf, that was dug up that night. And he was gone.”

“Who dug him up?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe he did dug himself up.”

Egelric wondered whether Alwy had been told about the two people—or elves—who had come up out of the crypt. He would ask Alred instead. But he thought he might know who had done the digging.

“What other news, Alwy?” he asked, and the man was easily enough distracted from this topic onto others less grave.

Egelric listened with one ear, but his mind was busy trying to make sense of what he had just been told, and his eyes were constantly returning to the back of Gunnilda’s neck, or his daughter’s blonde head—he had left them here while he went off to Scotland. He had left them here alone.

Of course he trusted Alwy to defend them, but what could Alwy do after all? Could the creature even be killed? He hoped there was another one—he hoped that it had been the other one who had dug up the body, and that the body would not walk again. He would have to try to speak with the other one.

And perhaps it could lead him to his son… how many times had he regretted that one impulsive thrust of his sword! If he could only have learned more from the loathsome creature…

“What, Alwy? I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else.”