Sword in the Storm Read Online Free Page B

landed awkwardly on the thatched roof. The bird tilted its head, its eye of glittering jet staring down at the tall, slim green-clad young woman below.
    Another woman stepped from the house. “Your husband is home,” said Meria’s cousin Pelain. Meria glanced up toward the hills and saw the tall figure of Ruathain leading his pony down the slope. Young Braefar was sitting in the saddle. For some reason that she could never later recall, Meria found herself growing angry.
    “Aye, he’s home,” Meria said softly.
    Pelain gave her a sharp look. “You do not know how lucky you are,” she said. “He loves you.”
    Meria tried to ignore her, but it was difficult. Once Pelain got her teeth into a subject, she was harder to shake than amastiff. “You’d know what I mean if you were married to Borga,” Pelain continued with a wry smile. “He gets into bed from the left, rolls across me to the right. And somewhere between he grunts and asks, ‘Was it also a wonder for you?’ Happily he’s usually asleep before I answer.”
    Meria grinned. “You shouldn’t talk that way. Borga is a fine man.”
    “If he made his bread with the speed he makes love, we could feed the tribes all the way to the sea,” said Pelain. She transferred her gaze to the walking warrior. “I’d wager my dowry that he doesn’t brush across you like a summer breeze.”
    Meria reddened. “No, he doesn’t,” she admitted, immediately regretting the comment.
    “Then you should value him more,” observed Pelain. “I know I would.”
    The anger flared again. “Then you should have married him,” snapped Meria.
    “I would have—had he asked me,” answered Pelain, no hint of offense in her voice. “Two strong sons and no dead babies. Strong seed in that one.”
    Pelain had lost four children in the last five years. Not one had survived beyond five days. For a moment only Meria’s anger subsided, replaced by affection and sympathy. “You are still young,” she told her cousin. “There is time.”
    Pelain shook her head. “Vorna says there will be no more.”
    Ruathain opened the paddock gate, leading his pony inside and lifting his son to the ground. Braefar took the reins and led the pony away. The warrior kissed Meria’s cheek, then swung to Pelain. “If you are here making mischief for me,” he said with a smile, “I shall throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to your husband’s house.”
    “Please do so,” she replied, “since he’s not there and I have a wide bed just waiting to be filled by a real man.”
    For a moment Ruathain stood shocked. Then he laughedaloud. “By heavens, you have become a wicked woman,” he told her.
    Even the normally outspoken Pelain seemed surprised by her own comment. “Wicked or not, I know when I am not needed,” she replied lamely before heading back into the house.
    Ruathain took his wife’s hand and kissed it. Above him the crow suddenly cawed and danced along the rooftop. Ruathain glanced up. He had no love of carrion birds, but he knew they served a purpose and was normally content to leave them be. But this one caused the hackles to rise on his neck.
    “Did you get a good price at market?” asked Meria.
    “Fair. No more than that. The Norvii also brought their cattle. I was lucky to sell on the first day. By the third the price dropped considerably. Have the boys been well behaved?” The question caused her anger to flare again. Why should his absence bring a change in their behavior? Did he think her some weak-minded wench who could not control unruly children?
    Ignoring the question, she told him: “There is a hot pie just baked. You must be hungry.”
    “Hungry for sight of you and the boys,” he said. She gave a wan smile and moved away toward the doorway. He was about to follow when Connavar appeared from the far side of the house. Meria gave a broad smile, her mood seeming to lift momentarily, like the sun breaking through clouds.
    “Where have you been, my