From the back cover:
"I am assigning a guardian to ward you. His name is Roman. . . ."

Thus begins Surchatain Karel's explanation to his daughter, ten-year-old Chataine Deirdre, as to why her life is about to change dramatically. Karel's small country, Lystra, possesses the only navigable river on the southern coast of the Continent. The provinces that surround Lystra want its river trade, and will do anything to gain it—even kill the heir to the throne. So, hand selecting the most capable and trustworthy soldier he can find, Karel places her life in his keeping.

Willful and spoiled, Deirdre sees this guardian only as another servant. She teases and abuses him as he places his life on the line for her day after day, year after year. Deirdre does not know at what point she begins to love him. But Roman knows from the very beginning that to love her will mean his death.


CHAPTER ONE

I am Penuel. This is my account to you of what I have seen and done in accordance with your instructions regarding Deirdre of Lystra.

As you know, Deirdre was heir and Chataine to Surchatain Karel, ruler of Lystra. At that time the Continent was fractured into many small, independent states, each with its own lord, laws, and army. Before they were united under the great Ruler, each zealously defended its own borders and rule.

I will commence this narrative with the day during Deirdre's tenth year that her father, Karel, assigned a guardian, Roman, to ward her. . . .

The nursemaid sighed as if to fortify herself and opened the door separating her room from the Chataine's sleeping room. Setting down the tray she had carried in, she sighed again as she saw what she expected to see: total disarray in the elegant room that had been perfect when she had put the Chataine to bed the night before. She bent to pick up a velvet overrobe and little brocade slippers, muttering, "I must speak to the guard about not letting her out of her room at night." She gathered other items that obscured the thick-woven rug: dresses tried on and discarded; gold jewelry laid out in the semblance of a face; a platter with pastry crumbs on it, purloined from the kitchen.

Clearing this litter uncovered something else—a crude stick doll, like those the village children played with. "Ugh!" The nursemaid lifted it with two fingers and tossed it into the faintly glowing embers of the fireplace.

Turning to the windows in the far wall, she drew apart the heavy velvet draperies and opened the shutters. Early morning air and light filled the close chamber. "Chataine, dear, wake up," she said to the massive canopy bed. There was a child-sized lump under piles of downy quilts, but it did not move.

She crossed over to the bed and pulled back the quilts to look down on her charge. Slender little form and delicate little features; fair, creamy skin and thick wheat-colored tresses—who could be angry at such a child? Then the nursemaid saw her own missing necklace, her one piece of jewelry, wrapped around the little wrist. Sighing again in exasperation, she unwound it, urging, "Chataine, wake up."

"Go away, Nanna," the child mumbled, pulling up the quilts.

"You must get up now, dear," the nursemaid insisted, throwing the covers back.

Deirdre shrieked, "Nanna! What are you doing? I said leave me alone!" She yanked the quilts back over herself.

Nanna said, "Chataine, today is a special day. Your father has summoned you to an open audience this morning. I must get you fed and dressed."

"An open audience?" repeated Deirdre, alarmed. "Why?" Usually, whenever her father wanted to see her other than at table, he merely summoned her to his chambers. An open audience meant that he had something to tell her from his throne in the audience hall, and all of the court would be gathered to hear it. This was a scary prospect for a child of ten. So Deirdre obediently sat up to let Nanna place the tray over her lap. It held a light breakfast of blackberry pastries and fresh milk.

"Your father is assigning you to the care of a guardian today." As Nanna's round, wrinkled face seemed to go taut, Deirdre was quick to discern her disapproval.

"But Nanna, why? You are my guardian," the child pouted, licking blackberries from her fingers.

The nursemaid raised her eyebrows. "Your father has evidently decided you need more protection than an old woman can give." She bustled to the great wardrobe to select a dress that the child had not yet ruined by playing in it.

"Nanna . . . does this mean I will never see you again?" Deirdre's eyes misted.

"No, dear, of course not. I will still be here to dress you and attend you. You will need the sol—uh, the guard only when you leave the palace grounds."

Deirdre caught the slip and wrinkled her nose in disgust over the cup of milk. "Father is giving me over to a soldier?" Soldiers were different from the palace guards. The Cohort—the guards—were selected from the standing army or from the town at large to serve inside the palace as a special unit. They were picked on the basis of youth, a pleasing appearance and refined manner, and they dressed in much better clothes than the common soldiers. Appointment to the Cohort required no special skill in warfare or service. Rather, Deirdre's father often used it to repay favors owed to prominent townspeople. All Deirdre had observed of the soldiers, however, was that they were big and sweaty and usually covered with dust.

Nanna patted her hand reassuringly and sat on the bed. The shifting mattress tilted Deirdre into her plump side, and the dishes slid precariously to the edge of the tray. "Your father has hand-picked this one for you. I am sure he has selected the best to be found. He will take good care of you, dear. I know it."

Deirdre peered into Nanna's face to see if she believed what she said, but the nurse had already turned briskly to the business at hand: "Now up and let me dress you, Chataine."

After Deirdre used the chamber pot, Nanna washed her face and hands in an elegant silver basin, then helped her don lacy linen underclothes and a rose-colored dress with many folds. As Nanna brushed out her long hair, Deirdre's round blue eyes widened in apprehension. She envisioned her father handing her over to a great hairy brute and ordering, "Now teach her to mind!"

She began to whine. "I promise to be good, Nanna, if you'll let me stay with you."

"Poor dear," murmured Nanna, tying on the Chataine's little cap. "Don't worry. I will see to it that this—this soldier understands how to treat you."

A loud rapping on the outer door startled them, and an unknown messenger called, "Chataine, you are summoned to the audience hall." Nanna put a hand to her substantial chest in apprehension, but Deirdre pushed the door open into the corridor with cool determination. She would prove this guardian to be nothing more than another servant.

The nursemaid took her hand to lead her quickly down the cool stone corridor to the great curving stairway. Descending, Deirdre could see people crowding from the foyer into the audience hall. They parted like a furrow to let her pass.

The audience hall was a great, ornate room, with oaken paneling and bronze sconces. Costly tapestries in brilliant colors hung centered in each oak panel. As they passed one such needlework, Deirdre glanced at it and took comfort. It was a large tapestry depicting herself in the garden with a white horse and hound. It reassured her she was someone of position.

Leaving Nanna in the crowd, she advanced with mild trepidation up the deep purple runner to the black marble dais supporting a massive bronze throne. This was the Surchatain's judgment seat, from which he pronounced sentences and appointments.

Announcement of an open audience always drew a large crowd of courtiers, palace officials, and wealthy notables from the town of Westford, which was clustered around the palace. One never knew—the Surchatain at one time would single out a deserving person for praise and reward; more often, however, he pronounced judgments of death by hanging.

They waited. Deirdre took her position near the front, shifting from one foot to the other. Then the murmur of the crowd hushed as the crimson-robed Counselor, Eudymon, entered and stood before the dais. Always straight, poised, and correct, the Counselor was the perfect statesman. His black hair, tinged with grey, was smoothed back to show a high, fine forehead. Deirdre did not like him. He was always thinking.

Eudymon announced: "The High Lord and reigning Superiority of the independent state of Lystra, the gracious and beneficent Surchatain Karel." In one wave the crowd dropped to their knees. The Surchatain entered in a swirling purple mantle, the symbol of highest authority, and sat on the bronze throne. The audience stood.

Karel at forty was slight of build but quick and tough. His movements were emphatic and his eyes habitually angry. Now those eyes went straight to his daughter. "Deirdre." She stepped up and curtsied low before him, as instructed. He looked her over for a moment. "Deirdre, you are my Chataine and my only heir" (he paused and tightened his lips) "and I cannot risk losing you by accident or design in this perilous country. You are no longer a baby, and I cannot hope to keep you shut up safe in the palace forever. Therefore, I am assigning a guardian to you. He shall watch over you every moment that you are outside the grounds. However, he is not your servant; he answers to me alone. And this is he." Karel gestured through the crowd. A young man in common soldier's garb stepped up before the dais. "He is called Roman."

Deirdre looked. He was tall and solid, and wore the soldier's plain brown shortcoat, breeches, and high boots—except his clothes were clean. He looked middle-aged to her eyes, but actually had turned twenty-two a few months before. He had thick, straight black hair and brown skin. His face was, she thought, incredibly ugly—craggy and lined, with a broad nose and heavy brow. Deirdre was too young to realize that among the kitchen maids who cared about such things, he was considered quite handsome. He stood silently, regarding her also.

Then Deirdre realized her father was addressing him: "Here is your charge. And here is your vow: Do you, Roman, swear to guard and protect the Chataine Deirdre with your life whenever she is out of the palace, until she is married or until such time as you are relieved of your duty?"

"I do, High Lord." The voice that came out of that rough face was soft and very deep.

The Surchatain continued, "And do you swear to obey all my instructions and prohibitions to you regarding her?"

"Yes, High Lord."

"So be it. I have but a few last words of warning to you. If she is injured while in your care, you will be flogged. If she is injured severely, or kidnapped, or killed, you will be executed. And if there is any impropriety in your manner toward her—if you so much as touch her wrongly—you will be executed by torture. Do you understand?"

"I understand, High Lord," he said, expressionless.

"Then this audience is ended." Karel rose to leave, and the spectators fell on their knees again. "Counselor, to my chambers." The two strode out without a glance behind.

The crowd melted away, some glancing curiously at the Chataine and the soldier. Deirdre stood evaluating Roman. He stood looking at her. "I want to go out and play," she said.

The Chataine kicked her pony, urging him past Roman's mount. She could not possibly hope to outrun him, but at least she wanted to let him know who was in the lead. Then an inspiration struck her. "I want to go down and play with the village children." The villagers—the poorest element of Westford—lived in huts clustered on the branch of the river. Those children welcomed her in their games, while the children of the town's nobility inexplicably shunned her . . . when no one was around to report it to her father.

Roman replied, "No, Chataine; your father has expressly forbidden you to play with the villagers. I believe you are aware of that," he added in dry understatement.

"He need not know." She directed her pony toward the valley, but Roman cut her off on his charger. "I cannot let you do what your father has forbidden. You know that."

She eyed him petulantly, then shook her long hair. "If you do not let me go, I will tell him—I will tell him that I fell from my pony and hurt myself." She had heard her father's warning to him, and thought it might prove useful.

"If he believes you, he will have me flogged," Roman replied. "But I still won't allow you to play in the village, so it will have gained you nothing. Besides, I don't believe you are a liar."

She stared at him. Was he mocking her? But his face was unreadable. He glanced at her, then turned his horse toward the high crest of the hill on their right, up and away from the valley. He led up the long, winding path to the crest and she followed.

Looking down over the bluff, Deirdre reveled in the panorama spread before them. Her father's orchards and fields connected in a brilliant patchwork that met with the forest on one hand and the west fork of the river on the other. The Passage, many called it, for it was the only navigable river emptying on the southern coast. The Passage divided itself north of Westford and formed a lake on the eastern branch before trickling its way to the Sea through high, rocky cliffs in eastern Lystra. The west fork was stronger, forming a large delta of rich farmlands and natural ports. For that river, and the trade it spawned, Lystra was highly envied by her neighbors.

Surrounding a branch of the river Deirdre saw mushrooms—no, the thatched huts of the villagers. Wispy smoke curled up from cooking fires, around which moved toy people and animals. The forest was also beyond the village, stretching to infinity. It hurt her eyes to try to take it all in.

Roman pointed down to the village. "You see how many of the villagers use the fast water upstream for bathing and toileting. Then downstream, in the gentler waters, is where the children often play, and where they have of late been drawing water. It is no coincidence that many have become ill and died. The doctor has repeatedly warned them about fouling their water, but many will not listen. It's not safe for you to play there."

Deirdre listened as he talked, watching him gesture. In all the times that she had been refused permission to go to the valley, this was the first time any explanation had been given. She had always assumed it was because the Chataine was too exalted to run with villagers. "Why hasn't anyone ever told me that?" she demanded. Roman only shrugged. She studied him thoughtfully.

In his chambers, the Surchatain rubbed his hand through his woolly brown hair and dropped onto a velvet couch. Eudymon stood before the fire, watching him out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to be debating whether to speak or wait for the Surchatain to open. Finally, the Counselor offered, "You have made a wise decision in appointing her a guardian. That is sufficient action to take on the basis of a mere rumor."

"Rumors such as this are too dangerous to treat lightly," Karel answered. "If Corneus has hired an assassin, and if he succeeds in killing my heir, the whole province will be spoil for the highest bidder upon my death. And even though his country is small, Corneus is quite wealthy. A coup such as this would be child's play for him."

"True." Eudymon looked concerned. "And you cannot appoint another successor while Deirdre yet lives. Which will be for many years," he added quickly at Karel's look.

The Surchatain nodded slowly and murmured, "But . . . have I done enough?" He did not seem to address the question to Eudymon.

"Perhaps you should remove her to safety for a while," the Counselor suggested.

"What place is safe, if not my own country?" Karel snorted.

Eudymon inclined his head. "Your law is well established here, High Lord. But I was thinking that perhaps she would find safety if taken in secret to live in the palace of her betrothed—whom you shall select, of course."

Karel slammed his fist upon a nearby table. "That is the catch! There is that insane, worthless law my late wife sealed into the books—that the Chataine will have the final say as to whom she marries! Regina made it law when I was in Ooster and the period of revocation passed before I was even aware of it. I cannot rescind it now!" His fury at the years-old deception flamed anew. "Who knows what choice that child may make? He may end my influence upon her!"

"Surchatain—if I may remind you, you are still Ruler. You will guide her choice, gently or otherwise."

Karel stopped and let his anger dissipate in that thought. "Yes . . . and that is years away. For now, Counselor, no one must think we pay any heed to this rumor."

"Certainly, High Lord." Eudymon inclined his head again. "And I trust that your selection will prove adequate as her guardian."

"I do not trust, Counselor. I will watch him with eagle eyes to see how he proves. You are dismissed."

That evening, Roman joined the Surchatain's table for dinner. As Deirdre's guardian, he would enjoy the privilege of eating in the presence of the Surchatain every night thereafter. He sat next to the Counselor and across from Deirdre. She sat on her father's right hand, though there was an empty chair between them.

As the first course of barley soup was served, she watched Roman closely. He had good table manners for a soldier, though he used the wrong hand. He ate quietly, speaking very little, and it occurred to Deirdre that he must be nervous eating at the Surchatain's table for the first time. But he picked up the right utensil for the right dish, and even used the finger bowl correctly (to rinse his fingers between courses. It was very rude to stick greasy fingers in the bread platter). However, when the squid was served, he cocked an eyebrow at his plate and looked to the Counselor. Eudymon did not look up or speak, but properly sliced and ate his serving of squid. Roman followed his lead.

Abruptly, Karel addressed his daughter: "Deirdre, what do you think of your new guardian?"

"I suppose he'll do," she said haughtily, not looking at Roman.

"You're not pleased with him?" probed her father.

"Not really," she sniffed.

"Good! Then he's just what you need. You have been manipulating your servants for too long. I'm glad to find someone who can control you." A ripple of laughter went around the table and Deirdre blushed angrily. We'll see, she thought.

After the Surchatain had dismissed them from dinner, she intercepted Roman. "Take me out to Willowring Lake!" This was a great pleasure she had rarely been allowed in the past.

"Chataine, you know your father does not allow you out of the palace after nightfall." It appeared that Roman had something else in mind he'd rather do.

"But with you to protect me, what could happen?"

"Any number of things," he said, looking off.

"If you don't take me, I'll start screaming." She pursed her lips determinedly. This maneuver had worked well for her at other times with Nanna.

That got his attention back to where it was supposed to be. He looked down at her, cocking his head. "As you wish. But first, Chataine, consider. If you scream, the guards will come and take us to your father. He will ask what happened. You will have your say and so will I. After what he said tonight, whom do you think he will believe?" Roman posed. Deirdre looked away, stymied. He added, "I promise that I will take you to the lake tomorrow."

She brightened. "Very well. You are dismissed." He bowed slightly and left her. She ascended the stone stairway to her chambers in deep concentration. He was going to be a challenge.

As Nanna helped her undress, Deirdre had a thought. "Where does Roman sleep?"

"In his room, Chataine."

"I know that," Deirdre said impatiently. "Where is his room?"

"That is none of your concern, dear."

"But where is it?" Once an inspiration seized her, it would not let go.

"I think it's in the lower corridor by the kitchen. Several of the high-ranking soldiers have rooms there."

"I know the corridor. Which room is his?" She pressed the point because she knew Nanna would tell her. Nanna always did.

The nursemaid sighed. "It's the one next to the courtyard door. The one with a door that bolts." That bolts! That was unusual. Few beyond the Surchatain's family and palace officials were given that privilege. "Now listen, Deirdre, you must not go down there at any time. Your father has made it clear that you have no business in that area of the palace. Promise me you will not go down there!" Nanna's tone was so serious that Deirdre hastily promised. But as Nanna extinguished the light and closed the door, the Chataine was already plotting.

She lay awake for long minutes, waiting for the palace bustle to still. At last, when she felt things were quieted, she got up and pulled on her overrobe.

She listened at the door to Nanna's adjoining room. All was quiet, so she lit a candle from the glowing fireplace embers and tiptoed to the massive outer door of her receiving room. Gingerly, she unbolted it, opening it only partway so as not to waken Nanna with loud creaks. Then she slipped into the dark corridor, stole past the slumbering guard, and stealthily descended the stairway. The candle made for a weak circle of light just in front of her, so she had to go slowly, listening for other footfalls.

Deirdre made her way down passage after passage, flattening herself against walls or behind doors when she heard voices or footsteps reverberating off the stone. At last—there was his corridor. She had almost stepped into it when a noise very close by made her freeze. It sounded like a low groan, and came from the corridor ahead. She peeked around the corner, careful to hide the candlelight.

What she saw intrigued her. It was Hana, one of the kitchen maids, wrapped up in the arms of a soldier. They were kissing in a way Deirdre had never seen. The soldier (who was it? she could not see) whispered in Hana's ear and she said, "No, no, not here. In the small clearing. I'll meet you there straightway." With one last kiss they parted ways.

The small clearing! Deirdre knew where that was. With the zeal of inspired cunning, she located the courtyard door and hurried out. If she got there before they did, she could hide in the bushes and watch. For now she felt sure that the man was Roman.

She slipped out the rear gate, watching for the guard, and ran fifty paces to the forest's edge. It was a chilly April night, but the Chataine wore a warm overrobe and shivered, rather, from excitement. How would she handle this? She envisioned confronting Roman with her knowledge, watching his stone face drop, and hearing him beg her not to tell her father. "Well, as you say," she would at last concede, "but from now on we'll do things my way!"

The imagined scenario disappeared as Deirdre halted in the forest. Now, where was the small clearing? Oh yes, over there. She hurried to a tree, but found it was not the landmark she expected. Well, now, where . . . ? She had been too preoccupied to mind where she was going. Fear shot through her as she spun around. She did not recognize any of these trees. She did not know where she was.

Fighting panic, she forced herself to stop and look around. Hesitantly, she started walking again—slowly, then faster, then—what was that? There arose in her mind the faint reminder that there were wolves in this forest.

She stopped to listen, but could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart. I must get my bearings, she thought, and looked up to search the stars. Standing very still and scanning the sky through the treetops, she calmed. It was an endless night—clear, but dark, with only a waning moon. The wind breathed gently through the trees like a soft voice calling her name: Deirdre! Deirdre!

Wait—it was a soft voice calling her name! And she recognized the voice. "Here, Roman, I'm here," she called just as softly. In utter relief she watched a dark figure emerge from the trees, and she ran to him before she remembered herself.

Silently he led her back to the palace, then to the receiving room of her chambers. Nanna, waiting in her high-necked nightgown and sleeping cap, exclaimed, "Oh! You're safe!" and hugged her tightly.

"You may go now," Deirdre informed her guardian, peeking out from Nanna's arms.

But Roman was not to be dismissed. He threw aside his cloak and asked, "What were you doing out there?" His voice was calm but his eyes were angry.

She parried the question, thinking to trap him into admitting why he was out there: "How did you find me?"

"When your nurse found your bed empty, she came to me. For some reason, she believed you had come to my room." He stopped and eyed her questioningly, but she held her tongue so he went on, "I found the courtyard door open, and your footprints in the mud leading out the rear gate. It was too dark to track you in the forest. I had to call for you." Why he regretted having to do that, he did not say.

But Deirdre turned to Nanna. "You found him in his room?"

"Yes, dear. I awakened him."

What a disappointment. It had not been Roman with Hana, after all. Then she looked up and realized they were both waiting for an explanation. "I could not sleep, so I went out to walk," she said airily, not caring in the least whether they believed her.

Nanna started to protest, but Roman cut her off. "Chataine, I won't warn you again to stay inside the palace at night. And I'm not saying that in jest. I am telling you that your life has been threatened!" The seriousness of his voice made her start. She looked to Nanna for reassurance, but saw Nanna blanching, looking to her.

"Stay in your room at night, Chataine." Roman walked out and Nanna gathered her in.


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© 1984, 1994, 2004 Robin Hardy

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