"Ganderlay," Temigast announced as he entered the room to join Priscilla and Feringal. Both looked at the steward curiously, not understanding. "The woman you saw, my Lord Feringal," Temigast explained. "Her family name is Ganderlay."

"I know of no Ganderlays in Auckney," Priscilla argued.

"There are few families in the village whose names are familiar to you, my dear lady," Temigast replied, his tone somewhat dry, "but this woman is indeed a Ganderlay. She lives with her family on the south slope of Maerlon Mountain," he explained, referring to a fairly populated region of Auckney some two miles from the castle on a step-carved mountainside facing the harbor.

"Girl," Priscilla corrected condescendingly. "She's nowhere near to being a woman."

Feringal didn't even seem to hear the comment, too excited by the steward's news. "Are you certain?" he asked Temigast, jumping up and striding determinedly to stand right before the man. "Can it be?"

"The gir-the woman, was walking the road at the same time your coach rolled through," the steward confirmed. "She matches the description given by several people who know her and saw her on the road at the time. They all mentioned her striking long, black hair, which matches your own description of her, my lord. I am certain she is the eldest daughter of one Dohni Ganderlay."

"I'll go to her," Feringal announced, pacing back and forth eagerly, tapping one finger to his teeth, then turning fast, and then again, as if he didn't know where to go or what to do. "I will call the coach."

"My Lord Feringal," Temigast said quietly in a commanding tone that seemed to steady the eager young man. "That would be most inappropriate."

Feringal stared at him wide-eyed. "But why?"

"Because she is a peasant and not worthy of . . ." Priscilla began, but her voice trailed off for it was obvious that no one was listening to her.

"One does not go unannounced to the house of a proper lady," Temigast explained. "The way must be prepared by your steward and her father."

"But I am the lord of Auckney," Feringal protested. "I can-"

"You can do as you like if you desire her as a plaything," Temigast was quick to interrupt, drawing a frown from both Feringal and Priscilla, "but if you desire her as a wife proper, then arrange things properly. There is a way, my Lord Feringal, a manner in which we are all expected to act. To go against the etiquette in this matter could prove most disastrous, I assure you."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," Temigast said, "but I do, fortunately for us all. Now go and bathe. If the young Ganderlay doe stood downwind of you she would run away." With that he turned Lord Feringal toward the door and gave him a solid push to start him on his way.

"You have betrayed me!" Priscilla wailed when her brother was gone.

Temigast snorted at the ridiculous assertion.

"I'll not have her in this house," the woman said determinedly.

"Have you not come to realize that there's nothing short of murder you can do to stop it?" Temigast replied in all seriousness.

"The murder of your brother, I mean, not of the girl, for that would only invite Feringal's wrath upon you."

"But you have aided him in this foolish pursuit."

"I have provided only what he could have learned on his own by asking questions of any peasant, including three women who work in this very house, one of whom was on the road yesterday."

"If the fool even noticed them," Priscilla argued.

"He would have discovered the girl's name," insisted Temigast, "and he might have embarrassed us all in the process of his undignified hunt." The steward chuckled and moved very close to Priscilla, draping one arm across her shoulders. "I understand your concerns, dear Priscilla," he said, "and I don't entirely disagree with you. I, too, would have preferred your brother to fall in love with some wealthy merchant girl from another place, rather than with a peasant of Auckney-or for him to forget the concept of love altogether and merely give in to his lust when and where it suited him without taking a wife. Perhaps it will yet come to that."

"Less likely, now that you have so aided him," Priscilla said sharply.

"Not so," Temigast explained with a wide smile, one that caught Priscilla's attention, for her expression changed to intrigue. "All I have done is heightened your brother's trust in me and my judgments. Perhaps he will hold fast to his notion of loving this girl, of marrying her, but I will watch him every step, I promise. I'll not allow him to bring shame to family Auck, nor will I allow the girl and her family to take from us what they do not deserve. We cannot defeat his will in this, I assure you, and your indignation will only strengthen Feringal's resolve."

Priscilla snorted doubtfully.

"Can't you hear his anger when you berate him about this?" Temigast demanded, and she winced at his words. "If we distance ourselves from your brother now, I warn you, the Ganderlay girl's hold over him-over Auckney-will only heighten.

Priscilla didn't snort, didn't shake her head, didn't show any sign of disagreement. She just stared at Temigast long and hard. He kissed her on the cheek and moved away, thinking that he should summon the castle coach at once and be on with his duties as emissary of Lord Feringal.

*****

Jaka Sculi looked up from the field of mud along with all the other workers, human and gnome, as the decorated coach made its way along the dirt lane. It came to a stop in front of Dohni Ganderlay's small house. An old man climbed out of the carriage door and ambled toward the house. Jaka's eyes narrowed slightly. Remembering suddenly that others might be watching him, he resumed his typically distant air. He was Jaka Sculi, after all, the fantasy lover of every young lady in Auckney, especially the woman who lived in the house where the lord's carriage had stopped. The notion that beautiful Meralda desired him was no small thing to the young man-though, of course, he couldn't let anyone else believe he cared.

"Dohni!" one of the other field workers, a crooked little gnome with a long and pointy nose, called. "Dohni Ganderlay, you've got guests!"

"Or mighten be they've figured you for the scoundrel you are!" another gnome cried out, and they all had a good laugh.

Except for Jaka, of course. Jaka wouldn't let them see him laugh.

Dohni Ganderlay walked over the ridge behind the peat field. He looked to those who yelled for some explanation, but they merely nodded their chins in the direction of his house. Dohni followed that movement, spotted the coach, and broke into a frantic run.

Jaka Sculi watched him run all the way home.

"You figuring to do some digging, boy?" came a question beside Jaka. When he turned to regard the toothless old man, the fool ran a hand through Jaka's curly brown hair.

The young man shook his head with disgust, noting the black peat encasing the old digger's fingers. He shook his head again and brushed his hair robustly, then slapped the man's hand away when it reached up to give another rub.

"Hee hee hee," the old man giggled. "Seems your little girlie's got a caller," he snickered.

"And an old one at that," remarked another, also more than willing to join in the play at Jaka's expense.

"But I'm thinking I might give the girl a try meself," the dirty old duffer at Jaka's side remarked. That drew a frown from Jaka, and so the old man only laughed all the harder at finally evoking some response from the boy.

Jaka turned his head slowly about, surveying the field and the workers, the few houses scattered on the mountainside, Castle Auck far in the distance, and the dark, cold waters beyond that. Those waters had brought him, his mother, and his uncle to this forlorn place only four years before. Jaka didn't know why they had come to Auckney-he had been quite content with his life in Luskan-except that it had something to do with his father, who used to beat his mother mercilessly. He suspected that they were running, either from the man or from the executioner. It seemed to be a typical tactic for the Sculi family, for they had done the same thing when Jaka was a toddler, fleeing from their ancestral home in the Blade Kingdoms all the way to Luskan. Certainly his father, a vicious man whom Jaka hardly knew, would search them out and kill his mother and her brother for running away. Or perhaps Jaka's father was already dead, left in his own blood by Rempini, Jaka's uncle.

Either way, it didn't matter to Jaka. All that he knew was that he was in this place, a dreadful, windy, cold, and barren fiefdom. Until recently, the only good thing about it all, in his view, was that the perpetual melancholy of the place enhanced his poetic nature. Even though he fancied himself quite the romantic hero, Jaka had passed his seventeenth birthday now, and had many times considered tagging along with one of the few merchants who happened through, going out into the wide world, back to Luskan perhaps, or even better, all the way to mighty Waterdeep. He planned to make his fortune there someday, somehow, and perhaps get all the way back to the Blade Kingdoms.

But those plans had been put on hold, for yet another positive aspect of Auckney had revealed itself to the young man.

Jaka could not deny the attraction he felt to a certain young Ganderlay girl.

Of course, he couldn't let her or anyone else know that, not until he was certain that she would give herself over to him fully.

*****

Hurrying past the coach, Dohni Ganderlay recognized the driver, a gray-bearded gnome he knew as Liam Woodgate. Liam smiled and nodded at him, which relaxed Dohni considerably, though he still kept his swift pace through the door. At his small kitchen table sat the steward of Castle Auck. Across from him was Dohni's ill wife, Biaste, whose beaming expression the peat farmer hadn't seen in a long, long time.

"Master Ganderlay," Temigast said politely. "I am Temigast, steward of Castle Auck, emissary of Lord Feringal."

"I know that," Dohni said warily. Never taking his eyes from the old man, Dohni Ganderlay made his way around the table, avoiding one of the two remaining chairs to stand behind his wife, dropping his hands on her shoulders.

"I was just explaining to your wife that my lord, and yours, requests the presence of your eldest daughter at the castle for dinner this evening," the steward said.

The startling news hit Dohni Ganderlay as solidly as any club ever could, but he held his balance and his expression, letting it sink in. He looked behind the words into Temigast's old, gray eyes.

"Of course, I have suitable clothing for Miss Meralda in the coach, should you agree," Temigast finished with a comforting smile.

Proud Dohni Ganderlay saw behind that smiling facade, behind the polite and respectful tone. He saw the condescension there and recognized the confidence within Temigast. Of course they could not refuse, Temigast believed, for they were but dirty peasants. The lord of Auckney had come a'calling, and the Ganderlays would welcome that call eagerly, hungrily.

"Where is Meralda?" the man asked his wife.

"She and Tori've gone to trading," the woman explained.

Dohni couldn't ignore the weak trembling in her voice. "To get a few eggs for supper."

"Meralda can eat at a banquet this night, and perhaps for many nights," Temigast remarked.

Dohni saw it so clearly again, the wretched condescension that reminded him of his lot in life, of the fate of his children, all his friends, and their children as well.

"Then she will come?" Temigast prompted after a long and uncomfortable silence.

"That'll be Meralda's to choose," Dohni Ganderlay replied more sharply than he had intended.

"Ah," said the steward, nodding and smiling, always smiling. He rose from his chair and motioned for Biaste to remain seated. "Of course, of course, but do come and retrieve the gown, Master Ganderlay. Should you decide to send the young lady, it will be better and easier if she had it here."

"And if she doesn't want to go?"

Temigast arched a brow, suggesting he thought the notion that she might refuse absurd. "Then I will have my coachman return tomorrow to retrieve the gown, of course," he said.

Dohni looked down at his ill wife, at the plaintive expression on her too-delicate features.

"Master Ganderlay?" Temigast asked, motioning for the door. Dohni patted Biaste on the shoulders and walked beside the steward out to the coach. The gnome driver was waiting for them, gown in hand, and his arms uplifted to keep the delicate fabric from dragging in the dusty road.

"You would do well to urge your daughter to attend," Temigast advised, handing over the gown, which only made Dohni Ganderlay steel his features all the more.

"Your wife is sick," Temigast reasoned. "No doubt a meager existence in a drafty house will not do her well with the cold winter approaching."

"You speak as if we've a choice in the matter," Dohni replied.

"Lord Feringal is a man of great means," Temigast explained. "He has easy access to amazing herbs, warm beds, and powerful clerics. It would be a pity for your wife to suffer needlessly." The steward patted the gown. "We shall dine just after sundown," he explained. "I will have the coach pass by your home at dusk." With that, Temigast stepped into the coach and closed the door. The driver wasted no time in putting whip to horses to speed them away.

Dohni Ganderlay stood for a long while in the cloud of dust left by the departing coach, gown in hand, staring at the empty air before him. He wanted to scream out that if Lord Feringal was such a connected and beneficent lord, then he should willingly use his means for the welfare of his flock. People like Biaste Ganderlay should be able to get the aid they needed without selling their daughters. What Temigast had just offered him was akin to selling his daughter for the benefit of the family. Selling his daughter!

And yet, for all his pride, Dohni Ganderlay could not deny the opportunity that lay before him.

*****

"It was the lord's coach," Jaka Sculi insisted to Meralda when he intercepted her on her way home later that same day. "At your own front door," he added with his exotic accent, a dialect thick with sighs and dramatic huffs.

Tori Ganderlay giggled. Meralda punched her in the shoulder and motioned for her to be on her way. "But I want to know," she whined.

"You'll be knowing the taste of dirt," Meralda promised her. She started for her sister but stopped abruptly and composed herself, remembering her audience. Meralda turned back to Jaka after painting a sweet smile on her face, still managing to glare at Tori out of the corner of her eye.

Tori started skipping down the road. "But I wanted to see you kiss him," she squealed happily as she ran on.

"Are you sure about the coach?" Meralda asked Jaka, trying very hard to leave Tori's embarrassing remarks behind.

The young man merely sighed with dramatic exasperation.

"But what business has Lord Feringal with my folks?" the young woman asked.

Jaka hung his head to the side, hands in pockets, and shrugged.

"Well, I should be going, then," Meralda said, and she took a step, but Jaka shifted to block her way. "What're you about?"

Jaka looked at her with those light blue eyes, running a hand through his mop of curly hair, his face tilted up at her.

Meralda felt as if she would choke for the lump that welled in her throat, or that her heart would beat so forcefully that it would pound right out of her chest.

"What're you about?" she asked again, much more quietly and without any real conviction.

Jaka moved toward her. She remembered her own advice to Tori, about how one had to make a boy beg. She reminded herself that she should not be doing this, not yet. She told herself that pointedly, and yet she was not retreating at all. He came closer, and as she felt the heat of his breath she, too, moved forward. Jaka just let his lips brush hers, then backed away, appearing suddenly shy.

"What?" Meralda asked again, this time with obvious eagerness.

Jaka sighed, and the woman came forward again, moving to kiss him, her whole body trembling, telling, begging him to kiss her back. He did, long and soft, then he moved away.

"I'll be waiting for you after supper," he said, and he turned with a shrug and started slowly away.

Meralda could hardly catch her breath, for that kiss had been everything she had dreamed it would be and more. She felt warm in her belly and weak in her knees and tingly all over. Never mind that Jaka, with one simple hesitation, had done to her exactly what she had told Tori a woman must do to a man. Meralda couldn't even think of that at the time, too entranced was she by the reality of what had just happened and by the promise of what might happen next.

She took the same path down the road Tori had taken, and her skipping was no less full of the girlish joy, as if Jaka's kiss had freed her of the bonds of temperance and dignity that came with being a woman.

Meralda entered her house all smiles. Her eyes widened when she saw her sick mother standing by the table, as happy as she had seen the woman in weeks. Biaste held a beautiful gown, rich emerald green with glittering gems sewn into its seams.

"Oh, but you'll be the prettiest Auckney's ever seen when you put this on," Biaste Ganderlay said, and beside her, Tori exploded in giggles.

Meralda stared at the gown wide-eyed, then turned to regard her father who was standing at the side of the room, smiling as well. Meralda recognized that his expression was somewhat more strained than Biaste's.

"But Ma, we've not the money," Meralda reasoned, though she was truly enchanted by the gown. She moved up to stroke the soft material, thinking how much Jaka would love to see her in it.

"A gift, and nothing to buy," Biaste explained, and Tori giggled all the more.

Meralda's expression turned to one of curiosity, and she looked to her father again for some explanation, but, surprisingly, he turned away.

"What's it about, Ma?" the young woman asked.

"You've a suitor, my girl," Biaste said happily, pulling the gown out so that she could hug her daughter. "Oh, but you've got a lord hisself wanting to court you!"

Always considerate of her mother's feelings, especially now that the woman was ill, Meralda was glad that Biaste's head was on Meralda's shoulder, so her mother couldn't see the stunned and unhappy expression that crossed her daughter's face. Tori did see it, but the girl only looked up at Meralda and pursed her lips repeatedly in a mockery of a kiss. Meralda looked to her father, who now faced her but only nodded solemnly.

Biaste pulled her back to arms' length. "Oh, my little girl," she said. "When did you get so beautiful? To think that you've caught the heart of Lord Feringal."

Lord Feringal. Meralda could hardly catch her breath, and not for any joy. She hardly knew the lord of Castle Auck, though she had seen him on many occasions from afar, usually picking his fingernails and looking bored at the celebratory gatherings held in the town square.

"He's sweet on you, girl," Biaste went on, "and in it thick, by the words of his steward."

Meralda managed a smile for her mother's sake.

"They'll be coming for you soon," Biaste explained. "So be quick to get a bath. Then," she added, pausing to bring one hand up to her mouth, "then we'll put you in this gown, and oh, how all the men who see you will fall before your feet."

Meralda moved methodically, taking the gown and turning for her room with Tori on her heels. It all seemed a dream to the young woman, and not a pleasant one. Her father walked past her to her mother. She heard them strike up a conversation, though the words seemed all garbled to her, and the only thing she truly heard was Biaste's exclamation, "A lord for my girl!"

*****

Auckney was not a large place, and though its houses weren't cluttered together, the folk were certainly within shouting distance of each other. It didn't take long for word of the arrangement between Lord Feringal and Meralda Ganderlay to spread.

Jaka Sculi learned the truth about the visit of Lord Feringal's steward before he finished eating that same evening, before the sun touched the western horizon.

"To think one of his station will dip low enough to touch the likes of a peasant," Jaka's ever-pessimistic mother remarked, her voice still thick with the heavy peasant accent of their long-lost homeland in the Blade Kingdoms. "Ah, to the ruin of all the world!"

"Evil tiding," Jaka's uncle agreed, a grizzled old man who appeared to have seen too much of the world.

Jaka, too, thought this a terrible turn of events, but for a very different reason-at least he thought his anger had come from a different source, for he wasn't certain of the reason his mother and uncle were so upset by the news, and his expression clearly revealed that confusion.

"We've each our station," his uncle explained. "Clear lines, and not ones to be crossed."

"Lord Feringal brings dishonor to his family," said his mother.

"Meralda is a wonderful woman," Jaka argued before he could catch and hold the words secret.

"She's a peasant, as we all be," his mother was quick to explain. "We've our place, and Lord Feringal's got his. Oh, them folk will rejoice at the news, do not doubt, thinking to draw some of their own hope at Meralda's good fortunes, but they're not knowing the truth of it."

"What truth?"

"He'll use her to no good ends," foretold his mother. "He'll make himself the fool and the girl a tramp."

"And in the end, she'll be broken or dead, and Lord Feringal will have lost all favor with his peers," added his uncle. "Evil tiding."

"Why do you believe that she will succumb?" the young man asked, working hard to keep the desperation out of his tone.

His mother and uncle merely laughed at that question. Jaka understood their meaning all too clearly. Feringal was the lord of Auckney. How could Meralda refuse him?

It was more than poor, sensitive Jaka could take. He banged the table hard with his fist and slid his chair back. Rising fast to his feet, he matched the surprised stares of his mother and uncle with a glower of utter rage. With that Jaka turned on his heel and rushed out, slamming the door behind him.

Before he knew it he was running, his thoughts whirling. Jaka soon came to high ground, a small tumble of rocks just above the muddy field he had been working earlier that same day, a place affording him a splendid view of the sunset, as well as Meralda's house. In the distant southwest he saw the castle, and he pictured the magnificent coach making its deliberate way up the road to it with Meralda inside.

Jaka felt as if a heavy weight were pressing on his chest, as if all the limitations of his miserable existence had suddenly become tangible walls, closing, closing. For the last few years Jaka had gone to great lengths to acquire just the correct persona, the correct pose and the correct attitude, to turn the heart of any young lady. Now here came this foolish nobleman, this prettily painted and perfumed fop with no claim to reputation other than the station to which he had been born, to take all that Jaka had cultivated right out from under him.

Jaka, of course, didn't see things with quite that measure of clarity. To him it seemed a plain enough truth: a grave injustice played against him simply because of the station, or lack thereof, of his birth. Because these pitiful peasants of Auckney didn't know the truth of him, the greatness that lay within him hidden by the dirt of farm fields and peat bogs.

The distraught young man ran his hands through his brown locks and heaved a great sigh.

*****

"You best get it all cleaned, because you're not knowing what Lord Feringal will be seeing," Tori teased, and she ran a rough cloth across Meralda's back as her sister sat like a cat curled up in the steaming hot bath.

Meralda turned at the words and splashed water in Tori's face. The younger girl's giggles halted abruptly when she noted the grim expression on Meralda's face.

"I'm knowing what Lord Feringal will be seeing, all right," Meralda assured her sister. "If he's wanting his dress back, he'll have to be coming back to the house to get it."

"You'd refuse him?"

"I won't even kiss him," Meralda insisted, and she lifted a dripping fist into the air. "If he tries to kiss me, I'll-"

"You'll play the part of a lady," came the voice of her father, Both girls looked to the curtain to see the man enter the room, "Leave," he instructed Tori. The girl knew that tone well enough to obey without question.

Dohni Ganderlay stayed at the door a moment longer to make sure that too-curious Tori had, indeed, scooted far away, then he moved to the side of the tub and handed Meralda a soft cloth to dry herself. They lived in a small house where modesty was pointless, so Meralda was not the least bit embarrassed as she stepped from her bath, though she draped the cloth about her before she sat on a nearby stool.

"You're not happy about the turn of events," Dohni observed.

Meralda's lips grew thin, and she leaned over to splash a nervous hand in the cold bath water.

"You don't like Lord Feringal?"

"I don't know him," the young woman retorted, "and he's not knowing me. Not at all!"

"But he's wanting to," Dohni argued. "You should take that as the highest compliment."

"And taking a compliment means giving in to the one complimenting?" Meralda asked with biting sarcasm. "I've no choice in the matter? Lord Feringal's wanting you, so off you go?"

Her nervous splashing of water turned angry, and she accidently sent a small wave washing over Dohni Ganderlay. The young woman understood that it was not the wetness, but the attitude, that provoked his unexpectedly violent reaction. He caught her wrist in his strong hand and tugged it back, turning Meralda toward him.

"No," he answered bluntly. "You've no choice. Feringal is the lord of Auckney, a man of great means, a man who can lift us from the dirt."

"Maybe I'd rather be dirty," Meralda started to say, but Dohni Ganderlay cut her short.

"A man who can heal your mother."

He could not have stunned her more with the effect of those seven words than if he had curled his great fist into a tight ball and punched Meralda hard in the face. She stared at her father incredulously, at the desperate, almost wild, expression on his normally stoic face, and she was afraid, truly afraid.

"You've no choice," he said again, his voice a forced monotone. "Your ma's got the wilting and won't likely see the next turn of spring. You'll go to Lord Feringal and play the part of a lady. You'll laugh at his wit, and you'll praise his greatness. This you'll do for your ma," he finished simply, his voice full of defeat. As he turned away and rose Meralda caught a glint of moisture rimming his eye, and she understood.

Knowing how truly horrible this was for her father did help the young woman prepare for the night, helped greatly to cope with this seemingly cruel twist that fate had thrown before her.

*****

The sun was down, and the sky was turning dark blue. The coach passed below him on the way to Meralda's meager house. She stepped from the door, and even from this great distance Jaka could see how beautiful she appeared, like some shining jewel that mocked the darkness of twilight.

His jewel. The just reward for the beauty that was within him, not a bought present for the spoiled lord of Auckney.

He pictured Lord Feringal holding his hand out of the coach, touching her and fondling her as she stepped inside to join him. The image made him want to scream out at the injustice of it all. The coach rolled back down the road toward the distant castle with Meralda inside, just as he had envisioned earlier. Jaka could not have felt more robbed if Lord Feringal had reached into his pockets and taken his last coin.

He sat wallowing on the peat-dusted hill for a long, long while, running his hands through his hair repeatedly and cursing the inequities of this miserable life. So self-involved was he that he was taken completely by surprise by the midden sound of a young girl's voice.

"I knew you'd be about."

Jaka opened his dreamy, moist eyes to see Tori Ganderlay staring at him.

"I knew it," the girl teased.

"What do you know?"

"You heard about my sister's dinner and had to see for yourself," Tori reasoned. "And you're still waiting and watching."

"Your sister?" Jaka repeated dumbly. "I come here every night," he explained.

Tori turned from him to gaze down at the houses, at her own house, the firelight shining bright through the window. "Hoping to see Meralda naked through the window?" she asked with a giggle.

"I come out alone in the dark to get away from the fires and the light," Jaka replied firmly. "To get away from pestering people who cannot understand."

"Understand what?"

"The truth," the young man answered cryptically, hoping he sounded profound.

"The truth of what?"

"The truth of life," Jaka replied.

Tori looked at him long and hard, her face twisting as she tried to decipher his words. She looked back to her house.

"Bah, I'm thinking you're just wanting to see Meralda naked," she said again, then skipped happily back down the path.

Wouldn't she have fun with Meralda at his expense, Jaka thought. He heaved another of his great sighs, then turned and walked away to the even darker fields higher up the mountainside.

"Fie this life!" he cried out, lifting his arms to the rising full moon. "Fie, fie, and fly from me now, trappings mortal! What cruel fate to live and to see the undeserving gather the spoils from me. When justice lies in spiked pit. When worth's measure is heredity. Oh, Lord Feringal feeds at Meralda's neck. Fie this life, and fly from me!"

He ended his impromptu verse by falling to his knees and clutching at his teary face, and there he wallowed for a long, long while.

Anger replaced self-pity, and Jaka came up with a new line to finish his verse. "When justice lies in spiked pit," he recited, his voice quivering with rage. "When worth's measure is heredity." Now a smile crept onto his undeniably handsome features. "Wretched Feringal feeds at Meralda's neck, but he'll not have her virginity!"

Jaka climbed unsteadily to his feet and looked up again at the full moon. "I swear to it," he said with a growl, then muttered dramatically, "Fie this life," one last time and started for home.

*****

Meralda took the evening in stoic stride, answering questions politely and taking care to avoid the direct gaze of an obviously unhappy Lady Priscilla Auck. She found that she liked Steward Temigast quite a bit, mostly because the old man kept the conversation moving by telling many entertaining stories of his past and of the previous lord of the castle, Feringal's father. Temigast even set up a signal system with Meralda to help her understand which piece of silverware she should use for the various courses of food.

Though she remained unimpressed with the young lord of Auckney, who sat directly opposite her and stared unceasingly, the young woman couldn't deny her wonder at the delicious feast the servants laid out before her. Did they eat like this every day in Castle Auck-squab and fish, potatoes and sea greens-delicacies Meralda had never tasted before?

At Lord Feringal's insistence, after dinner the group retired to the drawing room, a comfortable, windowless square chamber at the center of the castle's ground floor. Thick walls kept out the chill ocean wind, and a massive hearth, burning with a fire as large as a village bonfire added to the coziness of the place.

"Perhaps you would like more food," Priscilla offered, but there was nothing generous about her tone. "I can have a serving woman bring it in."

"Oh, no, my lady," Meralda replied. "I couldn't eat another morsel."

"Indeed," said Priscilla, "but you did overindulge at dinner proper, now didn't you?" she asked, a sweet and phoney smile painted on her ugly face. It occurred to Meralda that Lord Feringal was almost charming compared to his sister. Almost.

A servant entered then, bearing a tray of snifters filled with a brownish liquid Meralda didn't recognize. She took her glass, too afraid to refuse, and on Temigast's toast and motion, she raised it up and took a healthy swallow. The young woman nearly choked from the burning sensation that followed the liquid down her throat.

"We don't take such volumes of brandy here," Priscilla remarked dryly. "That is a peasant trait."

Meralda felt like crawling under the thick rug. Crinkling his nose at her, Lord Feringal didn't help much.

"More a trait for one who is not familiar with the potent drink," Temigast interjected, coming to Meralda's aid. "Tiny sips, my dear. You will learn, though you may never acquire a taste for this unique liquor. I haven't yet myself."

Meralda smiled and nodded a silent thank you to the old man, which relieved the tension again, and not for the last time. Feeling a bit light in the head, Meralda faded out of the conversation, oblivious to Priscilla's double-edged remarks and Lord Feringal's stares. Her mind drifted off, and she was beside Jaka Sculi-in a moonlit field, perhaps, or this very room. How wonderful this place would be, with its thick carpet, huge fire, and this warming drink if she had the companionship of her dear Jaka instead of the wretched Auck siblings.

Temigast's voice penetrated her fog, reminding Lord Feringal that they had promised to return the young lady by a certain hour, and that the hour was fast approaching.

"A few moments alone, then," Feringal replied.

Meralda tried not to panic.

"Hardly a proper request," Priscilla put in. She looked at Meralda and snickered. "Of course, what could possibly be the harm?"

Feringal's sister left, as did Temigast, the old steward patting Meralda comfortingly on the shoulder as he slipped past to the door.

"I trust you will act as a gentleman, my lord," he said to Feringal, "as your station demands. There are few women in all the wide world as beautiful as Lady Meralda." He gave the young woman a smile. "I will order the coach to the front door."

The old man was her ally, Meralda recognized, a very welcome ally.

"It was a wonderful meal, was it not?" Lord Feringal asked, moving quickly to take a seat on the chair beside Meralda's.

"Oh, yes, my lord," she replied, lowering her gaze.

"No, no," Feringal scolded. "You must call me Lord Feringal, not 'my lord.' "

"Yes, my-Lord Feringal." Meralda tried to keep her gaze averted, but the man was too close, too imposing. She looked up at him, and to his credit, he did take his stare from her breasts and looked into her eyes.

"I saw you on the road," he explained. "I had to know you. I had to see you again. Never has there been any woman as beautiful."

"Oh, my-Lord Feringal," she said, and she did look away again, for he was moving even closer, far too close, by Meralda's estimate.

"I had to see you," he said again, his voice barely a whisper but he was close enough that Meralda heard it clearly and felt his breath hot on her ear.

Meralda fought hard to swallow her panic as the back of Feringal's hand brushed gently down her cheek. He cupped her chin then and turned her head to face him. He kissed her softly at first, then, despite the fact that she was hardly returning the kiss, more urgently, even rising out of his chair to lean into her. As he pressed and kissed, Meralda thought of Jaka and of her sick mother and tolerated it, even when his hand covered the soft fabric over her breast.

"Your pardon, Lord Feringal," came Temigast's voice from the door. Flushing, the young man broke away and stood up to face the steward.

"The coach is waiting," Temigast explained. "It is time for Lady Meralda to return to her home." Meralda nearly ran from the room.

"I will call for you again," Lord Feringal said after her. "And soon, to be sure."

By the time the coach had moved over the bridge that separated Castle Auck from the mainland, Meralda had managed to slow her heartbeat somewhat. She understood her duty to her family, to her sick mother, but she felt as if she would faint, or vomit. Wouldn't the wretch Priscilla have a grand time with that, if she found that the peasant had thrown up in the gilded coach.

A mile later, still feeling sick and aching to be out of all these trappings, Meralda leaned out the coach's window.

"Stop! Oh, please stop!" she yelled to the driver. The carriage shuddered to a halt, but even before it had completely stopped the young woman threw open the door and scrambled out.

"My lady, I am to take you to your home," Liam Woodgate said, leaping down to Meralda's side.

"And so you have," the woman replied. "Close enough."

"But you've a long dark lane before you," the gnome protested. "Steward Temigast'll have my heart in his hand if-"

"He'll never know," Meralda promised. "Don't fear for me. I walk this lane every night and know every bush and rock and person in every house between here and my own."

"But . . ." the gnome began to argue, but Meralda pushed past him, shot him a confident smile, and skipped away into the darkness.

The coach shadowed her for a short while, then, apparently convinced the woman was indeed familiar enough with this area to be safe, Liam turned it around and sped away.

The night was chill, but not too cold. Meralda veered from the road, moving to the dark fields higher up. She hoped to find Jaka there, waiting for her as they had arranged, but the place was empty. Alone in the dark, Meralda felt as if she were the only person in all the world. Anxious to forget tonight, to forget Lord Feringal and his wretched sister, she stripped off her gown, needing to be out of the fancy thing. Tonight she had dined as nobility, and other than the food and perhaps the warm drink, she had not been impressed. Not in the least.

Wearing only her plain undergarments, the young woman moved about the moonlit field, walking at first, but as thoughts of Jaka Sculi erased the too recent image of Lord Feringal, her step lightened to a skip, then a dance. Meralda reached up to catch a shooting star, spinning to follow its tail, then falling to her rump in the soft grass and mud, laughing all the while and thinking of Jaka.

She didn't know that she was in almost exactly the same spot where Jaka had been earlier that night. The place where Jaka had spat his protests at an unhearing god, where he'd cried out against the injustice of it all, where he'd called for his life to flee, and where he'd vowed to steal Meralda's virginity for no better reason than to ensure that Lord Feringal did not get it.