The hall into which she led them was large with a great peaked roof. There was a large stone fireplace burning with fragrant woods. They had no sooner been seated at the high board than the servants began to hurry forth with the meal. Lara was surprised, for it was a generous offering. There was salmon and trout from the river that flowed through the village of Rivalen. There was beef, ham, duck, capon and a rabbit stew. There were braised lettuces, asparagus, fresh breads, butter and cheeses of several kinds. And there was Frine and ale both.

“Sholeh is a member of my family,” Vartan explained, seeing Lara’s surprise. “We are cousins. She is the widow of the former headman here. When he died, the villagers asked that she be put in charge over them.”

“She is a woman,” Lara said, puzzled.

“She is a competent woman,” Vartan replied. “Do not women hold positions of responsibility in Hetar?”

“Not really,” Lara said. “They are always responsible to men for their actions. The Pleasure Mistresses, for instance, do not own the houses over which they preside. Those are always owned by a magnate, and magnates are always men.”

“Who manages the Pleasure Houses then?” Sholeh asked having overheard their conversation.

“The Pleasure Mistresses do. That is their duty,” Lara replied.

“So these women handle all the daily business of the Pleasure Houses? They make certain the girls are happy and healthy? They order the proper foods, wines and other supplies, and yet they are subordinate to those who own the houses, and collect the profits, eh?” Sholeh concluded. “I don’t think I like that.”

“It is our way,” Lara explained. “Are you not responsible for Rivalen and its people to Lord Vartan?”

“It is different,” Sholeh said. “Rivalen is mine. It is part of the Fiacre clan family holdings, and Vartan, its overlord, is responsible for our protection in the event of war. I give him my allegiance, but I am a free woman with my own lands.”

“I have never heard of such a thing before,” Lara said. “I like it much better than the way it is done in the City.” Again she thought that these Outlanders were not barbarians in any sense. But perhaps the Fiacre was different from the other clan families. Perhaps they were the exception.

Sholeh’s hall was filled to capacity. She was the mother of seven sons and two daughters, all of whom lived with her, and she had twenty-two grandchildren as well. The dogs snuffled beneath the tables hoping for scraps. Two cats, one a large marmalade, and the other an equally large black, lay head-to-head before the fire. There was much good-natured bickering back and forth, but no one fought. And again she was aware of how very respected Vartan was.

Several of Sholeh’s grandsons wrestled bare-chested for their lord’s amusement. There was an old Devyn in the hall who entertained them in a reedy voice, but his fingers on his instrument were yet sure, and the music was sweeter than any Lara had heard before. She did not notice until afterward that Vartan had taken her hand beneath the table. And when she did realize it, Lara had no inclination to pull away. Finally the hall began to empty. Vartan leaned over and murmured a few words to his cousin.

Sholeh arose. “I will show you to your chamber,” she said. “You must share, for my house is full to bursting at the seams. Come!” And she led them up a narrow flight of stone stairs to a small bedchamber with a large bed. “Good night,” she told them.

They slept again, back-to-back, hip-to-hip, in their travel garments without their boots. Lara did not protest this night for to do so would have been ridiculous. She slept quickly and easily, not knowing that he at first did not. Instead he lay simply looking at her. He had waited his entire lifetime for this girl. Until Lara had come into his view he had never been in love. Had never desired a woman for his wife. He knew his mother worried that something might happen to him, and he would die without heirs. Liam did not want the lordship of the Fiacre. He had made that very plain to the elders when his father had died. And Vartan knew his younger brother, Adon, while ambitious for power, was not suited to the responsibility of the lordship. And then he had seen Lara. He wanted her for his wife. He wanted children of her body. He wanted to be her destiny. But she was so intense about it, he did not think she would see it his way. Lara clearly believed, although she had never said it in so many words, that she had something great to accomplish. He sighed. Well, maybe she did. But it did not stop him from wanting her.

When she awoke Lara found Vartan gone from her side. She was surprised but, remembering they had reached Rivalen just before dark, she realized that he was probably conducting the business of his lordship. She could see it was late by the angle of the sun coming through the small window. She lay quietly, her body sore from all the riding she had done since leaving the Desert. It felt good just to be still. Suddenly the door to the chamber opened to admit a serving girl carrying a tray.

“My mistress thought you might be awake, and the meal is long over in the hall,” the girl said, putting the tray down on the empty side of the bed.

“Where is the lord?” Lara asked.

“In the hall holding court, lady. There is a shameful case to be heard. The daughter of the blacksmith had her virginity taken from her by force. The villain is a man she refused when she chose another. Now she is ruined, and it is unlikely her chosen will have her, but she will not have the villain, and has wept for days over it,” the servant girl gossiped.

“Has the lord ruled yet?” Lara asked the girl.

“Nay, the case has not even begun, for the girl will not stop weeping, and the lord will not begin the case until she does,” the servant said. “She is a foolish creature.”

“Tell the lord I will be down to join him quickly,” Lara said, snatching up a small loaf from the tray, and tearing it into pieces as the serving girl hurried out. There was butter in a small crock, and Lara scooped some out with her thumb, and spread it on the bread. There was a hard-boiled egg, and a mug of cider. She ate it all, then washed herself in the basin of water that had been left on the wide stone sill of the chamber’s narrow window. She rebraided her hair, pulled on her boots and went downstairs.

The hall was crowded with probably every inhabitant of Rivalen. Lara worked her way to the side of the hall up near the high board where Vartan and Sholeh were seated. Her gaze took in the people just below the board. An older man and woman. A sobbing girl. Two younger men, one in chains.

“This hearing must begin, for my journey home is a long one,” Vartan finally said impatiently. “Can you not stop your daughter’s weeping?”

“My lord, I apologize, but she is devastated by what has happened. Look at her eyes. Swollen with her grief!” the victim’s father said.

“We must begin!” Sholeh snapped. “Be silent, Kele!”

The girl howled louder, to everyone’s irritation.

Lara moved from her place, going to Kele, and put an arm about her. “I know your grief, for I was used once as you were,” she said. “Crying will solve nothing. Now is the time for vengeance, and only the lord can give it to you, Kele, but he will go if you cannot regain control of yourself. Will you allow your attacker to remain unpunished?”

The girl’s tears began to abate. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I am Lara, daughter of Swiftsword the Crusader Knight and Ilona, queen of the Forest Faeries. The men who robbed me of my virginity were Forest Lords, cruel and brutal men who held me captive for months. But I escaped them and the taint of their actions to pursue my greater destiny. Now you have the opportunity to change your destiny. You can pine away over something that was not your fault, or you can take your revenge on the man who stole what was not his to take. The lord is here to help you, but you must stop weeping. The shame is not yours, Kele. Choose what you will do, but choose now!”

“Will you stay with me until it is over?” Kele asked.

“I will,” Lara answered her, and wiped the tears from the girl’s face with the heel of her palm. “Tell the lord what you want.”

Kele stood straight, looking up at Vartan, and said, “I ask for your justice, my lord Vartan. I have been terribly wronged.”

“Tell me,” Vartan said in a kindly voice.

Kele drew a long, deep breath to calm her beating heart, and then she began. “I had two suitors, my lord. My father asked which I preferred, and I chose Key. We have known each other our whole lives, and spoken often in secret of marriage. So my father agreed, and the betrothal was celebrated. But Lonn, my other suitor, would not accept it. He followed me wherever I would go, harassing me to change my mind. Finally I told him by the village well that I would not have him ever. Even if I had to die an old maid. Then Key will not have you either, he told me. There were witnesses to it, my lord.”

A murmur arose from the spectators, and Vartan said, “You will have your chance to tell me,” he promised them. “Go on now, Kele. What happened next?”

“The next day my cousin and I went to pick berries on the hillside. Lonn came upon us, and told my cousin to leave. He threatened her with his dagger, and she fled back to the village to raise the alarm. By the time my father came, it was too late,” the girl said.

“It is not enough, Kele. I need to know exactly what Lonn did,” Vartan said. “I am sorry, but the accusation must come directly from you, his victim.”

The young girl shuddered.

“Be brave,” Lara said, her arm tightening about Kele.

“He ripped my gown half off,” Kele began, and tears began slipping down her face again, but she continued bravely on. “He threw me to the ground. He fell upon me, forcing my legs apart with his knee. He pushed his manroot into me, and though I screamed and begged him not to do it he raped me, my lord. And when he did he ruined my chances for marriage with Key.”