Back in Westmore.
Ewen had said, "I'd almost forgotten. Mother asked that I give you her invitation to dine if you were recovered enough." He grinned hopefully. "I figure that if you're back to pell-work, you might consider it." Paris' first reaction had been to shy away. It didn't matter so much that she still didn't look her best; those 'fairy princess' nights were more miracle than reality from this distance. It was more that -- well, it was easier not to seem lost, out-of-place, in mourning, when acting the part of a knight, than when socializing as a lady. But Ewen's glance had belied his casual manner. Paris thought about the other ladies Lorraine had said the Baroness had been inviting out. Ewen wanted her to have a place in that list. She could tell.
And so she had found herself being graciously received by Baroness deLacey. Warming herself at the deLacey hearth with a goblet of mulled wine while the lady graciously rewarded Paris' admiration with a description of the infusions used to spice different types of wine, Paris found herself both interested and intrigued. The Baroness might well be elder sister to the Widow Mia -- ah, no longer widow, Paris reminded herself -- in their interest in the apothecarical properties of plants. Maman had had some of that interest too. Did it come with being the 'mistress of a household?'
After a while Paris noticed that Matthew, who had been hanging on the outskirts of the adult conversations, had crept up to Ewen and was tugging at him. Because her attention was caught, the childish whisper was quite audible. "Can we show her the fort, Ewen? Can we? Huh? Please? Can we?" Ewen looked up and caught her eye. Her softened expression, looking at the little boy, must have encouraged him for he smiled warmly and said, "Well, I suppose that Sir Paris might be interesting in seeing the mews in winter, if you could spare her to us for a time, Mother?"
The joy in Matthew's face brightened the room as the women exchanged glances and barely perceptible nods. With a whisper and a bit of a shove from Ewen, Matthew scampered off, returning in solemn dignity with a fur-lined sleeved jacket. Ewen helped him hold it up for Paris. "This is better than flapping cloaks in the mews," he murmured. "Most of our hawks we released in late fall. Their nature is to winter in the south. The few who we retain are occasionally -- grumpy," he smiled, "with the vicissitudes of the weather."
Once released from the confines of the house, Matthew seemed unable to confine his excitement either. As Ewen drew Paris' hand through his arm, the youngster began talking so fast that his face was almost obscured by the steam of his breath. "I started building it with the very first snowfall an' the freezes have come so often and hard that it's been easy to keep it up an' building 'til it's most too high to build more an' I did most of it myself but Ewen helped an'...." Ewen smiled a bit sheepishly to be implicated in a child's activities. Paris couldn't help but smile back.
"You were like him when you were little, weren't you?" she said softly. "He's a darling." Ewen's eyebrows went up but he grinned in response.
It was, in fact, a rather impressive structure of ice and snow, built with the stable wall at its back. Matthew, of course, was disappointed that the knight's skirts would not allow her to crawl through his particular escape tunnel but was mollified by her patent admiration of the crenellation along the top. Ewen, catching the sincerity of her admiration, offered her his hand and led her through the almost maze-like side entrance. "For easier defense from the 'tower'" he said, gesturing to the impressive block of packed snow in the center, a shaped heap certainly tall enough for a small boy to use as a watch platform. As she looked in that direction, there was a small thud, a sharp cracking sound and a youthful wail -- all the warning possible. Ewen tried to push her aside, slipped and they both went down as a great sheet of snow sloughed off the stable roof and onto them. Snow matted Paris' curls and masked her face as ice crystals slithered down her collar and up her legs. She gasped and choked, trying to shake herself free. More ice slid under the warmth of the jacket.
"You young imp!" Ewen sputtered as Matthew's voice could be heard, scrambling towards them through the tunnel and frantically repeating, "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to!" "Paris?" Ewen turned to her, trying to free her, "are you all right?" Paris cleared her face and looked up at Ewen. He seemed to be wearing a cap and epaulets of snow. Crystals clung to his eyebrows, a comical frame for the distress apparent in his face. "Oh, Ewen!" she gasped as she reached up to brush the snow from his face. Then she burst into giggles. Relieved, he started laughing as well.
"I didn't mean to, Sir Paris," Matthew was almost dancing in his distress, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry." Paris met Ewen's eyes, still warm with amusement. He shrugged and Paris turned to the youngster. "If it was a planned ambush, Lord Matthew," she said, "it was well done. But ambush should be saved for war. When knights test themselves, it is by challenge and in facing ones opponents." She glanced at them both and grinned. "So let's call 'grand melee'!" She stooped and scooped up two handfuls of snow. "En garde!" She called and tossed one at each of them. "En garde!" shrilled Matthew. For a few minutes, snowballs flew wildly.
"Master Matthew!" His nurse's voice, judged Paris, from the look of dismay on the boy's face. She spoke up, "Time to report for duty, Lord Matthew. My thanks for the combat." She let the last snowball drop from her hand. The boy grinned, saluted, and dashed off. As she looked around, an arm reached out from the side of the 'fort' and pulled her into its shelter. "Paris," Ewen grinned into her up-turned face, rosy with the exercise, "you're wonderful!" as he bent and kissed her.
Paris clung to the moment. Matthew and Ewen had taken her outside herself for a blessed space of time. She would manage this visit. The dark future that had oppressed her these last few days would simply have to wait. There were still the mews and the hawks.
"SnowFight" copyright 2000 S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.