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be the fortress he sought?
Galen and the Forest Lord - 40
"Well, little one, it seems we've arrived," Galen told
his precious bundle. The child answered with a sleepy
yawn.
A pair of carved oak panels formed the massive
double doors, with hinges and fittings of iron, molded
into the likeness of wolves. Ha! Galen would like to see
Svienn manage that impressive workmanship! The full
harvest moon reflected off the stone walls, creating the
same silvery glow as the path. He raised his hand to
knock, but before his knuckles connected, the door flew
open and four pairs of hands grabbed him, pulling him
inside. The door slammed shut.
"Are you hungry?"
"Would you like some wine?"
"I'm Lady Isibel. Are you a village lad?"
"Hey! I saw him first!"
Galen's eyes darted from one well-dressed woman to
the next, making him dizzy. All bore noticeably swollen
bellies, and none of the dusky-skinned ladies wore the
distinctive blue head scarf that marked a joined female.
In fact, all flaunted their long, dark, loose hair.
Scandalous!
Thinking back to village custom, he held his breath,
hoping one wouldn't name him the father and demand he
make an honest woman of her before the village elders
hauled her to the tavern steps for judgment.
"Ladies!" a voice too deep to come from the females
shouted. Galen breathed a sigh of relief when the
women ceased their questions and stepped aside to allow
an elderly man to pass. Pale eyes matched the man's pale
hair. "On behalf of Lord Erik and the forest people, we
bid you welcome."
Oh, good. For someone his uncle said couldn't find
his way out of a milking pail, it looked like Galen had
managed to arrive at the right place.
Galen and the Forest Lord - 41
The man grasped his arm in a firm grip that belied the
appearance of advanced age, leading him to a chair
where a feast seemed to have been interrupted. One of
the women pressed a cup of wine into his hand, and he
was poised to take a sip, when, from everywhere, people
came, more than he could count (again with that
unfortunate limitation). All were far too eager and
enthusiastic for his tastes, and all were talking at once.
Their manner reminded him a bit of the wolves he'd
encountered.
"What's your name?"
"Where are you from, lad?"
"Do they still dance at the village tavern each night?"
"Do you know a wench named Tilda? Oooof!!" An
elbow firmly connected with the speaker's midsection.
"Silence!"
The largest woman he'd ever seen stepped forward.
The others quieted immediately. Like most of the new
arrivals, it appeared she'd dressed in a hurry. Her gown,
far more fetching than anything the village girls wore,
hung from one shoulder, and her elaborately piled hair
listed to one side. "Greetings, sir. I am Lady Eydis,"
Galen heard her say, in a voice far huskier than even
Svienn's father's, roughened by years in the smoked-
filled smithy. "On behalf of my nephew, Lord Erik, we
bid you welcome."
Galen tried to remember what few manners he'd been
taught, only recalling two, and neither "don't spit in the
house" nor "close the privy door" seemed to fit this
particular situation. Then what thoughts he remained
capable of disappeared when a stunningly handsome
man pushed through the crowd, bringing to mind the big
black wolf from before, with his savage beauty and
dangerous allure. Like the lady Eydis, the newcomer had
soot-black hair that fell in heavy waves past broad
Galen and the Forest Lord - 42
shoulders, framing a chiseled chin and jaw and well-
defined cheekbones, face far more deeply tanned than
any farmsteader's even at harvest end. His facial hair had
been trimmed into a neat moustache and goatee.
The stranger's eyes, the exact color of the black
stones used in the village for cooking, captured Galen's
attention more so than any other feature, for they glowed
like burning embers. In that moment poor Galen realized
the villagers were right -- enchanted creatures did live in
the forest, for nothing had ever caused something to stir
to life in his braes as readily as this man. Not even
Svienn. Now, faced with this tall, imposing temptation,
Galen realized his mortal peril -- and that he needed
roomier braes.
Visions raced through his mind of slinging the
handsome stranger over one shoulder, carting Sir Tall,
Dark, and Tempting away someplace secluded, and
doing all the wicked things that Svienn had accused him
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