Now. Tonight. I will—”

“Go cool your ardor in the fjord,” she said harshly, striding away from him. “It is not, and never will be, welcome.”

That should have quelled him, but to her disgust he stayed on her heels, quickening his stride to draw even with her. “Alexeika, must I force you to love me?”

She whirled around and swiped him with her dagger. Its needle-sharp point sliced through his tunic sleeve, and he yelped shrilly.

“Gods, woman!” he said in fury. “You’re mad!”

“I warned you,” she replied, knowing she had but scratched him, if her weapon had drawn blood at all. “You have no right to touch me. Had I a protector, he would gut you where you stand for your impertinence. But I am capable of doing it myself. Get away from me, and stay away from me. I will not warn you again.” He was still staggering about, clutching his arm and swearing terrible curses under his breath. “I seek to do you a good turn, and you attack me!” he said, his voice shrill. “I offer you everything—” “You?” She laughed in scorn, tossing her head. “You offer me nothing but insult.”

“You’ll regret this,” he muttered. “Prancing about in your leggings, tempting decent men, flaunting yourself.”

“What?” she gasped.

“You’ll see,” he told her, and now his voice was spiteful and vicious. “You think you’re as clever as a man, but you’re nothing but a fool of a woman. And not even a real woman at that!”

The insult stung her so harshly she turned and swiftly hurried to her tent. Her heart was racing, and she found herself almost sobbing for air. Her fist was still clenched around the hilt of her dagger, and as she walked she struck the air with it several times, wishing she had driven it into Draysinko’s chest.  By the time she reached the refuge of her tent, she was shaking. Swiftly she lit her lamp and paced back and forth, back and forth. He was a worm, a weasyn, a belly-crawler coward of a man. He was not worth her anger, but his arrogance and sudden boldness had both astonished and appalled her. How could he possibly think she would be flattered by his declaration? After she had rebuked him for his stupidity and laziness before supper, how could he yet come to her and expect her to fall into his embrace?

She shuddered, and ran her hands up and down her arms to take the shivering away. That last thing he’d said had been hateful and cruel. She had no doubt that someday she would find a man right for her, a man who could accept her opinions as those of a helpmeet with a mind of her own. There must be a man, she told herself, who would take pride in her intelligence, education, and skill in wielding a weapon. Her father had never forced her to act like a boy; he had never tried to drive her maidenly side from her. He had insisted she know what was expected of a lady, but he had also insisted she use her wits and not expect a man to think and act for her.

When she wed, she would give herself to a warrior lord who had proven himself on the battlefield. Her man would have honor and courage. He would be no sniveling coward too lazy to work. In fact, in her dreams at night this man of her future often wore the face and thews of Faldain, whose image she had once summoned by parting the veils of seeing. He would be dark-haired and keen of eye. His shoulders would be powerful and straight. He would be handsome, young, and virile. But he would also be tender in heart, just, and true. This was whom she dreamed of. Not a sniveling weaver with a crooked leg who let his ambitions run away with him.

Alexeika did not live formally, but she’d been raised by an old-fashioned father. Draysinko was not only repulsive, but a weaver, a guildsman as far beneath her rank as an ant was beneath an eagle. She found herself shocked that Draysinko had dared approach her this boldly. Had she any male relatives, he would be horsewhipped and driven immediately from the camp. She wished she could drive him out herself.

But if she did that, there would have to be an explanation to the others. She lifted her chin, refusing to tell anyone how he’d insulted her.  Fuming, she paced yet longer, wishing she could be outdoors instead of trapped within the stuffy confines of her tent. It was often her custom, when the weather was warm, to loop back the tent flap to let the evening breeze come in.  Tonight she kept the flap lowered. She felt unsettled, jumpy, and restless. And now that her tent had been violated, she felt no security at all.  She could not even bear to sit down, and kept pacing back and forth despite her growing fatigue. She longed for a refreshing swim in the icy waters of the fjord, but Draysinko might yet be lurking there on the bank.  Someone coughed politely outside her tent flap. She jumped and whirled around, her heart thumping before she recognized Uzfan’s voice.  “Alexeika, it is I. May I enter?”

Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes. Suddenly, although she loved the old man as an uncle, she lacked enough composure to face him. He would instantly know something was wrong. She could not hope to conceal her agitation, and she was not completely certain why she should want to. But she felt ashamed and unsure of herself. She wondered if she had given Draysinko encouragement without meaning to. Even Kexis followed her about like a lovesick puppy. Was she doing something wrong?

The priest was her mentor and confidant, but he was also a man. She needed a woman to talk to, desperately. But who had taken things from her tent? Whom could she trust?

“Alexeika,” Uzfan called again. “Forgive me. Do I disturb you?”

“No!” she replied. “A moment please.”

Hastily she went outside, letting the flap fall shut behind her to keep the lamplight from revealing her face.

Feeling cloaked by the darkness, she glanced around and saw that most of the fires had been put out. The camp was settling down for the night. A woman was shooing home two children, both whining to be allowed to play a while longer.  Alexeika had managed to shame Tleska into sentry duty, but one sentry was not enough.

She had no desire to be consulted about whatever problem was troubling Uzfan tonight, but in courtesy she could not refuse him.

“What’s amiss?” she asked. “What troubles you?”

Leaning on his staff, the old priest glanced about uneasily. “This, I fear, is not private enough.”

“Then let us walk,” she said.