An Exchange of Gifts Read online

  “Oh, I did that bit too well, I think. And if there are men looking for newcomers to this area… Oh, good heavens, what shall we do?”

  “We? We? Madam Princess?” He mocked her again.

  “Yes, Master Wisp, we,” she said emphatically. “We have made a fine partnership here. We could do so elsewhere again. Especially now that I know how to cook and you have taught me so much about woodcraft as well…”

  He opened his mouth to say something and then they both heard the sounds of horses moving along the lower road.

  “Quickly, Meanne,” he said, gesturing for her to grab the barrow and push it into the bushes. He broke off a branch and started to erase the tell-tale barrow wheel mark as far back as the last lane.

  “Just in case,” he said when he joined her in the dense undergrowth.

  The troop, however, rode by, bridles jingling, the men murmuring among themselves as they trotted past.

  “Do you think they’re heading for our home?” Meanne asked in a whisper as if her soft voice might alert their pursuers.

  “That’s possible, though that road leads elsewhere, too. And who,” now he turned his gaze on her again and she was breathlessly relieved to see some softening in his manner toward her, “would think the Princess Anastasia found shelter in a ruined hut?”

  “Being born a princess often has little to do with one’s private goals in life,” she said rather caustically. “I was ridiculed, tormented, teased, chastised, and physically prevented from using my Gift because it was so,” and she altered her tone to rounded vowels and haughty consonants, “‘unsuitable for a princess of the Blood Royal to insert her royal hands in common dirt!’” She could sense a further hesitation. “My latest stepmother would have everyone believe that the rumor my great grandfather married ‘common blood’ was true. Which it wasn’t. Gifts are bestowed at random and at the whim of the Creator, but a Gift is not to be denied even if all I could wheedle out of my mentors were a few window boxes for flowers. And they had to be delicate, imported plants, worthy of the attention of a princess!”

  In the growing darkness, she could just make out Wisp’s face but she could ‘feel’ him really listening to her.

  “Since I came here, and with your help, I have been doing what I should: nurturing the plants that heal and help, that soothe and scent. I have never been happier, Wisp. But, obviously, I cannot continue without your special Gift that has safeguarded me since the very moment you appeared in the doorway.”

  “You wheedle well, madam,” he replied, casting a quick glance down at her.

  “I must stay murdered, Wisp. Now that I have had a taste of living as I should…”

  “In a ramshackle hut, back of beyond, with a runaway?” He mocked her but not as bitterly.

  “I was never a frail princess, Wisp, no more than you are a frail Wisp of a thing,” and now she mocked him with his own words. “And there is the matter of you to deal with!” she added in an exasperated voice, “since you are no Wisp at all and far too adult to have shared a hut with me this long time.”

  “Committing lese majeste?” he asked sardonically.

  “No, building a partnership. Exchange Gifts with me, Wisp, and we shall do very well together.” She held out her hand as a commoner might to seal a bargain.

  He waved an irresolute hand, shaking his head. “But you are a Princess of the Blood Royal and it isn’t right for you to live as a commoner, with few luxuries and no security.”

  “All the security I need is your Gift, Wisp… Oh, what is your name?”

  “Dalain zu Bias und Fiersung,” he said offhandedly.

  One thing Princesses all learned was the genealogies of their Bloodlines and that of the lesser nobilities. Wisp as a zu Bias und Fiersung was certainly well born, though she knew him to be the third son of his house.

  “Not that it matters,” she said, “all that much. And one day you must tell me how you became ‘Wisp.’”

  “And you, why you call yourself ‘Meanne’?” Wisp’s voice was definitely warmer and he was leaning slightly closer to her behind their screening bushes.

  “Oh, that. Anastasia, you must admit, would be a mouthful for a child. Me!” and she gestured to herself, ”Ann-as-tas-sia became Meanne. To myself of course. Especially when I wasn’t allowed to do what my Gift prompted me to. And since I fully intended to be what I wanted to be in that hut, ‘Meanne’ was the only proper name to use. Wasn’t it? As Wisp was for a runaway boy?”

  He gave a little laugh, sounding in the darkness more like the Wisp she knew and depended so on.

  “It was the shock of discovering your true identity…Meanne, that angered me. Because, you see,” and he reached for her hand, stroking it gently with his strong and gentle fingers, “Dalain zu Bias und Fiersung could aspire to exchange Gifts with a rich landowner’s daughter, but…”

  Meanne threw her arms about his neck, felt his arms close tightly around her and then more tightly still in response to her obvious submission.

  “If Wisp will have Meanne, Meanne would so gladly exchange Gifts with Wisp.”

  He strained her to him but did not, as she so hoped, kiss her. He stood, carrying her with him so she could feel the beating of his heart against her own chest, and set her on her feet.

  “We do this properly, Princess Anastasia, as it befits our stations in life.” He started to remove their purchases from the barrow.

  “Oh, now, we’ll need the barrow, Wisp, wherever we decide to go from here.” ‘Dalain’ was too new for her to use that name at this moment. “Are we far from the hut?”

  “Not now,” he said, his voice raised exultantly.

  CHAPTER 6

  So they reached the shelter that had been their home, and while Meanne put away their provisions, Wisp started the fire and found candles she had made from beeswax. He honed the tip of his belt knife and set it by the jar of honey she brought out to heal the wounds of Exchange.

  Then they knelt by the fire and, by its light, the hut seemed to expand into a veritable cathedral, a subtle fragrance charmed the air, and a sense of Happening felt imminent.

  He took her right wrist and neatly nicked the vein, handing the knife to her to deal the same with the right hand he presented her. They joined wrists, blood to blood.

  “By this blood do I share with you my Gift, Dalain zu Bias und Fiersung,” she said proudly and lovingly.

  “By this blood do I share with you my Gift, Anastasia de Saumur et Navarre y Cordova.” His voice rang with sincerity and a depth of emotion that shook her.

  She widened her eyes as she felt the tingle in her wrist as he must feel it in his as the Gifts were shared. But then, slowly, devoutly, he bent his head and kissed her so that she forgot everything else in such Sharing.

  For when an exchange of Gifts has been made and the Blend has been accepted, there can be no greater joy in life.

  And so it was and so it ever will be!

  ABOUT ANNE MCCAFFREY

  Anne McCaffrey ws the most successful woman writer of commercial science fiction ever, with more than 20 million books sold—in English alone! Her novel All the Weyrs of Pern appeared on every single bestseller list for weeks, including the New York Times list.

  Ms. McCaffrey made her home in Ireland.