The Prisoner Bride. Susan Spencer Paul

as were his sisters and brother, reminding Glenys not so much of an ordinary human being, but of a creature that might be half human and half animal. Precisely what kind of animal, she wasn’t sure. Her aunts and uncles were as quick and sure-footed as mountain goats, as delicate and careful as great-eyed deer and as difficult to make behave as a group of highly independent cats. Their coloring and features were remarkably similar, as well, although since Aunt Mim and Aunt Wynne were twins that wasn’t so unusual a thing. They all had white hair and blue eyes and remained as beautiful—aye, beautiful, even her uncles—as they had ever been. Sometimes, when Glenys looked at them, she found it impossible to believe that she was in any way related to such wonderful and unusual creatures as her aunts and uncles were. Both she and Daman possessed none of their daintiness or otherworldliness, and Glenys, of a certainty, knew that she possessed none of their beauty.

      “Come along, dearest,” Uncle Aonghus called from the midway point, beckoning to her. “You must be on your way soon, lest you miss your opportunity.”

      “I’m only going to see the banker,” she repeated, dutifully following behind.

      “Here’s Dina, holding the door for us,” Uncle Aonghus said cheerfully as he gained the hallway, wiping small remaining bits of dust and powder from the long purple robe he wore. “You’ll need a much warmer cloak, Dina,” he said, taking the door from her as Glenys reached the last step. “Go and fetch your heaviest one.”

      “But, my lord,” Dina said shyly, “’tis not so cold a day. Indeed, ’tis quite warm for May.”

      “Oh, but it will grow cold in the evening,” he told her, patting her arm. “Hurry now. Run and fetch it, just as I’ve said.”

      Dina looked at Glenys, who sighed and nodded. With a slight bob of her head, Dina left to fetch her cloak.

      “And you’ll be needing warmer clothes, as well, Glenys,” Uncle Aonghus told her, reaching to curl his long fingers gently about her arm, “but your aunt Mim has already thought of that. Come into the great room and tell them all goodbye, dearest. And do tie that pouch to your girdle. I shouldn’t want you to lose it.”

      And neither would I, Glenys thought silently, looping the strings about the leather belt at her waist and securing them tightly.

      “Uncle Aonghus, I’m only going to the bank.”

      “Yes, yes, of course you are,” he said kindly as he led her along. “And a very good thing it is, too.”

      The great room of Metolius was a large, warm and inviting chamber. It was the very heart of the entire dwelling. The walls were beautifully paneled with gleaming cherry wood and the floors covered in soft, richly colored Italian carpets. Tall windows along the length of one wall allowed light to fill the room on sunny days, and a multitude of Danish lamps set at intervals about each wall did the same during the night. Six large, handsome hearths kept the room warm the year round, most especially when the weather grew chill.

      The family spent every evening together in the great room, and much of the rest of the day, as well. Each member had a favorite spot. Uncle Aonghus liked to sit near the shelf that was set against the far wall and read from one of his favorite bound manuscripts, which were always kept there. Glenys sat near the fire, usually plying her needle on whatever needed mending, from clothing to curtains, and across from her, also near the fire, Uncle Culain would be sitting at the chess table, moving from one chair to the other, playing a game against himself, just as he was doing now. Aunt Mim and Aunt Wynne liked to sit near the tall windows, gazing out into the gardens and courtyard, chattering away and looking into their special box, giggling and exclaiming over each new discovery. They were in their chairs now, bent over the plain wooden box, gazing at the contents within.

      “What could this be?” Aunt Mim said wonderingly, lifting a small, thin package up into the light, showing it to Aunt Wynne. “What do you think, dear?”

      Aunt Wynne examined the papery object more closely, squinting to read the red letters printed boldly across it. “B-a-n-d–A-i-d,” she spelled slowly. “Hmm. But I’m sure we’ve seen this before…whatever it may be.”

      “No, dear,” Aunt Mim chided, setting the object back into the box and closing the lid. “The box never offers the same article twice. You know that.” She lifted the lid and looked inside. “Oh, look! Now isn’t this pretty?”

      “Oh, in truth, Sister, it is,” Aunt Wynne agreed, reaching one beautifully delicate hand into the box to lift out a long strand of pearls. “How lovely. Such a shame we can’t keep them for Glenys. She has the coloring for pearls. We’ve never looked well in them,” she said woefully, then, with a sigh, let the luminous strand slide back into the box. “When will we ever get the key?”

      The key was what Aunt Mim and Aunt Wynne spent hour upon hour, day upon day searching for. The wooden box offered up mysteries that Glenys felt uncomfortable thinking upon—of all the oddities at Metolius, it was by far the most unsettling—but its real purpose, she had ever been told, was to one day offer up an ancient key that, like the Greth Stone, had been lost to the Seymour family. It had been hundreds of years since the mysterious key had been placed in the box and sent…well, to wherever it was that things disappeared to when placed there…and various Seymours had been trying to get it back ever since. The key box was opened and closed dozens of times during a single day, offering up small, strange objects for observation, but it hadn’t yet yielded the key. Glenys didn’t even know what the key was for or what it was meant to unlock, and she wasn’t entirely certain that her aunts and uncles knew, either, but the quest was a pleasurable way for them to spend their afternoons, and the anticipation of one day finding the key never seemed to wane.

      “Mim,” Uncle Aonghus said gently as his sister began to open the box once more. “Glenys is about to leave us.”

      Aunt Mim, Aunt Wynne and Uncle Culain all stopped what they were doing and stood.

      “Oh, Glenys, dearest,” Aunt Mim said with distress, moving toward Glenys with one of her long, elegant hands stretched out. “Must you go now? It will be so long a time before you come back to us.”

      Glenys took her aunt’s hand with care, feeling, as she ever did, the great difference between her own sturdiness and the delicate loveliness of her relatives. “There’s no need to be overset, Aunt Mim,” she reassured her. “I’m only going to the bank, and Dina with me.”

      Aunt Wynne joined them, tears filling her bright blue eyes. In her hands she held Glenys’s warmest cloak. “But we shall miss you so greatly,” she said, setting the heavy woolen garment about Glenys’s shoulders. “You must take care in all things, dearest, and never forget that you’re a Seymour. A true Seymour, even though your mother was of the northern people and, like them, so very practical. But that couldn’t be helped, and a dear, good wife she was to our brother Arian.” She nodded, and Aunt Mim and Uncle Aonghus and Uncle Culain, who had left his chess game to join them, all nodded, too.

      “But—” Glenys began, only to be interrupted by Aunt Mim, who’d begun to lace up the collar of Glenys’s cloak.

      “Your aunt Wynne is quite right,” she said, sniffling and clearly striving not to weep. “You and Daman are Seymours in every way that matters, though you can be so stubborn about accepting that certainty,” she said chidingly, reaching up to adjust the plain silver circlet that sat atop Glenys’s braided auburn hair. “But you can’t run away from the truth forever. Oh, Wynne, where is the stone? She cannot go without it.”

      “Here, in my pocket.” Aunt Wynne fished about in the apron that hung from her girdle, at last producing a small, white stone that Glenys recognized at once.

      “Oh, no,” she murmured, “I can’t take it with me. Please, don’t ask me to do so.” She looked pleadingly at her aunts. “I’m only going to the bank, and once I’ve spoken with Master Fairchild I’ll return home—long before the evening meal, I vow. And you know how greatly it worries me to take anything…special…out of Metolius.” Merciful God, the very last thing she needed was to have one of Aunt Mim’s and Aunt Wynne’s stones