When she closed her eyes, the shadows danced across her face like dust flecks flickering in the streaming sun. As a child, the sensation had comprised one of her favorites: finding the warm patch on the cold stone floor where the morning sun had baked the earth into a kind of inverse blanket. On that patch, Aylee Hembry could lie on cold mornings and comfortably observe the little particles flitting past her eyes. Even better when her momma would sweep, because the dust would whip up into torrents and come to rest directly on her face.

“Aylee Annwyn Hembry!” her mother would call. “Get your little self off the floor and help me!”

Aylee now knew that her mother hadn't expected much help from the child, hardly more than an infant, but instead had despised the idea of all that dirt coating her daughter's face.

“You could grow a field of maize in all the soil I wash off of you, my dear Aylee,” she would scold. “How will you ever grow up to be a lady?”

“You know I shan't grow up to be a lady,” Aylee would sass. “Because I was not born a lady.”

How she had understood such a concept at the age of four, Aylee did not know. Perhaps because every child in the village learned as soon as he could walk to stay out of the way of ladies' carriages.

“Ladies lauded, children chided,” the saying went, which had made little sense to Aylee as a child, but she had known it involved children's giving deference to finely dressed women. The ill-fated youngster who failed to do so would find himself at the beating end of several sticks – as Aylee's younger brothers had too often done – and not just that of his parents. The fine ladies who passed through the village frequently spent a wealth of money and jewels on village goods, and the behavior of a town's children could act as a repellent or an attraction to such largesse.

So, Aylee knew she would never be a lady, but at the age of four, she had cared very little. At the age of four and ten, she had grown to despise the fact. At the age of twenty, she found she once again didn't care. She did, however, still enjoy the feeling of the sun on her face and the dancing shadows that flitted past her eyes.

From many years hence, she had outgrown the spot on the floor, and though she didn't mind a smudge of dirt on her skin, she cringed at the thought of the dust that she had wantonly courted as a child. In the more recent past, Aylee had found her opportunity for indulgence on the gently-sloping hill behind her house, and today was no exception. Fall had come shimmering in, blanketing the oppression of summer with a delicious warmth that stirred pleasure in her heart, and once she had helped her mother finish the early morning washing, Aylee dragged the basket of dripping clothes to the clothesline. As she started to hang them to dry on the line, a near swarm of dragonflies began to dance overhead.

At first, she found their presence annoying, not the less because of the gnats that seemed to have predicated their coming. Kind of like my brothers, she smirked. Three younger brothers she had, and every one of them as much a nuisance as a help at any given moment. Or perhaps, she realized, she had to put up with a swarm of annoying gnats to enjoy the beauty of the dragonflies. So, she had to endure the utter rambunctiousness of her brothers to enjoy the diversion they brought to her life.

For instance, the two older boys should have helped Aylee carry the laundry into the yard so that she didn't have to bear a burden so disproportional to her physical stature. For them to do so, though, Aylee would have had to endure the strewing of half the clothes into the dirt along the way. At sixteen and twelve, the boys should have born more responsibilities around the home, but instead they suffered from fits of boredom and nervous energy. Still, she wouldn’t trade their energy for more lethargic company.

On the days Father stayed home, he kept the boys more than busy enough to engage their attention, but sometimes Father traveled for a week or more at a time. Perhaps Chester should have traveled oftener with their father, but Mr. Hembry had little patience with his son's fidgeting, and Aylee feared that Chester would grow fat and lazy left to his own idle fancies.

Chester's heart, though, seemed to hold a touch of gold in it, so Aylee would not have traded his focus for a boy of less energy. He had used his lack of occupation as an excuse to care for the broken and injured animals that so often wandered into the small hamlet, a rough collection of houses on the edge of the town. Because the town supplied the needs of old-worlders who inhabited the abutting marsh, a sort of secondary town square had formed not in the center of the actual village, but at the border between the town and the marsh. On this northern border of the square closest to the marsh sat the Hembry house. Thus, the deer often nosed into the square, and rabbits ran rampant at certain times of year.

With Chester's hobby came a steady stream of business for Mr. Hembry's store since people would travel throughout the village to consult with the “little animal doctor.” While waiting for his diagnosis, the patient's master would usually make a few purchases from the store. Though most people smirked at Chester's minor obsession, few had shunned his help when their goat developed the lung worm or their canine grew the mange. Where many, including Aylee, saw only fetid disease, Chester saw the suffering of the poor creature and felt compelled to fix it.

If only his compassion had extended to humans! When not saving animals, Chester spent the larger part of his days tormenting any male younger than he who happened into the vicinity of the store. That included his two younger brothers, Chapman and Chalmers. Fortunately, he had yet to find pleasure in treating the female-kind in similar fashion, and Aylee's baby sister, Agnes, had escaped too much grief. From what Mother said, Aylee could expect Chester's attentions to shift from the boys to the girls within the next couple of years, but his pleasure would not grow from tormenting siblings so much as from attracting the town maidens. Aylee had seen the shift in other boys, but she still found it hard to believe with Chester. At twelve, Chapman had a more instinctive sense of charm than Chester would probably ever manage. Still, since Chester excelled in the persistence department, perhaps once his motivation had shifted, his tactics would shift as well.

Aylee giggled at the thought. Chester would marry eventually, certainly. As the eldest son of a respected merchant, Chester would hold resources not available to the average son of an average farmer. As the son of Everett Hembry, the general public would expect Chester to possess some sense, though so far, Aylee had seen little evidence of the characteristic in her brother.

Of course, Aylee realized as she lay back on the grassy hillside, at almost five years his senior, she expected perhaps too much of her brother. She had not allowed for the difference in temperament or maturity. Again, she smiled as she closed her eyes against the sun; perhaps she thought too much of her own maturity. Even at twenty, she still chose to lie down in the grass on the hill and watch the dragonflies' shadows where they danced on the back of her eyelids.

“Eyelid!” came the cry in chorus with her thoughts. Aylee laid her book over her face, hoping to convince the seeker that she slept underneath it.

“Eyelid! Father wants you! He just got back.”

Removing the book, Aylee carefully folded it shut and sat up. Why Chester insisted on calling her “eyelid” escaped her. Not that she didn't know the source of the nickname. Her dear mother, Raehan Hembry, insisted on spelling her name in the ways of the ancient people. Father agreed with Aylee that she should use the most practical and recognizable version of her name, but mother couldn't quite relinquish the beauty of the old ways to the new. Unfortunately, no one in the village knew how to say “Eilidh,” and unless Aylee stopped her, Mrs. Hembry would write the old-fashioned name on whatever she could find to inscribe. Thus, Chester had plentiful reminders to call his sister by the hated mispronunciation.

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If Chester alone had summoned her, Aylee would have feigned sleep, but her father had requested her presence. Aylee had to answer her father for two reasons. First, one did not ignore Everett Hembry. The man did not abide dissent, though he managed to appear affable and pleasant even as he pressed his will. Secondly, Aylee adored her da, and the thought of refusing him in anything brought her great displeasure.

“I'm coming, Chester,” she glared at her brother. “Don't pester me.”

“Call to me when you are done, because I have news to pass on that I think the men of the town will need to hear.”

Skeptical, Aylee tilted her head at her brother. “Have you suddenly decided to take an interest in things beyond childhood?” she queried with a hint of chastisement.

“I left childhood behind ages ago, sister. Did you see that?” he replied, his short attention span bringing the lie to his claim of new maturity. “I think it's back leg has a disjointed hip flexor!”

Aylee rolled her eyes as Chester jumped to his feet and flew after whatever creature he had spied. She sighed to herself. Just before Chester had called her, a breeze had begun to flitter across the field, and she couldn't help but mourn the loss of her favorite sensations. Warm sun, soft grass, and a cooling breeze.

Oh, well, Aylee smiled to herself, unwilling to feel disappointment for very long. Her father had returned home from five days of travel. How could she possibly regret forgoing any other pleasure for the joy of reuniting with him?

Mistress Hembry, upon viewing her daughter, smiled at the pleasure on Aylee's face. Perhaps some mothers would have succumbed to jealousy that her daughter showed such a marked preference, but Raehan took no greater joy in anything than in her children's love for their father. Most children loved their mothers, as most mothers sacrificed a great deal for their children. To have a special bond with a father, though, seemed a rare and beautiful thing, especially in an age where so many men gave more thought to their economies and entertainments than to their families and affections. Certainly, Everett cared a great deal about his business, but he found even greater fulfillment in the circle of his family and building it into a great heritage. Who could complain? Mistress Hembry always reminded herself.

Aylee glided rapidly past her mother, stopping to peck the older woman's face with a quick and affectionate kiss before proceeding out the front door to where her father now tied his horse to the hitching post.

“Father!” she gushed through the door with genuine enthusiasm.

Her excitement faded significantly when she heard the baritone voice that grated across the pathway toward her father.

“E-virt!” the deep tone slithered like the scales of a giant serpent. “E-virt, I'll be expecting a gift from ye after your trip.”

The gods love Everett Hembry! thought Aylee when her father laughed at the slithery voice. “I expect ye'll be expecting for a long time then, Malchus Lorne,” Mr. Hembry smirked, “because I've got nothing that would interest you and nothing I'm willing to gift to you.”

From across the gravel path, Aylee swore she heard a hiss, though she could not know for sure. If Malchus's expression truly reflected his heart, a snake's hiss would fit nicely. Malchus Lorne did not look like a snake on the surface, though. Truly, Aylee had to admit the young man's attractiveness. He stood several inches taller than her father, who stood only an inch or so taller than Aylee. Adding to his height, Malchus possessed the deep green eyes of the marsh people, a mysterious tribe of wanderers who only showed their faces when one of their men fell ill or a goat went lame.

When they fell into need, Aylee often went as emissary for her brother to diminish the natural distrust of the marshers, as she called them. Something about Aylee seemed to garner trust; whatever quality she held calmed the nerves and drew out the light.

Not that most people noticed Aylee overly much. Everyone knew her, and if pressed to say, most would call her a lovely person. Still, she managed to escape the notice of most people.

Most, though unfortunately not all, she lamented. Not that she wanted to avoid people – she didn't. She just did not appreciate the fact that Malchus dogged her steps more than practically necessary. Though Aylee shunned rumors, she could not escape the whispers that Malchus's mother had succumbed to the enchantment of a marsher, thus explaining the young man's green eyes. In truth, Malchus's father had never shown an abundance of affection for the young man, and the antipathy between the men only buttressed the suppositions. Part of Aylee bore compassion for the merchant’s son, but not to the extent that she excused his intimidation tactics. She knew many youth of her age who wore the “shame” of an unclear parentage, and they did not excuse themselves for unscrupulous behavior – on the contrary. Many of them carried themselves with such dignity that the community forgot to judge them after long.

For Aylee, the only significance of Malchus's ambiguous birth lay in how it might explain his preference for her, since the marshers seemed to love her. Flighty and whimsical, the marshers would rarely subject themselves to the close streets and abundant noise of the village, except maybe to see Aylee. For the most part, Aylee appreciated their trust, but unfortunately, Malchus seemed to have inherited an affinity for Aylee along with his green eyes. If only Aylee had not found herself called upon to intervene between Malchus and so many of the less educated townsfolk, she could easily have hidden away from him and never seen him.

In her father's absence, though, Aylee often ran interference in matters that wouldn't otherwise have involved her – matters usually involving Malchus.

“Well, you think so, eh, E-virt?" The annoying trill brought Aylee back to her father's conversation. "And don't you think a gift will motivate me to act on behalf of the bonnie behind ye? And the lads runnin' around the property behind ye? You don't want to leave them unprotected.”

An unexpected snort emitted from Everett Hembry. “I be thinking that a few fireshots will provide all the protection my family be needing, whether I be here or no. I've seen that “bonnie behind me” lay out a doe from fifty yards. I'm not too worried about someone sneaking up on her.”

Though she tried, Aylee did not restrain the snicker that leapt through her lips. Malchus glared at her, but her father just smiled. “Thank ye, kindly, though, I be sure,” the older man leveled, and Aylee had to turn away to avoid more than the hint of rudeness. To laugh at Malchus Lorne's face would constitute a serious affront with social implications, and even Aylee didn't wish to stir up that much trouble, especially for her family.

“When the new portreeve arrives,” Malchus sneered toward her, “you may be sure that it will be I who laughs.”

Even with her back turned, Aylee could visualize the maleficence on Malchus's face. When he grew dangerous, he lost his exaggerated lilt from the ancient people, and he adopted the more common vernacular, as if he switched from a light-hearted façade to the power of his darker self. The tone brought a cold chill to blow over her skin, and she did not know from whence came her reaction. Aylee rarely knew fear, so well had her parents taught her the ways of the mind. Even her mother, so married to the ancient culture, did not put stock in their superstitions. Still, if Aylee could have believed in the ancient spirits, she would have sworn one had grazed past the nape of her neck with Malchus’s words.

“Eight,” came the unimpressed cool of her father's voice as he lapsed into the lilt of the marshers. “Eight portreeves have come and gone since this little business of mine commenced, and every one of them who itched for change scratched off his own skin without so much as causing a minor shift in mine. I would advise ye not to whistle for your dog against the wind. Ye'll not alter the wind's course, thy dog willn't hearken thee, and ye'll likely end up with a mouth full o'dog piss.”

She had tried for so long to control herself, but her father had finally broken through Aylee's restraint. For several seconds, she heard only the hissing and snorting of her own laughter, and only when she felt her father's hand on her arm did she finally suck in the breath of recovery. Perhaps she should have behaved better, but the moment of fear had rebounded into a bubbling of mirth.

“Now,” Mr. Hembry began, and Aylee braced herself for a reprimand from him, but instead he turned to Malchus. “Get ye home and come back when ye know better.”

Though her father missed little, Aylee couldn't help wondering if her father had realized the dual implications of his statement. Malchus Lorne would never know better, and obeying the mandate would effectively keep the youth away from her father's store for the rest of his life. She could only hope.