Part three of part the first.
Three years earlier
Katherine smiled politely at the man sitting in her father's solar and tried to stifle a yawn. It was the fifth betrothal proposal she had had to sit through that week, the twelfth that month. She liked to hope that they were slowly but surely running out of men who might want to marry her, but she knew it wasn't likely. Her father's lands were broad, and the Other who made sure the seeds they planted came to fruition were generous. Their harvests were lush, bountiful, with even the lowest of the peasants eating like kings in the late part of the year, when the leaves dropped from the trees. And she was his only child.
"I can bring you many flocks of sheep, my lord," the young man was saying. He had a straggly little attempt at a beard on his chin. Kit carefully slid her needle in and out of the taut fabric stretched inside her embroidery hoop--she wasn't actually sewing, but it looked convincing.
Sheep! Sheep, and barley, cows and chickens. Jewels, rich Merislin lace from the sea, heavy velvets she'd never wear. Things thrown before her father's feet, and her own. It might have satisfied her father, but it left her feeling...unmoved.
A lull fell in the conversation, and Katherine seized it greedily. "I would go collecting mushrooms, Father," she said.
"Go," Gillan said. He smiled at her. He couldn't refuse her anything.
Katherine forced herself to rise sedately, and to curtsy politely to the guest in the room. "Bid thee well," she said. The minute the door closed behind her, she was running, as fast as her little slippered feet would take her.
The forest was where her heart was. The woods were alive, dripping wet, breathing. Mushrooms and moss and lichen grew over everything, and in the decay and gloom there was life. And magic. Magic dripped from the tree limbs and their leaves as surely as rain did. Though Katherine had never gone looking for it--it would be foolish to do so, foolish in the extreme--everyone knew there was a gateway in those woods, a gateway the Other used to travel between their world and the fields of men. Strange things were frequently seen in the woods. Some things that were beautiful and striking.
Some things that were terrifying.
For ever Other that crept along and made the barley grow, there was an Other who crept along and tied knots in hair. For every Other who saw to it that a baby arrived safe and sound, there was an Other who stole the baby and the mother too.
Katherine lifted her skirts to keep them from dragging in the wet leaves. As usual, the forest felt like home, more than even her bedroom in the manor house, with its pretty pink and white draperies. She scampered along the path, laughing as raindrops hit her face and hair--no matter that it was merely cloudy outside of the forest, inside the forest, it was always raining. Her hair would curl, and she'd bind it with a ribbon, and her father would tell the young man to keep his sheep, his daughter would not marry but who her heart did choose. And she would continue to roam freely.
She was so happy she did a twirl, spinning on her heel right there in the middle of the path.
That was when she saw the Unicorn.
It stood several yards from her, just off the path, down in a little gully on the other side of a fallen tree she liked to walk across for the sheer pleasure of trying to balance of something. It was, as Unicorns often are, so white, so clean-looking, it seemed to glow faintly. Its mane was threaded with silver, and its eyes were dark and soft. Even its hooves were white. It gazed at her without a sound, without moving.
She fell in love instantly. She knew she would. Unicorns had that effect on people. "Hello," Katherine said softly. "Welcome." It was always a good idea to be polite to the Other. Even if Unicorns were a little different, they were still Other.
The Unicorn stamped its hoof and snorted softly. It inclined its head toward her, as if inviting her to come closer. Enchanted, Katherine moved closer, slowly extending her hand. "You're beautiful," she whispered. "So beautiful. I'm sure you hear it a lot, but you are." The Unicorn snorted again, and then, delicately, touched its nose to her hand. A shiver of love rushed through Katherine, and she closed her eyes, sliding her hand up that beautiful long head, curving around the long, smooth horn. Her fingers tangled in the Unicorn's forelock, and she sighed, and laid her cheek against the Unicorn's neck. The Unicorn smelled the way a kiss felt, something impossibly, dreamily sweet. She sighed, a lingering gust of air that made the silky strands of the Unicorn's mane flutter.
That was when the Unicorn said, "Catch me if you can!" and abruptly took off, cantering down the leaf-strewn path.
Katherine smiled politely at the man sitting in her father's solar and tried to stifle a yawn. It was the fifth betrothal proposal she had had to sit through that week, the twelfth that month. She liked to hope that they were slowly but surely running out of men who might want to marry her, but she knew it wasn't likely. Her father's lands were broad, and the Other who made sure the seeds they planted came to fruition were generous. Their harvests were lush, bountiful, with even the lowest of the peasants eating like kings in the late part of the year, when the leaves dropped from the trees. And she was his only child.
"I can bring you many flocks of sheep, my lord," the young man was saying. He had a straggly little attempt at a beard on his chin. Kit carefully slid her needle in and out of the taut fabric stretched inside her embroidery hoop--she wasn't actually sewing, but it looked convincing.
Sheep! Sheep, and barley, cows and chickens. Jewels, rich Merislin lace from the sea, heavy velvets she'd never wear. Things thrown before her father's feet, and her own. It might have satisfied her father, but it left her feeling...unmoved.
A lull fell in the conversation, and Katherine seized it greedily. "I would go collecting mushrooms, Father," she said.
"Go," Gillan said. He smiled at her. He couldn't refuse her anything.
Katherine forced herself to rise sedately, and to curtsy politely to the guest in the room. "Bid thee well," she said. The minute the door closed behind her, she was running, as fast as her little slippered feet would take her.
The forest was where her heart was. The woods were alive, dripping wet, breathing. Mushrooms and moss and lichen grew over everything, and in the decay and gloom there was life. And magic. Magic dripped from the tree limbs and their leaves as surely as rain did. Though Katherine had never gone looking for it--it would be foolish to do so, foolish in the extreme--everyone knew there was a gateway in those woods, a gateway the Other used to travel between their world and the fields of men. Strange things were frequently seen in the woods. Some things that were beautiful and striking.
Some things that were terrifying.
For ever Other that crept along and made the barley grow, there was an Other who crept along and tied knots in hair. For every Other who saw to it that a baby arrived safe and sound, there was an Other who stole the baby and the mother too.
Katherine lifted her skirts to keep them from dragging in the wet leaves. As usual, the forest felt like home, more than even her bedroom in the manor house, with its pretty pink and white draperies. She scampered along the path, laughing as raindrops hit her face and hair--no matter that it was merely cloudy outside of the forest, inside the forest, it was always raining. Her hair would curl, and she'd bind it with a ribbon, and her father would tell the young man to keep his sheep, his daughter would not marry but who her heart did choose. And she would continue to roam freely.
She was so happy she did a twirl, spinning on her heel right there in the middle of the path.
That was when she saw the Unicorn.
It stood several yards from her, just off the path, down in a little gully on the other side of a fallen tree she liked to walk across for the sheer pleasure of trying to balance of something. It was, as Unicorns often are, so white, so clean-looking, it seemed to glow faintly. Its mane was threaded with silver, and its eyes were dark and soft. Even its hooves were white. It gazed at her without a sound, without moving.
She fell in love instantly. She knew she would. Unicorns had that effect on people. "Hello," Katherine said softly. "Welcome." It was always a good idea to be polite to the Other. Even if Unicorns were a little different, they were still Other.
The Unicorn stamped its hoof and snorted softly. It inclined its head toward her, as if inviting her to come closer. Enchanted, Katherine moved closer, slowly extending her hand. "You're beautiful," she whispered. "So beautiful. I'm sure you hear it a lot, but you are." The Unicorn snorted again, and then, delicately, touched its nose to her hand. A shiver of love rushed through Katherine, and she closed her eyes, sliding her hand up that beautiful long head, curving around the long, smooth horn. Her fingers tangled in the Unicorn's forelock, and she sighed, and laid her cheek against the Unicorn's neck. The Unicorn smelled the way a kiss felt, something impossibly, dreamily sweet. She sighed, a lingering gust of air that made the silky strands of the Unicorn's mane flutter.
That was when the Unicorn said, "Catch me if you can!" and abruptly took off, cantering down the leaf-strewn path.