“Lady Gudrun invites Lady Celia to attend her in her chambers,” the man announced.
Fender’s eyebrows rose and Ghav sat up straighter.
Apparently, this invitation was something significant. “Who is Lady Gudrun?”
Apparently, she’d surprised everyone again. Even the messenger looked at her with a startled expression.
Ghav answered her question. “Kon Neven’s wife.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cele’s escort brought her to a narrow door and announced her to a small group of women, then stepped back so she could enter. The oldest woman in the room immediately drew her attention. Her face and figure were softened by middle age, but her calm dignity made her strength unmistakable. Light from tall slender windows highlighted threads of red, gold, and silver in the medium brown coil of braids on her head.
Dahleven’s mother.
Cele saw the resemblance in Lady Gudrun’s mouth when she smiled her welcome. Not that Dahleven smiles much. He had his father’s eyes and brow, but definitely his mother’s firm chin. Cele remembered seeing Gudrun on Neven’s arm last night, though she’d paid attention only to the Kon. Because of his mind control.
I wonder what tricks she has up her sleeve.
The softly appointed sitting room showed a woman’s touch. Flowers bloomed in pots with a black on white Mimbres motif; the chairs, grouped in a circle around a low table, were well upholstered with soft cushions. Cele recognized Ingirid and Aenid. And Dahleven’s wife.
Cele pushed the shock aside. Of course she’s here with the women of the family.
Gudrun rose and came to Cele, taking her hands and drawing her into the group. “Welcome to Quartzholm, Lady Celia. We’re about to enjoy a little afternoon refreshment. Please, join us.” Gudrun indicated a chair next to her own. Ingirid sat on Cele’s right, and Aenid sat just beyond her mother. She looked subdued, with dark circles under her eyes.
Cele broke away from Aenid’s gaze and looked across the table—straight into the eyes of Dahleven’s wife. They were the same smoky gray as his.
The young woman smiled warmly at her. “I’m Kaidlin. I regret we didn’t have a chance to meet last night. My little one won’t go to sleep without me, I’m afraid, and I arrived late to the Feast.”
“My apologies,” Gudrun said. “I knew you’d met Ingirid and Aenid already, so I assumed you knew Kaidlin, as well. We’re not very formal when it’s just family.”
Cele smiled at Gudrun and then turned back to Kaidlin. The warmth in the young woman’s face made it easier to return her smile than Cele would have expected. “I left early myself. I’d had a full day.”
A servant came into the room and deposited a large tray filled with cold roast fowl, dried fruit, bread, and three kinds of cheese on the low central table. Gudrun herself poured a pale wine into a silver goblet and handed it to Cele.
Some afternoon snack.
“You’d had several full days, from what I hear,” Gudrun said. “I hope you’ll tell us about your experiences.”
Gudrun’s interest felt genuine, but Cele’s track record of misjudgments made her wary. At least Gudrun’s approach is smoother than her husband’s. “I certainly found more adventure than I’d planned on when I left home—what is it now? A week ago?” Has it really only been a week?
“What happened?” Kaidlin leaned forward eagerly.
“I’m not sure. I climbed down a cliff to look at some amazing petroglyphs, probably Hohokam, and when I climbed back up—bam! I must have slipped or something, because suddenly I was falling. When I woke up, I was in a different desert than where I’d been, with no trail and very little water.”
“The rainbow bridge, did you see it?” Gudrun asked.
Gudrun’s question triggered a flash of memory, startling Cele. “Yes! I saw colored lights, anyway. Just like the in the story last night. Do you know what it is? How it works? Can you get me home?”
“I only know the old stories, and none of them tell of anyone returning to Midgard.” Gudrun’s regret sounded genuine. “Perhaps the skald or the priests could tell you more.”
Cele’s eagerness evaporated. Gudrun didn’t sound very encouraging.
“Please go on with your story,” Kaidlin said. “What happened next?”
Cele smiled ruefully. “For the next day I tried to find water, without any success. I was getting pretty desperate when your husband and his men found me.” Cele was glad she’d said husband without choking on it.
“My husband?” Kaidlin drew back, startled. “My husband’s dead, killed by raiders. Who do you mean?”
Cele felt her face grow hot. She’d done it again. “Uh, I thought Dahleven…”
Gudrun smiled and Kaidlin’s short peal of laughter rang like a bell. “He’s my brother. Why ever did you think we were married?”
Cele’s face burned and her fingers tightened on her wine goblet. “I saw you together on the steps yesterday, with the baby.”
Kaidlin looked confused.
Cele tried to explain. “Extended families, living close together like yours, aren’t very common where I come from. Well, not unless you’re Hispanic or Native American. It’s usually just a husband, wife and their kids—when the man sticks around.” Why did I say that? She rushed on. “That’s why when I saw the three of you together on the steps…I thought you were married.”
Kaidlin smiled gently. “He’s been so good with Bjorn since Sven died.” She chuckled. “How funny. I can’t wait to tell Dahleven.”
Oh, no. Cele put a hand up to her hot face. “I’m so embarrassed.”
Gudrun patted Cele’s knee. “No harm.”
“So some men love their families and some don’t,” Ingirid said, bitterness edging her voice. “Midgard doesn’t sound so very different from Alfheim, after all.”
“Men are men. They’re good and bad. Sven was one of the good ones,” Kaidlin said softly. “So is Dahleven.”
Cele noticed that no one disagreed. Of course, they were family. But with her misunderstanding cleared up, Cele felt the tight knot she’d carried under her breast begin to loosen. She felt a little freer now to listen to the whisper of her instincts, to believe what she’d known deep down: that Dahleven was an honorable man.
Then she remembered Angrim. He wasn’t cheating on his wife when he kissed me. Just cheating on his mistress.
*
Dahleven stretched until his joints popped. The Council had broken for the day, and only he and Ragni remained with Neven. The Jarls had voted six to two to send a delegation to parley with the Tewakwe immediately after the conclusion of the Althing. Ozur and Yngvar had thought it unnecessary and a waste of time, but fortunately, the other Jarls had more sense. Messengers would leave immediately for the Confederation to contact the Tewakwe to set up the parley.
Though he must have been tired, Neven still sat straight in his chair. Dahleven didn’t think he’d ever seen his father slouch. “Did anyone jump?” Neven asked his younger son.
Ragni still occupied a chair at the far end of the table from Neven, but instead of his father’s impeccable posture, he slumped deeply, eyes closed. The heels of his boots rested on the table, ankles crossed. Ragni answered without opening his eyes. “Not a one.”
“Ozur?” Neven prodded.
“No one.” His brother pulled his feet off the table and opened his eyes. “Ozur still hates you as much as he ever did, but he was just as surprised as the rest about the alliance of Outcasts and Renegades.” Though it wasn’t a secret, Ragni’s Talent for Empathy wasn’t widely known, and their father liked to keep it that way. Most thought Ragni’s Talent was Truth Saying, which discerned only spoken lies. Instead, his Empathy revealed all emotions, including the intent to deceive. And though it worked only at very close range, it served him well with the ladies and made him a useful tool, especially during the Althing. Father Wirmund thought so, too. He’d chosen Ragni as his second with no encouragement from Neven.
“Which means we still
don’t know who our enemy is. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or not that one of the Jarls isn’t the organizer of this,” Dahleven said.
“I am,” Neven said. “We’ve snapped and snarled our way through the years, but we haven’t fought a true war since Fanlon’s day. That’s what it would have come to if it were one of them.”
His father was right; Dahleven had no wish to fight his own people, but men of his had died, and more would yet until they discovered who their enemy was and stopped him. “Who has power or persuasion enough to unify the Renegades and Outcasts?”
Neither Neven nor Ragni responded; there was no answer, yet.
“There is another matter I would have you consider, Dahl,” Neven said after a moment’s silence. “Magnus spoke to me last night about his daughter Utta.”
Baldur’s Balls. Magnus had wanted to ally his family with Neven’s for some years. Given the friendship between the two men it was a wonder they hadn’t handfasted him and Utta in their cradles.
Dahleven ignored Ragni’s grin. Dahleven knew his duty. He must marry and provide an heir to the Jarldom, and he was late in pursuing it. He’d rejected several overtures from other lords and Neven hadn’t quibbled. What Magnus proposed was a worthy and desirable alliance. The Kon had to give it due consideration.
“Utta is a fine woman, Dahl.”
“I know, Father. But my feelings on the matter haven’t changed. I will honor my duty to you and Quartzholm, but I would wed a woman of my own choosing.”
“Then choose! The fairest maids of Nuvinland are here for the Althing. Pick one.” Neven paused, then continued more calmly. “I’ll not compel you. But you cannot delay indefinitely. The times are too uncertain to leave the succession in question.” Then he turned to Ragni. “And you needn’t look so amused. You, too, should be thinking of your duty to the family. You’ve never quibbled over an arranged marriage. Perhaps Magnus will accept my second son for his daughter.”
Ragni stood abruptly. “I’m starved. Mother and Kaidlin said they’d wait dinner for us.”
Neven smiled wryly and let the subject change. “Indeed. Your mother’s spies will have told her the Council is recessed. We’d best not dawdle.”
“Give her my apologies,” Dahleven said. “I have another matter to attend to.”
Both Neven and Ragni cocked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t press for an explanation. Ragni started to grin. Dahleven glared at him. Wisely, his little brother said nothing.
*
Cele leaned back on the cushions of the window seat as the late afternoon sun suffused the room with a golden glow. The interview with Gudrun and her daughters had been surprisingly pleasant—despite her embarrassment—but it was still a relief to be away from their scrutiny. Gudrun was clearly an intelligent woman; Cele wondered what conclusions Neven’s wife had drawn about her.
She’d told Lady Gudrun the truth, but she’d tried not to say too much about the long days—and nights—crossing over the desert and under the mountains with Dahleven. She suspected Gudrun was very good at reading between the lines, and she didn’t want her to guess more about what she felt for Dahleven than she understood herself, especially since the question of his mistress was still unresolved. Instead, Cele had asked questions which the other women had answered freely. She’d come away with a slightly better understanding of the situation here.
The Nuvinlanders had traded with the Tewakwe for time out of mind. The Confederation’s cliff-houses were over a week’s hard travel away, over mountain passes that were closed by deep snow except in summer. Cele remembered the bite of the wind sweeping through the gap and shivered. She didn’t want to think about what those steep tracks would be like in winter.
A little over a year ago, the trade caravans began to be attacked, and now the border holdings were being raided. Too many families in the northern provinces grieved for someone killed in the attacks. Sorn. Halsten. Kaidlin’s husband.
Dahleven isn’t married. Now that she knew Kaidlin and Dahleven were brother and sister, his embrace of Kaidlin on the steps looked different in her mind’s eye. No longer a betraying seducer, he was an affectionate brother and uncle.
Cele cringed, remembering how she’d cut him. No wonder he’d been so brusque in the hallway with Ragni. He probably wanted to save his brother the bite of her tongue. Given her recent behavior, Dahleven probably regretted his impulsive kiss, and was glad to be rid of her.
She warmed, remembering the press of his lips. This time she didn’t push the memory away in a wash of anger. He’d surprised her. He’d been so abrupt at times, so clearly impatient with the delay and complication she presented. But he’d also been gentle, giving comfort and offering glimpses of himself as he spoke of his dead friends.
When he kissed her, he hadn’t pressured her; he didn’t have to. From the first gentle brush of his lips, she’d wanted it, embracing the feelings so unexpectedly kindled. There’d been moments down in the tunnels, thoughts, glances, casual touches that had stirred feelings she’d tried to ignore. But she hadn’t expected Dahleven to feed the flame that raced over her skin even now, now that she let herself remember.
She gave herself a mental shake. I have more important things to think about than Viking lust. Or lust for Vikings.
And no matter how nice Dahleven’s kiss had been, she’d shut the door on him. She hoped he would accept her apology, but she didn’t expect more. Kaidlin would tell him about her misunderstanding and he’d probably get a good laugh out of it. Or maybe not. He might well be angry at being thought dishonorable.
A knock brought Cele out of her musings to answer the door.
Angrim, the curvaceous blonde from the night before, stood smiling in the hallway. Her greeting was light and airy, and she glanced around as she breezed into the room, almost as though looking for someone. “I’m so glad to find you unoccupied, Lady Celia!”
Dahleven’s mistress—maybe. Some newly awakened instinct warned Cele not to take everything Angrim said at face value.
“Have you been to the market yet?” The petite young woman continued without a pause. “There’s so much to see. The vendors have come from all seven provinces to sell their finest wares during the Althing, and the performers do the most amazing things! But I hate to go alone. Will you join me?”
Angrim didn’t seem like the kind of woman who normally chose a woman’s company over a man’s. After what Angrim had implied last night, Cele wondered at her solitary state. “That sounds great, but wouldn’t you rather go with Lord Dahleven?”
Angrim’s eyes sharpened but were immediately softened by a smile. “I always enjoy his company, of course, but you know how men are about shopping. They begin pleasantly enough, but they lose patience so quickly. Before long, they’re tapping their feet and sighing. Besides, Dahleven is otherwise occupied this evening. You’ll be the perfect companion. Please say yes. I shall delight in showing you around.”
What Angrim said was straightforward enough, and she offered a pleasant diversion. And Angrim was right about men and shopping. Though Fender had said he’d take her, he’d displayed a distinct lack of enthusiasm for the project. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Angrim clapped her hands and gave Cele a quick hug. “Wonderful!” She swept Cele out the door and down the hall. “If we’re to be friends, we must get to know one another better,” she bubbled. “Tell me all about yourself. Is your father a landowner? Are your brothers warriors, or do they belong to a guild?”
The questions begin. Everyone was trying to figure out where she fit in. Now Angrim was assessing her status. Checking out the competition? Well, she didn’t have anything to hide. “My mother owned property.”
“Your mother! She held it for your brothers, then?”
“No, I’m an only child.”
“Oh.” Angrim’s voice held a hint of caution. “You must be well dowered then.”
Dowered? Another archaic custom. “I suppose so.” She’d sold the property and invested the money. She’d
never thought of it as bait for a husband. “And you? Do you have brothers?”
“One. And five sisters.” Angrim didn’t sound happy about the latter.
“I always wanted a sister. I thought it would be wonderful to have a built-in friend.”
“Sisters aren’t always so accommodating,” Angrim said dryly. “I prefer to choose my friends.” Angrim squeezed Cele’s arm and smiled up at her as they turned to descend the stair.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cele caught a flash of movement in the hall behind them, but Angrim drew Cele’s attention back. “Tell me more about yourself. What’s your Talent? I think I can guess. You have Ull’s Shield, don’t you? All that time in the drylands, and you’re only a bit pink. The sun can’t blind or burn you, can it?”
Cele laughed. “I wish. I’d save a lot of money on sunscreen and sunglasses, then.” She hesitated, remembering Dahleven and Sorn’s reaction when they learned she was Talentless. She didn’t want everyone looking at her with pitying eyes, especially when she didn’t need their sympathy. There’s nothing wrong with me. “I don’t have a Talent. No one does where I come from.”
Instead of frowning in pity, Angrim smiled. “Really? I admire the way you say that straight out. No mumbling or embarrassment.” There was only a hint of condescension in Angrim’s voice. “I’m sure Dahleven admires that in you, too.”
Ah, Dahleven. That’s what this is about. And why she’s so cheerful. She doesn’t believe Dahleven could be attracted to a Talentless woman. “I have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
He’d kissed her, even knowing she was Talentless. But her lack of Talent might be as big a barrier between them as a wife. Good God! What am I thinking? It was just a kiss! I don’t care about Talents or what Dahleven thinks. I’m going home. Somehow.
“No, of course not,” Angrim agreed. “Since your people don’t have Talents, you don’t feel the lack, do you?”
Dangerous Talents Page 21
