Biondine, Shannah

by Shadow in Starlight(lit)

  "Sieffre's on an errand. The monk may take Sieffre's chamber for the night," Preece answered, coming to sit beside Moreya. He reached for the bread, quirking an eyebrow at the monk.

  "Please, do help yourself, noble soldier!"

  Moreya was glad the monk would have a decent bed, but surprised at the reason for it. When had Sieffre departed, in the middle of the night? "Sieffre should not be out in the damp. His shoulder is still mending. What is so pressing that - "

  "I believe you know, Lady Fa," Preece asserted, cutting her off. "We spoke at length last night. He's ridden ahead with my coinpouch to begin arrangements for the next leg of our journey."

  Moreya saw her opening. "Ah, yes. I have reflected upon that self-same conversation. While I favor your proposed destination, I fear I cannot make the journey without certain provisions." Preece immediately scowled, but Moreya turned to the monk and rushed on before he could reply. "Brother Fense, is it not possible for you to perform basic functions of your station outside the monastery? For instance, could you not hallow burial ground, or baptize an infant...or preside over a marriage ceremony?"

  Preece seized Moreya's forearm. "Waniands do not recognize the rites of clerics. We must be lifemated, according to Waniand custom, Moreya."

  "I understand," she whispered. "I believe I agreed to honor your ways." She stared at him, silently pleading. She knew when comprehension dawned from the subtle lessening of the finger pressure on her arm.

  Preece spoke slowly. "I've lived most of my life in Glacia. Even though such rituals hold little meaning for me, you wish to exchange vows as your own kind do." He shifted his regard to the monk, who by now, had ceased eating. "You can say the words to unite us under the laws of the Known Realms?"

  "I can. But are you certain you wish to wed this woman? She is not of your kind, but Yune, is she not?"

  "Have you lost your wits?"

  Lockram and Dugan descended the stairs. Lockram had roared the question. Dugan looked uncertainly from one comrade to the other and scratched his unkempt salt and pepper hair, as if confused as to whose side to uphold in the matter. "He doesn't have a bat charm. He's bedazzled," Dugan muttered. He gave Lockram a look of naked appeal.

  Tivershem came from the kitchen, worried by the shouting. Moreya'd seen him still sweeping up broken crockery from the debacle the day before. Preece jerked his head in Tivershem's direction.

  "What of him?" Preece demanded. "Is he bedazzled, too? He has no amulet against her."

  "This is madness!" Moreya gasped in frustration. "Yune women do not possess the ability to enchant men. That's a foolish myth. I'm sure Tivershem finds me no different than any other woman traveler."

  "None other had your strange hair, and few have been ladies of high birth," Tivershem replied. He looked over at Lockram, whose hands were clenched in fists. "She's a fair maiden, I grant, but I cannot say I'd leave my Marie for her. Course, I'm not as young as you fellows, nor as randy. A dozen years back?" He shrugged. "Mayhap."

  Preece shook the shoulder of the man who'd been sleeping in the corner. "Traveler, how can you slumber in the presence of this Yune beauty? Does she not make your pulse pound?"

  "I don't care if fifty men say yea or nay," Lockram snapped. "They were not hired as we were."

  Preece shook his gleaming argent mane in warning. "We do not discuss our business before strangers."

  Dugan spoke in a hushed tone. "What business had you rousing Sieffre two hours ago to ride off in the midst of a pelting rainstorm? And why was he given to know what is afoot, whilst the rest of us are not told a blessed thing?"

  "Preece is bewitched and thinking with his nether head," Lockram hissed. "He'd have us all brought before Cr- "

  "Finish that word, and it will be the last you ever speak." Preece had moved so swiftly, Moreya never sensed his intention. Neither did anyone else, it seemed. He stood barely a hand's breath from Lockram and spoke with quiet menace. Moreya doubted the monk knew Preece had likely pulled his dagger, how near they all hovered to seeing murder done.

  She leapt to her feet. "Nay, Preece!"

  He'd slay his friend to keep their secret. He couldn't let Lockram admit the new destination was in defiance of royal edict, lest everyone in the tavern learn the knights were traitors to the Glacian king. Cronel had no power here, but information had value. Lives were bartered daily in this crude realm.

  Moreya rushed toward the glaring males. "Preece, Lockram! Please, can we not reason this out amongst ourselves after you break your fast? I waylaid Preece this morn with the problems of this poor monk." She gestured meaningfully, hoping Preece's men would drop the subject of why they crossed Dredonia. "You haven't met Brother Fense." She waved a hand at first one man, then the next. "This knight is Sir Dugan Graeme; that fellow there, Sir Lockram. They travel with us. Ah, and here is my maid, Glaryd."

  Introductions were now complete. A heavy silence followed, during which everyone merely stared at one another. Glaryd looked at Moreya strangely. Lockram and Preece glowered at each other as if fighting to hold their tongues.

  A couple of other wayfarers had drifted downstairs and sat at a nearby table. If they'd come to break their fasts, Moreya thought wryly, they'd soon realize they were in danger of getting more broken. Another fight seemed about to erupt at any second.

  Brother Fense rose and cleared his throat. "Now, then. Meseems there is some confusion and disharmony here. The abbot is fond of professing 'tis not unexpected for tempers to turn foul along with the weather. I believe whatever trouble has arisen can be resolved without further tribulation. I would bid you ladies return abovestairs. These knights and I shall confer together as reasonable men are wont to do."

  The reasonable men broke two chairs and split open a wine cask before Brother Fense at last summoned Moreya from her chamber. Her traveling companions were still assembled in the taproom, but Tivershem had encouraged the tavern's other guests to return to their rooms.

  Lockram seethed in stony silence as the marriage vows were exchanged. Glaryd sobbed aloud, wiping her nose and leaning against Dugan, whose pallor had gone from gray to green. Moreya explained to Brother Fense that Yunes did not wear metal jewelry, so he dispensed with the requirement of a wedding ring. Preece bowed to the witnesses, bestowed the kiss of peace on Moreya's lips, and the ceremony ended.

  Brother Fense pronounced the pair lawfully wed, and confirmed he would enter their marriage in the sacred records at Axcroft upon his return. A rumble of thunder shook the tavern even as those words left his mouth.

  Lockram snorted in disgust. "There's what the Lord Above thinks of your marriage, Warmonger."

  Moreya squeezed Preece's hand. "Would you grant me a few moments to speak with Lockram?"

  Preece shook his head. "We settled matters. He goes to Ataraxia with us, as do Dugan and Sieffre. They cannot remain behind. We have much to discuss between ourselves, lady wife. In my chamber."

  Moreya heard the reproach in his tone. "I promise I'll not take long to join you there. Please, Preece."

  He cursed softly, then shouted to Tivershem to send hot water for a bath as he started up the stairs. "A quarter hour," he reminded Moreya. She turned to Lockram, who'd seated himself in the far corner and now sat guzzling ale.

  "You've done it now," he told Moreya, taking another long draught. He rubbed his sleeve over his lips and grimaced. "All the years your father was ambassador, wiped away in single morn, by a daughter who would start a war. All because she is too stubborn to wed the man her father and king have chosen. As if women near and far do not tolerate the same fate without complaint."

  "You saw the firedrake swoop down and take me during your fight with the Raviners," she reminded in a whisper. "I left the coach knowing the dragons would come if I stood in the open. I screamed, so they might hear me if they didn't see me. I knew they'd smite the Raviners. I could only pray they didn't also harm you or Preece and Dugan."

  "You summoned the dragons? Oh, I forgot. You are the woman who visits th
eir lairs and helps hatch their eggs."

  Moreya was angry, but kept her voice low. "Do you think the prince regent would want me for his future queen if he knew that whither I go, winged beasts follow? Preece offered me a chance to sail to Ataraxia with him. He's always wanted to go there, and I can abide there without fear of dragons. They do not nest in tropic climes."

  "Aye, Preece has always wanted to go there! We others have been left no say in the matter! Preece has betrayed his own men for you, witch."

  "Marriage was my idea. I hope you'll not let it ruin your friendship. It would have been unwise for me to accompany him without benefit of lawful union, and I cannot be forced to wed, now that I'm Preece's lawful wife."

  "Ah, so this is yet another part of his role as your protector?" Moreya nodded. At last Lockram's fractious attitude seemed to ease. Or so she thought, until he snorted and cast her a sideways glance. "A forced marriage might be the least of your troubles. That pretty head could end up lopped from your neck; ours right beside it. Do not expect gratitude."

  Moreya stiffened her spine. "Hate me if you will. At least be honest enough to admit that enmity is what you feel, not lust. I am no sorceress. I cast no spell upon Preece. We made a practical bargain, wherein each party stands to benefit. We shall suit. Not because I've enchanted anyone - I cannot - but due to elemental basics."

  "Elemental basics and bargains." Lockram banged his tankard to the tabletop. "Hearken these words, for they are the last I'll have with you on this subject. You chose badly, Lady Warmonger. I suspect you bear Preece affection. I'm not blind. He is fair of face and that is what most impresses you. But your affection is misplaced, for he will never return it, no matter what you do. Waniands do not love."

  Moreya turned and started upstairs to Preece's chamber, Lockram's words ringing in her ears. He was partly right. She'd not agreed solely to escape firedrakes or impending marriage to Velansare. She was fascinated by Preece.

  She could not claim to love him, but she longed for his smile. She enjoyed gazing upon him without his cowl. She thrilled in kissing him, and craved more of the quiet, thoughtful side he kept hidden from the world. She could be content just watching him sleep.

  She paused in the hall. Ever since she'd answered the thump at her chamber door yestereve, events had spun out of control. A storm had detained them. The little monk's arrival had been both an unexpected boon and the catalyst for disaster. Now she was overwrought, questioning her motives and decisions. Aye, overwrought. But what maiden wouldn't be?

  She took a deep breath and ordered herself to calm her myriad racing thoughts. She was no longer a child, but a grown woman. A married woman.

  A wife.

  She smiled tremulously at her own folly. That much, at least, was clear and true. The assurance she'd given Lockram was justified - if apprehended, King Cronel could no longer force her to wed the prince regent nor any other man. She doubted Lockram's assertion that war would inevitably result from her broken betrothal.

  Prince Velansare could find another bride. He might welcome the chance, once he learned the truth about Moreya.

  Her store of terrestars should go a long way toward soothing ruffled royal feathers, either Cronel's or Velansare's. She'd give up her entire chest to appease them both, for there was another stone no one knew about hidden amongst her garments. She'd never shown that particular terrestar to anyone. She'd obtained it years ago, that rarest of rare pink stones. While not her largest, even uncut and unpolished, its fire surpassed that of most emeralds and rubies. Such a lustrous stone would make a pendant or brooch beyond price.

  While Moreya and her mother's kind did not favor adorning their bodies with chunks of dirt and stone, she understood that women of other races hoarded gemstones and had them fashioned into pieces of adornment.

  Moreya would sell her large pink stone to the lowliest trader, did it make Lockram's last words any less true.

  You chose badly, Lady Warmonger. Waniands do not love.

  She smoothed the fabric of her gown across her bosom and lifted her chin. Preece must not see evidence that her discussion with Lockram left her shaken. She may have chosen badly, but chosen she had.

  Now she must accept the consequences.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TEN

  Preece gripped the latch of his chamber's begrimed window and fought the urge to bolt downstairs and bodily drag Moreya up to his room. He wanted to strangle her.

  She'd manipulated him into wedding her.

  Satan's blood, he'd barely broken his fast! The next thing he knew, he was giving away one of his men's bedchambers to some monk, brawling with the one man he considered a true friend, and found himself repeating gibberish in some pointless ceremony. He was now Moreya's husband.

  Which meant nothing whatsoever.

  He knew that people of higher races took marriage vows, yet disregarded them regularly to fornicate hither and yon. Few barons and overlords were not lawfully wedded. Which did not stop them from sampling the charms of other men's wives, dairy maids, courtesans, or tavern wenches. They tupped women in royal bowers, clandestine back rooms and haylofts. Their wives likewise took solace in the arms of tailors and poets, minstrels or servants.

  Moreya did not understand - through Preece's own fault, because he'd not wanted to overtax her womanly tenderness in expecting her to absorb all his arcane ways meant even as she agreed to sail off with him. But he must remedy the matter as soon as she got up the nerve to face him alone.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap at the door. Tivershem stood in the hall with twin steaming buckets and a thick towel. "Sorry, Preece. Only one tub large enough for a fellow to sit, and it's being used by a Dredonian of some repute. Couldn't just pull it out from beneath his arse. These should let you scrub for your Yune bride."

  Preece did not like the amusement he heard in that last sentence. "When you go back belowstairs, I want you to prepare a tray of victuals and fetch it back here. Then, I warn you, if anyone comes within a foot of that portal whilst my Yune bride and I are within this chamber, I'll slit his throat. Even if it's yours."

  "Warmonger, that will be quite enough of your surliness," came a soft voice from behind Tivershem. Moreya frowned at Preece. "Must you alienate every living soul in this inn? The man was trying to be generous. 'Tis neither his fault nor mine if you awoke on the wrong side of the bed this morn."

  "I woke up alone in it."

  "For the last time," she replied, crossing to slip her arms around his waist. Preece gaped as she nestled against his chest in an overt display of affection.

  Tivershem grinned. "That's more like it, milady. Food and drink, coming in a thrice."

  The chamber door closed behind the innkeeper and Preece grasped Moreya's shoulders. "What was that about? You contrive to make me do your bidding, then devote your efforts to coddling Lockram and amusing some innkeeper you'll never see again. You mock me, and then wonder at my churlishness. I am not known for forbearance, Moreya."

  "Mock you?"

  "We are wed."

  "Yes. That is why I embraced you. I can do so as the whim strikes me now, and no one will think me forward."

  "You wished to wed so you might embrace me? That's why you made me your husband?" He jerked away from her, tore off his tunic, and plunged his head into a bucket Tivershem had left behind. Preece would have preferred an icy stream at that moment, but a dousing of any sort might cool his ire.

  Or so he'd hoped, but fortune was not with him.

  He straightened and cracked open one eye. Moreya watched, without any betraying flush of color or guilty expression. She held out his towel. He seized it away from her. If she wished a battle yet this day, he'd give her one.

  "I do not ken what ails you, Warmonger," she said in tone of irritation. "You speak in riddles. Had I known yestereve you would behave thus, my answer would have been different. It seems I'm to set sail for Ataraxia with a madman."

  "What ails me is you forced me to speak those
useless vows before that cleric! We shall become lifemates. This 'marriage' you have wrought means naught, and do not think I will condone your embracing!"

  "I try to follow, but I confess I cannot. You have held me and kissed me. You said you would beget children. Are you telling me Waniands mate without touching? How is that possible?"

  For a moment he was tempted to hurl the contents of the bucket over her head. He fought to control his raging emotions. Which, in some dim corner of his mind, he acknowledged as the true source of his distress. Never in his life had he known this turmoil, such roiling of complex feelings. He was used to a decisive stance, mentally as well as physically. He made choices. He acted. But now he was frozen with confusion. Feeling angry, stung by her cavalier actions, fearful of a future he couldn't easily foresee to shape...and consumed by a growing lust.

  The thought she would even consider sharing herself with another male irked him until he longed to slay someone. Anyone. Moreya herself. Yet he longed to hold her, gentle her, kiss her. Even as he wanted to bury his flesh sword to the hilt in a mindless frenzy and consume her very breath.

  All of which made very little sense.

  "I am undone. Undone!"

  He threw his hands in the air and sank onto the bed. "You have unmanned me, Yune female. No man has ever mastered me, but you have done it. With words spoken by a monk. Truly, I must be Satan's spawn, to be felled by a twiggish holy man boasting but half a scalp of hair."

  Moreya laughed.

  Preece glanced over at her and was dealt yet another blow. She sniggered so hard she was nearly doubled over. Tears began trickling from her eyes. Only after she noted that hers was the only happy sound in the room did she sober. "You were...You do not jest? Preece?"

  "You hoped I might turn jocular, as well as blind and mute, now that we are wed?"

  "I did hope you might not be so horribly churlish. In truth, I thought you'd be pleased. I do not understand why you are displeased. You've said the ceremony performed by the monk is meaningless under your racial code, so I agreed to join in the Waniand manner, but - "