The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  Tying the hawk's jesses securely, Ian indicated that he wished to return to the castle. Respectfully, his attendants wheeled their horses about to follow him. Riding along in the somber afternoon light, Ian's brow creased into a frown as he recalled that his grandfather was due to arrive at Castle Lir that evening.

  Alister de Medicat had received the news of his grand-daughter and liege-lady's death and Ian's advancement in status soon after Ian had been told. The older man's sorrow at his grand-daughter's death was heartfelt and sincere. He had loved Hollin and had respected her position as his duchess. Feelings of woe had been succeeded by incredulity and consternation when he found that his headstrong and, to his thinking, completely frivolous grandson had been appointed regent for Hollin's designated blood-heir, the 12-year old Maeve Iscoed Danane. For one short period of time he had been speechless with astonishment. In an instant, Ian had been removed from the sphere of his grandfather's general bullying and browbeating to be placed in a position of power and authority. Messages had been exchanged, as between all of those minor nobles who owed their allegiance to House Langstraad, and now the Baron de Medicat and his wife were coming with the others to swear oaths of fealty to their new liege. Only Lord Gervase Iscoed, pleading a case of gout, had begged to send an ambassador in his place and, being a known quantity, been excused.

  The castle came into view, its turrets dark and solid and familiar against the sky. The guards in their green and gold livery stood to welcome the castle's new lord as he passed through the massive main gate of the outer defense wall. A man was waiting to intercept Ian as he drew near the mews and handed his hawk to its keeper.

  "What is it, Alaric?" Ian's question was curt but not unkind.

  Not taking offense, Alaric bowed and said, "I thought that you would like to know that Lord Alister and Lady Eloise have arrived." He spoke in a low, confidential tone of voice. When the duchess had left to attend the Pentacle Council session, Alaric, her personal secretary, had stayed behind to continue in his office. Perceptive to everything that went on within the castle's walls, Alaric was discreet and reliable. Ian had found him to be of immeasurable help in the distressing first days of his regency.

  "Have all of the others arrived as well?"

  "All are within the castle, my lord." He went on to add, "Dame Edwinna has arranged a formal banquet for tonight. You may receive their pledges of fealty tomorrow morning."

  Ian nodded absently as they walked together. The formality of the evening would suit him well. He wanted time to be able to observe from a distance those whose allegiance would be owed to him. It would also allow him to present himself to the best advantage for securing and consolidating the power-base of his office. He also wished to avoid undue direct contact with his grandfather until after it was made clear to the older man that his grandson was taking and holding this office on his own.

  Slipping unobserved up the stairs to his own rooms, Ian dismissed Alaric until it was time for his entrance to the banquet hall. Evan, his personal attendant, was waiting within the doorway to take his master's clothes and conduct him to a basin of very hot water. Ian's eyes roamed around the room as he unfastened his cloak and handed it to Evan.

  The young man blushed and said candidly, "Mistress Kathryn is not in, my lord."

  "Good." Ian grunted and sat down to have his boots removed. His mouth twitched, half in amusement and half in irritation at the young man's use of that particular honourific. His mistress was becoming something of a nuisance. Her ill-concealed pleasure when she found that she was now sharing the bed of an acting duke was extremely annoying to him. Appropriate words of sorrow and condolence upon hearing of the death of her duchess came easily to those pouting lips, but her eyes had gleamed with ill-concealed excitement. He had not remonstrated, preferring instead to drown himself for a brief time in those charms in which she excelled. He had emerged from her arms unappeased and still restless with grief. So, while she continued to share his bed and he took what solace he could with her, he was less and less interested in her as a person. It was a problem that he had begun to realize needed to be addressed and resolved before it got completely out of control.

  After washing and attiring himself as befitted the castle's lord, in a velvet surcoat of dark forest green with Langstraad's dragon embroidered in gold thread on the chest, over a fine linen shirt and hose of black silk, Ian sent Evan into the anteroom with orders that he was to admit no one. Retiring to his chair behind a large desk he restudied the letter that Lord Percamber had sent after the confirmation of Ian's new title. In the letter it was suggested that Ian should make haste to send for Lady Genvra's eldest child, who was to be fostered until she should come of age, at which time she would be invested as the new duchess and keyed to the House Gift. A letter had been duly drafted and posted to Lady Genvra, who had replied promptly that though she saw that it would be best for her daughter to be fostered at Lir, she wanted a few month’s time to prepare Maeve for the change. He had agreed and ordered Alaric to write again and tell Genvra to use her own judgment in this matter. Delicate allusions were also made by the Pentarchy's regent to the expectation of a coming confrontation with Mirvanovir, now that the mission to bring back the prince had gone awry. It was also hinted that Ian would do well to procure himself a good alliance through marriage to the daughter of a suitable ally.

  Ian put Percamber's letter aside and mused over the intimation of political struggle to come and the forging of alliances. He was relatively certain of the loyalty of his own nobles and the people of Langstraad itself, but he could understand the wisdom of a newly appointed ruler such as himself using the strength of a powerful ally to buffer his fledgling court. Marriage was the time honoured method for forging bonds of commitment and cooperation between noble houses. It usually worked in the larger scheme of things and if the personal feelings of those thrown into the marriage bed by politics were ignored, at least there was the meager consolation that they were not the only ones suffering this fate. In fact, many of the men and women married off thus took pride in the political and financial alliances constructed around their personal unions. His grandfather had been trying unsuccessfully for several years to have him marry for the good of the de Medicats, but while Holly had lived Ian had not complied. Now that Holly was gone, he saw with a cool logic that he must choose and cement a bond of marriage if he was to fulfill his promise to her and keep her House safe.

  With grim humour he looked over the list of candidates that his grandfather had composed last winter while sitting idly before the fire dreaming of the advantages each girl's family could bring to the de Medicat domain. It was interesting to note those names and families that would have done well for the barony of his grandfather would not do for the duchy of his cousin. Only one name held promise of being of any real worth to him and his situation, and by luck she was his grandfather's favourite candidate as well: Lady Angharad d'Aurilac, the Duke of Creon's daughter.

  Ian paused to consider. He had not been personally impressed with the girl when he had met her a few months ago, but then it wasn't for personal reasons that he wanted to marry her. Her father would be a very powerful ally, possibly the most powerful ally that Ian could bargain for. While Lord Branwilde had been rather ambivalent in his treatment of Ian last spring and Lady Dierdre had been openly disapproving, Ian had only been a baron's grandson then; now he was regent for a Great House and fully accounted the honours of a duke, save for passing his title on to heirs of his own body. Since the children of the Great Houses generally did not intermarry, this was a unique opportunity for a duke's daughter to marry a duke. Ian was certain that the Duchess of Creon would find his offer hard to resist. Lord Branwilde would, hopefully, see the union as a good strategic move to unite two of the Great Houses, and he was known to be unhappy with Lord Niall's overt interest in the disposition of the throne.

  A movement from the other room caught his ear and Ian shuffled the documents together and put them in his strongbox. Putting th
e box into his desk, he heard voices engaged in furious whispers. The door was summarily thrust open and Kathryn whisked herself into the room with an apologetic Evan following immediately on her heels.

  "He said that I was not allowed to come into your room!" She sputtered in indignation and pointed a threatening finger at Evan.

  "I was only trying to do as you asked, my lord." Evan evenly balanced the correctness of his words with the irritation in his voice.

  Exasperated, Ian looked Kathryn up and down, saying nothing. She was dressed in a green under-garment of thin cotton cut with tight sleeves to the wrist, its hem touching the floor, with an over-garment of yellow wool, fitted at the bodice and flaring to a skirt that ended between her knees and ankles. The tawny hair was elaborately dressed to form a coil around her head with the remainder loose on her shoulders. It was a style that was mostly favoured by ladies of the nobility, coupled with dress colours that were uncomfortably close to the green and gold of Langstraad.

  Ian's normally easy-going features grew tight with anger. "When I issue orders saying that no one is to enter my rooms, I mean that no one is to be admitted." His voice was flat and hard.

  Kathryn looked momentarily startled. "I naturally assumed that you would not object to me!"

  "I said no one and I meant no one."

  "Well, I'm sorry if I misunderstood." Her voice took on its customary purr. She was gauging whether to admit pique or to play penitent. Lowering her eyelashes and folding her hands together at her waist, she chose contrition.

  Ian's anger was not to be deflected. "You may enter these rooms only when expressly invited. Do you understand?"

  "There was a time when I could come and go without such rules." Her voice was soft with a slight catch as if she fought back tears but he knew from long experience that it was just part of her game.

  Ian deliberated on how far he should go in deflating Kathryn's fatuous opinion of herself. It was necessary that she realize that his condescension did not elevate her to be his equal. In sharing his bed, she entitled herself to many luxuries and comforts that would otherwise have been unobtainable, but it did not entitle her to playing the lady of the castle. He was loathe to give up the comforts that she provided, however, unless she understood her position and was willing to abide by certain rules of conduct, he determined that she would have to return to her mother's village.

  "Leave us, Evan," he ordered in a smooth voice. Kathryn stole a glance at him through her eyelashes as she stood meekly. Ian continued to sit at his desk regarding her with less than friendly eyes. "I think that it is time that I set a few things straight with you..." In the same deliberately smooth voice with which he had ordered Evan away, he now began to acquaint his mistress with the behavior he would and would not tolerate from her, and the consequences that her behavior would entail.

  Sitting at the head of the table in the smoky main hall with the rushlights and candles sending guttering shadows into the lofty beamed ceiling, Ian ate and drank moderately while surveying the assemblage of men and women who were his power base within the duchy. All of them were familiar faces if not well-known, for he had been fostered at Castle Lir for many years and had spent most of his adult life in close proximity to his cousin. The mood of those gathered this night was subdued but with an undercurrent of acceptance. Their well-loved and respected duchess was dead, but they knew the man she had designated to be regent to her heir and were willing to give him his due.

  Next to Ian was seated the girth and bulk of his grandfather, Baron Alister de Medicat. He had a large bristling beard still showing rust in its iron and sharp black eyes, tiny and bright from within the folds and wrinkles of his ruddy skin, which scanned the hall as he ate and drank and talked in great, gusty quantities. At his side, his wife, the Lady Eloise Larraine de Medicat, sat eating little and talking not at all. In contrast to her husband, she was a thin, little woman with pale, colourless features. It was as if in marrying him she had been drained and left a mere husk so that he might become the larger and more vibrant character. She had born him two live children and a host of still-births over their many years together and had silently endured his feasting, his drinking, his wenching and his temper with nothing more than a pinched, vague smile.

  Further down the table sat Lady Idris, the baroness of Langstraad's largest and northernmost province, along with her husband Lord Alwyn Glendark, cousin to the current Earl of Gresha. If Ian had been in the mood for company, he would have placed these two nearer to him, for he had learned from past experiences at Hollin's table that they were intelligent and interesting dinner companions. But Ian had no wish to talk to anyone this evening, and the rites of protocol had forced him to seat his grandfather at his side.

  "So you're thinking of taking a wife, are you?" Ian's grandfather moved his elbow in his grandson's direction.

  "Yes, but I'd prefer not to discuss it here and now," Ian replied with a lowered voice.

  "Oh aye, it's family business." He finished his tankard of ale and held it aloft to be refilled. "It's about time though," he went on. "Find a girl from the right family and get yourself some heirs, that's what you should be doing. Though don't go tossing all of your old linen out immediately." He winked hugely at Ian. "That's a nice little wench you've got between your sheets now."

  "Have you seen Sir Griswold this evening?" Ian asked, determined to channel his grandfather's interest into another direction. "I spoke with Sir Owain earlier this morning about repairs in the western stable wall but I need Griswold's opinion as well," Ian continued, steering the discussion with his grandfather towards more mundane projects.

  The interview with Kathryn had been difficult, provoking floods of tears and recriminations. When he had baldly let her see what her options were if she did not wish to comply with his conditions, she had changed her tune. By the end of their talk, she had agreed to abide by his rules and seemed, perversely, to admire him the more for having shown her the gulf between them. At least her administrations later in bed had not been the less enthusiastic for his admonishment of her earlier.

  The evening dragged on and his mind grew more fatigued as, beside him, his grandfather alternately drank and snored. In former times he might have drunk near as much as the baron and planned to continue the carouse long after the rest of the castle was asleep, but now there was too much that he needed to do and keeping his wits sharp was foremost. Tomorrow he must hear and acknowledge each of the pledges made to him by his vassals, remembering who each of them was and what they held. He also had to present and charge his grandfather with acting the go-between with the Duke of Creon for his daughter's hand. Looking once again over the heads of those who were bound to him and to whom he was reciprocally bound, he rose to take his leave of them.

  Chapter 15

  The summer storms that threatened in the north had not yet made their way south into Creon. The road over which the heavy coach made its leisurely progress was relatively free of ruts and rocks, and its passengers' discomfort was mild. The shutters had been removed from the windows so that the youngest of the four women riding within could look out at the passing countryside, and the men-at-arms who accompanied the coach were instructed to ride at enough of a distance to neither impede the view nor stir up the dust. Well-tended farmland rolled in green waves around them and the heat of the mid-day sun loosed smells of earth and plants and the occasional musty odors of animals. Flies buzzed in and out through the open windows and the continual creak of wood and leather kept conversation to a minimum. Not that there would have been much chatter if all had been silent, the old woman mused as she watched the solemn, brooding face of the young girl sitting beside her. Across from the oldest and youngest of the passengers sat two middle aged servants, stolidly staring out the windows.

  One month ago, Lady Alainne de Thurin, the Dowager Duchess of Creon, had received a letter from her daughter-in-law asking that her grand-daughter, Angharad, be permitted to come on an extended visit to her summer estate. Details
of her grand-daughter's misconduct in Pentarin were also sent, along with Dierdre's admonishment not to let Angharad out of sight or sound while she was in her care. Lady Alainne had always been especially fond of her grand-daughter, if not of her daughter-in-law, and had graciously consented. The girl, usually bright and lively, had arrived a few days later a dispirited shadow of herself. She had been biddable and uncomplaining but had moped inconsolably, steadfastly refusing to discuss any part of what had occurred in Pentarin.

  Two days ago the dowager duchess had received another letter, this one from her son, requesting that his mother escort Angharad back to his capital city, Gwenth. She was mystified by this request until she read further and found that Branwilde was negotiating a betrothal for his daughter. Lady Alainne had refrained from informing her morose grand-daughter of this turn of events, thinking that it was the duty of her parents to deliver the happy news. So, Angharad was simply told that her parents wished her back in Gwenth and that her grandmother had decided to accompany her. Angharad had accepted the announcement with a shrug and complete lack of interest. Hoping that her parents’ news would snap the girl out of her bout of self-pity, the old lady had ordered her coach made ready.

  The journey was half-over and Lady Alainne wished heartily to see the walls of Gwenth. Traveling in close proximity with her depressed grand-daughter had begun to get on her nerves. Even the landscape looked dull and uninteresting in her company, and the two maids had taken on sullen aspects. Small annoyances had become bothersome irritants to a woman who usually viewed the world with an unruffled equanimity.

  Like neighboring Langstraad, Creon's capital was situated on the side of a mountain. Above the northern plains of Carmathon, the duchy's bread basket, the city of Gwenth was architecturally somewhere between the fortress of Castle Lir and the palatial expanse of Pentarin. It was a walled city, set high enough to see well in all directions, but composed of streets lined with shops and houses, with the residence of the duke and his family behind a walled keep. The buildings were constructed of an assortment of materials, from timber to bricks and stone, but all were sturdily made and most were pleasant to the eye. The keep in which the ducal family lived was the oldest building in the city, though substantially modified and added to over the years.