The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  The dowager duchess' coach and guards were welcomed at the city's main gate and passed through to begin the climb up to the ducal residence. The coach's windows had been shuttered before entering the city, so that only the muffled sounds of the city's inhabitants were heard in the close dimness. At last the coach came to a creaking, shuddering halt, and the door was opened to admit air and light. A hand was extended by the doorman and the old lady alighted to be greeted by her son and daughter-in-law. Both Branwilde and Dierdre had to stoop to drop a kiss of greeting on the old woman's wrinkled cheek, and both murmured salutations, her son's being less restrained than his wife's. Both gazed past her as their daughter emerged from the coach's interior, looking as wan and unhappy as when they had put her into the coach a month ago, and the dowager could not help but notice the disappointment that their daughter's appearance caused them.

  "Come inside, you must be quite tired after your long journey," Dierdre said smoothly, avoiding any hint of awkwardness. "Your rooms have been made ready; perhaps you would like to retire to them now?"

  The two maids who had traveled with the ducal pair followed their mistress wearily, glad to be out of the coach and away from the constriction of enforced closeness. Once within the castle walls, Angharad was led off by one of the house-staff while Lady Alainne was shown to that suite of rooms reserved solely for her use when she deigned to be in residence in the capital.

  An hour later, rested and cleaned of the grime from her journey, the dowager duchess was not surprised when her lady-in-waiting knocked on the door and informed her that the duke wished to speak privately with her, if she was agreeable. She was agreeable and he entered to find his mother seated with her feet daintily perched upon a small upholstered foot-stool, an inquisitive tilt to her regal head.

  There was not much to mark these two as mother and son. She was a small, plump creature with a soft, doughy face and tiny hands and feet. He was large and muscular with the tanned skin that bespoke the huntsman and the stiff, abrupt manner of the military man. Only in the mutual proud bearing and the willful strength of their gaze was similarity to be discerned. Alainne was always somewhat amused at how like his father her son was. Would Owen be stamped the same way, she wondered?

  "You are looking well, mother," Branwilde said, pecking a kiss on the proffered cheek and sitting in the chair opposite hers. "We apologize for all of this shuffling about with Angharad. We're grateful to you for what you've done and I am hopeful that all our troubles with her shall soon be resolved." She marked an almost jovial air about him and concluded that he must be well-pleased with whatever plans had been arranged.

  "I can't say that I've done much good for the girl," she observed sourly. "I'm sorry to say I've brought her back in much the same condition that I received her."

  "Well yes," the hint of a shadow passed over his face, "but that will be remedied."

  "I assume that you are speaking of the betrothal mentioned in your letter.” Curiosity laid hold of her. “May I ask who her husband is to be?"

  The smile on Branwilde's face broadened. "We are in the process of negotiating a marriage treaty with the new Duke of Langstraad!" A bewildered expression came over his mother's face. Branwilde hastened to explain. "Alister de Medicat's grandson, Ian, has been named duke regent until one of Genvra Iscoed's girls comes of age. Anyway, Alister has approached me, from the boy himself, asking to arrange a marriage contract."

  "But I thought that the boy was here last winter and there was no interest?" his mother pressed, taken aback by this turn-about attitude.

  "True, but at that time he was only the grandson of a baron; now he is the acting duke of one of the Great Houses. Even when he is eventually retired from office, he will have much influence, and he is still his grandfather's heir." Branwilde paused and when he continued, his manner was somewhat more subdued. "As Dierdre told you in her letter, the incident in Pentarin was damaging to Angharad's immediate chances of finding a suitable husband. The gossip after Dierdre returned to Gwenth with Angharad was very unkind."

  Alainne's mouth was drawn down into a frown. She could well imagine the unpleasant and salacious remarks that would be passed among those who were envious of the family's high position. For someone with Dierdre's exacting views of social conduct, evidenced in her own unstained character, this must have been a heavy blow indeed. It was no wonder that she had sent the girl out of her sight.

  "As I say, the future seemed rather bleak. Only Sir Hildreth had made any overtures, but he's older than I am and has already had two wives. Though, it is true that he is quite wealthy and many think well of him." Alainne could think of none who did, but refrained from speaking so aloud. "Then I received Alister's proposal for a match between Angharad and his grandson. Not withstanding the lack of suitors the girl's indiscretions have caused and the rise in the young man's social position, there is also the general unrest that Niall is fomenting about the throne. I still think that one of the sons of a House will be installed as High King eventually, but there is no harm in ensuring that we have many strong allies should Niall become difficult."

  "Very wise," his mother approved. She was as aware as he of the precarious situation that was developing within the Pentarchy.

  "Have you told Angharad what we are arranging for her?"

  "No, I have not divulged the contents of your letter to Angharad," she stated primly. "I thought that you would want the pleasure of telling her yourselves."

  After a brief look of disappointment, Branwilde nodded in concurrence. "Yes, after all that has happened in the last few weeks, it will be well for her to see that we still have her best interests at heart."

  In the small room off the nursery, in which she had dwelt all her life, Angharad lay on her bed and contemplated the cracks and lines in her ceiling, wondering that they had changed so little over the years. She felt tired with the lassitude born of an overwrought spirit. Since that hellish night when she had been dragged back from her elopement and summarily bundled off to Gwenth in the company of her outraged and unforgiving mother, she had floated in the prison of her own mind. Over and over, she had relived the bliss of the elopement and the shock and pain of capture and sundering. When her father had returned from Pentarin she gathered enough courage to ask what had become of Daffyd, but after roaring angrily at her, forcing her to weep in fear and vexation, he informed her that Daffyd was gone forever, making it abundantly clear that even if Daffyd was still alive, she would never see him again. So, she had dried her tears and folded into herself. Her resistance had become wholly passive. She allowed herself to be sent to her grandmother's and allowed them to call her back. If only I do nothing, she thought, they can do nothing to me.

  The sun had sunk very low on the horizon when a maid, lighting the fire in the nursery, peeped into Angharad's room to tell her that Varenna, chief lady-in-waiting to her mother, had come to conduct her to her parent's apartments. Angharad grew wary at so formal a summons, but could not disobey. Standing, she shook the wrinkles from her dress, the same dress she had been wearing since her arrival. Varenna gave her a critical look when she emerged from her room and swiftly took up a hairbrush to attack the snarls in the girl's long hair. Patiently Angharad withstood the ministrations, realizing that Varenna was concerned about what her mistress would think if she brought her daughter to her in such a disheveled state. Varenna quickly sent a little maid scurrying for a new overgarment while she undid the lacings of the one Angharad wore. The girl still did not measure up to Lady Varenna's standards when her toilette was completed, but there was an appreciable improvement and Varenna did not dare to keep her mistress waiting too long.

  Meekly following in Varenna's wake, Angharad plodded through the maze of hallways and stairs to the ante-room of her mother's suite. The heavy door was crisply rapped on and opened to reveal the duke and duchess seated at a small table. Another chair had been placed in front of them for their daughter. Angharad curtsied obediently before each of her parents and went to si
t down.

  With a wave of her hand the duchess dismissed Varenna, leaving only father, mother and daughter alone in the room. Dierdre appraised her daughter carefully, noting the changes and omissions in her dress and grooming and, more important for what was to come, the girl's face and demeanor. She seemed quiet and docile, which might mean that her daughter's conscience had been at work, helping her to repent of her folly. Dierdre hoped so; not many girls would be given the opportunity to make an advantageous match so soon after such a scandal.

  "Angharad, your father and I have some good news for you," the duchess began, her voice warmed by the pleasure of her tidings. "We have received an offer of marriage for you from the new Duke Regent of Langstraad. Not all of the details have been worked out yet, but as soon as they are, a wedding date will be set."

  About her, Angharad imagined shadows reaching out with dark hands to smother her. Swallowing convulsively, she managed to voice a small, but defiant, "No!"

  Dierdre continued speaking, ignoring her daughter's outburst of dissent. "We realize that you hardly thought to receive such an offer so soon. You will not be a duchess of course, as he is only a duke regent. However, you will have the dignities and privileges of such an office until the true heir, one of Genvra Iscoed's daughters, comes of age. Afterwards you will be treated as a dowager duchess."

  Angharad sat with her face frozen into a mask, her eyes darting like those of a trapped animal seeking escape. Into the void, Angharad wailed softly. "I can't do it! Please, please don't make me! I don't want to be married!"

  "Don't be absurd, girl!" her father exclaimed irritably. "After Pentarin there was the possibility that you would not receive an acceptable offer for several years, or that you would be left a spinster. But instead of ignominy, you are favoured with an offer that would be excellent regardless of circumstances; and after your misbehavior, to receive such an offer is princely indeed. You fail to realize how very hard these past two months have been on your family. I will not let your self-indulgent foolishness ruin this opportunity for you!"

  "But I don't want to be married! I don't love him. I don't even know him! Please, I don't mind the thought of being a spinster.” She implored them desperately. “If you don't want me here at court, then send me back to grandmother's house!"

  "I tell you, you have no choice in this matter!" Branwilde stormed, incensed with his daughter's obduracy. "After all we have gone through, solely due to your own lack of judgment, it is clear that you are not capable of making rational choices. I am your father and I will dispose of your future as I see fit!

  “You talk to her," he said to his wife, rising and making for the door. "Perhaps you can make her see her duty. I have had enough of her nonsense!" So saying, he closed the door angrily behind him and left Angharad to the hard mercy of her mother.

  Dierdre regarded the recalcitrant child who sat before her. She and Angharad had always been at odds, neither understanding nor appreciating the other's point of view. Dierdre's pride was in her boys and especially in Owen, who would someday be Duke of Creon. She had never really wanted a girl child and when Angharad had come into her life, she had been shunted off with nurses and expected to grow up into a reasonable young woman who would marry to increase the holdings of her father's duchy. Pride had been taken in her daughter's beauty and accomplishments, but only because it increased the girl's chances of a brilliant match. The sense of shame that Dierdre felt when her daughter had disgraced herself and her family by running off with a common musician had turned her ambivalence into something close to dislike. Only the reprieve offered by the possibility of a match with House Langstraad had softened Dierdre's aversion to the girl. All of this was read by Angharad in her mother's face and she knew that all entreaty from that corner was in vain.

  "You have two choices before you," Dierdre announced coldly. "You may accept this offer by the Duke Regent of Langstraad, or you will be married to Sir Hildreth of Tillmoor Manor. He has also approached your father with an offer." Responding to Angharad's shudder of disgust, her mother continued. "Yes, I agree that he is rather old and not very attractive, but he is wealthy and influential and therefore to be considered a suitable candidate. The choice can be yours, since you want one, but you must make haste to decide. I will leave you until morning to give me your answer." She rang the small bell that sat on the table beside her. "Varenna will see you back to your rooms."

  The girl's face, swollen and blotched with crying, lay against her grandmother's knee as the old woman stroked her hair with a soothing repetition of movement. In many ways she was glad that the girl had finally given way to sobbing out her anger and distress. Now, when the flood abated, she hoped that Angharad would be able to put the past behind her and look sensibly to her future. Murmuring sounds of comfort and condolence, Alainne watched the candlelight play on the silky mass of hair that fell forward covering the girl's face.

  Angharad's flight to her grand-dame's arms had been an instinctual one. The emotions that threatened to tear her asunder after the meeting with her parents propelled her to seek the only comfort that she knew of in this house. Bursting in on her grandmother in a frenzy of outrage and unhappiness, she had been taken to the old woman's knee to be listened to and comforted. Her wild crying had eventually ceased, and now she sat on the little footstool feeling dull and drained.

  "Here, drink some of this," Alainne urged, putting a cup to Angharad's lips. She took a sip, sputtered and was given the rest in one quick draught. "Now then, I think it is time that you and I have a chat." Alainne spoke while lifting the girl's face up and brushing back the veil of hair so that she could see her clearly.

  "They are forcing me to marry!" Tears filled Angharad's eyes and threatened to spill.

  "I know that there has been an offer. A rather generous offer too, I am told."

  The shock of this admission dried the girl's tears. "You knew about this?" she demanded.

  "I was told about it in the letter that your parents sent asking for you to return. I did not tell you because I felt that it was something that they should make known to you on their own," she replied carefully.

  "But I don't want to be married! They are forcing me into this without even consulting me!" Angharad was indignant, both at the situation and her grandmother's prior knowledge of it. "They want to trade me off, like a cow or a sheep, with no say in the matter. I'm nothing but an object that they want to dispose of at their whim!"

  "Child, child," was the gentle admonishment. "You have been living in a romantic fantasy world, and it is now time for you to grow up."

  "Do you mean to say that you agree with them?" Angharad pulled up and away from her in consternation.

  "Listen to me! Listen to one who is far older, and has seen much more of this world than you have. No one is ever truly free to do exactly as they please with no regard for anyone but themselves; especially not women, and not women of your station. I have heard enough details of what happened to you in Pentarin to know that what you tried to do was a selfish and foolhardy act, and bound to end as it did."

  "That is not true!" Angharad bristled, her eyes kindling to anger. "I loved Daffyd and he loved me. If we only had a few more days we would have sailed far away from the Pentarchy and been happy together. The only reason that we are not gone now is that father sent armed soldiers and dragged us back!"

  "It was ill-conceived and poorly done," was the flat response. "In doing what you did you betrayed not only yourself and your family but that miserably deluded young man as well. You brought shame on yourself and disaster on him." Angharad's lips drew back in a grimace of recrimination. What her grandmother said was what she had long since judged for herself to be true.

  "The reality of life for a woman in your position," the old woman went on implacably, "is that marriage is not a contract of whim or fancy, but is a potent method for extending influence and building alliances between families. Do not fool yourself into thinking that marriage is a purely personal thing. Even amo
ng peasants, marriages are arranged for the benefit of families."

  "And were you married off to whomever your parents chose without your wishes being considered?" Angharad asked caustically.

  "Do not try to goad me child," she answered mildly. "I knew my duty and when I was told that a match had been arranged between Kayn d'Aurilac of Creon and myself I accepted it with the grace and dignity befitting such an offer. I admit that I knew Kayn and was fond of him, but even if someone else had been chosen, I would have trusted my parents and behaved as a noble woman ought.

  "Believe me, your father is not being intentionally unkind. He is a political realist, and with the troubles that are now brewing throughout the Pentarchy it is wise for him to take the advantage and cement as many powerful alliances as he can."

  "Is that why Sir Hildreth is thrown in my teeth if I do not capitulate?"

  With a piqued expression, her grandmother said: "That is an absurd idea, but I fear that the threat is not idle. Take my advice," a hand came out and stroked the softness of the girl's rounded cheek. "There is no way that you can win this argument with your parents. If you refuse young de Medicat, they will surely see you wed to Hildreth, and I do not think that he is above taking a reluctant bride." She felt the girl stiffen beneath her hand. "At least de Medicat is young and I hear that he is not ugly."

  "No, he is not ugly," Angharad admitted, "but he has a reputation for... womanizing." Her face turned crimson as she spoke.

  The old woman sighed. "My dear, that is a charge that is laid on many men. It may even be true in his case, considering that he is Alister de Medicat's grandson, but that is not a good enough reason to reject him. Remember, this is to be a marriage of state. You must put your personal feelings aside and accept the duty that being a daughter of House Creon requires of you."