“In truth, Lord Prince,” whispered the old man, “I don’t know—the maids are housed at the far end. She could be anywhere at all.”
Roderic cursed beneath his breath. Peregrine was the daughter of a landed Senador. How had Gartred dared to treat her so? But there seemed to be no other way to find her. He’d have to go from room to room. With another curse, he started forward, intending to peer into the nearest room, when a huge man, bearded and naked from the waist up, emerged from some room perhaps halfway down the corridor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His face was creased with sleep, and his trousers were clearly those of the King’s Guard.
“I’m looking for a lady,” Roderic replied.
“Then you’re looking in the wrong place, lad. Get out—before you disturb decent people at their rest.”
A yawning woman peered out from another cubicle. Roderic groaned. It hadn’t been his intention to rouse the whole house. “You don’t understand—” he began.
“You don’t understand,” responded the hairy giant, hands on hips. “Who the hell do you think you are? Get back to your barracks, ‘fore I report you to your commanding officer.”
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Ha! What’s my name to you, pretty boy? Get out of here, now, or I’ll boot you out.”
More and more faces, male and female both, were emerging from curtained openings along the corridor and Old Ben was tugging at Roderic’s arm with increasing urgency. “It’s the Prince,” hissed a soft whisper, and Roderic glanced over into the eyes of a serving girl who had pleasured him years ago. He felt the blood rise in his face, as more and more faces pressed forward, and he recognized more than a few of them.
“Your name,” said Roderic, as he gently but firmly disengaged Ben, “may mean nothing to me, but mine most assuredly will mean something to you. I am Roderic Rodenau, and my ‘commanding officer’ as you refer to him, has been lost in the field for some time now. And in his absence every soldier in the King’s Guard, including you, answers ultimately to me.” The people who crowded the narrow passage had fallen silent, staring in disbelief, and the soldier’s mouth hung open. “Good people,” Roderic addressed the gathering crowd. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest. But I came here :onight looking for a lady the consort—“
“Roderic?” A woman’s voice, high with disbelief, rose above the crowd, and as one, they all craned their heads. Men and women flattened against the walls.
“Peregrine?” He started forward, and then she was in his arms, her black-brown hair falling to her waist, her full mouth turned up to his. There was a ripple of nervous laughter and then a spatter of applause. She broke away from him, laughing with delight, and Roderic held her at arm’s length. Glad as he was to see her, there was a difference in his feelings for her he could not quite define. “What’s happened to you? Why are you here? Did the consort dismiss you?”
Before Peregrine could answer, an old woman broke through the crowd, a white-wrapped bundle in her arms. “It was the consort, Lord Prince. Because she carried your child, you see. When the news came about the King—the consort decided to get Peregrine out of the way. I think she thought to take her place—in your heart.”
He looked down into Peregrine’s dark eyes. “Is this true?” he whispered.
Peregrine nodded. “She sent me down to the kitchens—she wanted to keep me out of your way.”
The old woman stood before him, and the bundle stirred and cried out. Peregrine reached out and took the baby. “This is your daughter, Roderic. I named her Melisande.”
It was long after midnight when Roderic finally leaned back against the cushions beside the hearth. He could barely stand to look at Peregrine as he listened to the sorry tale she told, a tale which reminded him that he had not spared more than a thought or two for her the whole time he had been in Atland. A constant play of light flickered across her face, and her eyes were deep in the shadows. But he felt her watching him, knew that she had not taken her eyes off him since the moment she had seen him in the corridor.
“… and that’s how you found me.”
Her voice dropped off, and he stared, unmoving, into the fire.
“Roderic? What’s wrong? Are you angry with me?”
“With you?” He looked up swiftly and shook his head. “Of course not. I’m afraid I’m not fit company tonight.”
“It’s Gartred, isn’t it? I knew she was going to spoil things—I knew she’d spoil this homecoming for you—“
“Peregrine.” He got to his feet and paced a few short steps so that he would not have to see the concern so plainly on her face. “This hasn’t anything to do with Gartred. I’m very sorry that you should have suffered so. But this—” he gestured all around “—things are so different, this doesn’t feel like home.”
“I knew she shouldn’t have changed your rooms.” She raised her hands in a brief, futile gesture and dropped them back in her lap.
He felt a pang of pity and came a few steps closer. “I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t know. I wish you’d sent a message.”
“I—I was afraid to approach a messenger—I was afraid the consort would take the baby.”
“Take her?” Roderic frowned.
“Give her to some woman in the city who doesn’t have a child—such things happen.”
“By the One.” He dropped beside her on one knee and touched her cheek. The texture and the color of her skin reminded him of honey mixed with cream, and he watched the pulse beat in her throat.
“You’ve changed.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” His eyes followed the line of her bodice to her breasts, which rose and fell to the rhythm of her breathing. She smelled of lavender and rosemary.
She caught his hand and held it to her face. “I—I’ve missed you so much. All the time you were away, I thought or you— only you. And when Melisande was born, I hoped—” She looked down. “I thought maybe you’d have missed me, too. But you didn’t even send a letter.”
A vision of the butchered Mutens and the earth churned to a bloody mud flashed through his mind. He stood up and turned his head away. “I’m not the same as when I left here, Peregrine. I’m not sure you’d miss me, if you knew the things I’ve done.”
For answer, she got to her feet and held out her hand timidly, as though she feared rebuff.
Beneath the thin cotton of her gown, her body was a dark, curving outline. He remembered all the nights he’d spent in her arms, all the long lazy afternoons, hiding from the consort and his tutors. His desire rose, first a hunger, then a demand. He pressed a kiss into her palm, watching her reaction.
She tightened her fingers around his and moved a fraction of an inch closer, her face tilted up. He bent his head and kissed her. There was not much gentleness in that kiss, but her passion seemed to match his own. She put her arms around his neck and thrust her hips against his. He held her tightly, the hard evidence of his need squarely nestled between them. They stood entwined for a long time, and then he picked her up and carried her to his bed.
He laid her on the pillows and felt for the lacings of her gown. She reached up to help his fumbling fingers.
He lifted his head and looked at her. “Do you want this, lady?”
“Roderic—” The word was a plea.
He caught her hands in one of his and looked squarely into her dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. I had no idea Gartred would do what she did. I want to make it up to you, I want to set things right. I don’t know if I can offer you anything right now, Peregrine. I can speak to Phineas, but—but you aren’t one of the kitchen maids and you’ve borne my child. I won’t treat you as if you don’t matter to me.”
“Let me show you how I want to be treated.” She undid her bodice with one hand and placed the other firmly against his erection. Whatever tentative hold he had on reason was lost to him completely at that point, and any fuzzy half-formed notions he had of guilt or honor dissolved in the
hot tide of passion which swept through him.
As the gray dawn broke over the sea, Roderic woke to find her head nestled in the hollow of his chest. Lazily, he nudged her awake. “Peregrine, the child—” he began when she opened her eyes.
“It’s an honor to bear your child—you know that.”
“Honor without substance is cold comfort.” He rolled over on his back, staring at the ceiling, knowing she watched him with troubled eyes, remembering the long nights spent beneath these very sheets, the summer afternoons in the shadowed glades of Minnis Saul. She had suffered much for his sake in the last months.
“You’ve changed so much.” She sat up, pulling the sheet close, and spoke over her shoulder, her eyes fixec on the scene outside the window where the gulls wheeled and shrieked. Her body had changed—her breasts were fuller, softer, her waist had thickened, and silvery lines etched paths on the skin of her belly and her hips. Her words surprised him. “Last night when you spoke to that soldier—I’d never heard you sound that way before.”
Silently, he caressed the feathery tips of her hair, not knowing how to respond. What reassurance could he offer her, when there were so many decisions to be made, so many questions to be answered? The subject of marriage had not even been whispered, and that, too, was sure to raise a storm within the Congress, a storm he instinctively knew should be avoided for the present. To name Peregrine his consort was tantamount to announcing his intention to marry her, especially since he had no heir. What certainty could he offer her, when he was so uncertain himself?
She turned and he saw that tears had formed in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you. I’d rather stay as the lowest scullery maid—“
He touched her mouth with one finger as he pulled her down beside him. “Of course you’ll stay. I didn’t mean to sound as if I don’t need you. It’s just I scarcely know how I fit in, let alone anyone else.”
“What about Gartred?”
At the mention of the consort’s name, his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure. But I promise you, something will be done.”
“Will you send her away?”
He shifted restlessly. That thought had occurred more than once in the last twelve hours.
Peregrine pressed closer, her hand straying lower, rousing and caressing. “I could be your First Lady.”
He glanced down, surprised. Without the title of wife or consort, it was a position of only a little honor and many cares, one often bestowed upon some ancient female relative. As his body responded inevitably to her touch, he kissed her smooth cheek. “If you would be content with that, at least for a little?”
She lowered her eyes until her lashes brushed against his chest, and he was glad to see her dimples. “As you say, Lord Prince. Command me as you wish.”
Alexander pressed his cheek against the cool panes of ancient glass and watched the fog rolling off the sea in thick, gray waves. The rising sun was no more than a paler splotch of gray over the horizon, and the gulls shrieked invisibly through the mist. He kept his face carefully neutral as he listened to his twin outline his plan for the taking of the regency.
His neck and shoulders ached, and his head throbbed with weariness. He had ridden all night, through the worst of the storm, in order to reach Ahga before the Convening, and he still wore his sodden clothes. Beyond the bedchamber, he could hear the harsh, tired voice of his bodyservant berating the castle servants as they fetched the water for his bath. The Convening wasn’t until noon, and Alexander dearly hoped he would have a chance to snatch a few hours sleep. He stifled a yawn and reluctantly met Amanander’s dark eyes.
Physically the brothers were identical in size and shape and form, and but for differences in style and dress, it would have been impossible for anyone to tell them apart. Alexander’s beard concealed a mouth as sensual as Amanander’s, and his dark hair was clipped close about his ears, a marked contrast to the intricate braids Amanander affected.
Amanander abruptly fell silent, and Alexander turned at the discreet cough. In the doorway which led to the bathing room, his manservant hesitated. “Well?”
“Your clothes are ready, Lord Alex. The castle servants are heating your water, and breakfast is on its way. Is there anything I can do for you, before I oversee the unloading of our packs?”
Alexander nodded, with a glance at Amanander. “Go to Roderic. Convey my greetings.”
“Should I apologize for our late arrival, lord?”
Amanander snorted. Alexander nodded slowly.
When the door had closed behind the servant, Amanander made another sound of derision. “Apologize? Ahga is as much our home as it is his.”
“But in our father’s absence, Roderic is its master, is he not?” Amanander’s boots made no sound as he stalked to stand beside his twin, and involuntarily Alexander drew back. “You do realize, don’t you, that what you are proposing could be construed as treason?”
“Not if the Congress supports me.”
Alexander sighed. “But that would require them to break the pledges they swore to Dad.” When Amanander did not reply, Alexander swore softly beneath his breath. “Whose support can you count on?”
“Missiluse. Harland hasn’t forgotten how Dad humiliated his father. He’ll stand with us. And Reginald—we can count on him. As for Phillip, he’s too fat in Nourk. He’ll not stir himself either way.”
“In order to nullify Dad’s will you’ll need the votes of two-thirds of the Senadors. Who else?”
“Ragonn. Mondana. Vada. Atland. All of them recognize the children of contracted marriages as equal heirs.”
“By the One, Aman. Has the hot sun in Dlas addled your brains? Ragonn may support you, but what does he have to support you with? The army in Ragonn is Dad’s army—they even fight under his colors. The lords of Mondana are among Dad’s staunchest supporters, and always have been. Roderic’s just been in Atland—the Senador’s not about to forget—“
“That’s where Reginald and Harland will be of use. They’ll foment rebellion among the lesser lords in Atland, Tennessey, the rest of the South—the ones who’ll be feeling the brunt of this new peace.”
“Reginald? You mean to say he’ll deliberately incite the lesser lords to rebel? He’ll deliberately break the treaties he’s just helped to make?”
Amanander’s mouth folded into a straight line and he met Alexander’s challenge with a raised brow. “Reginald will stand with us. He gave me his assurances in Atland—he has no wish to rule in the shadow of a puppet princeling. Don’t you think he’d like more than that forsaken garrison Dad so generously bestowed?”
Alexander rubbed a hand across his face, scarcely comprehending the bitter sarcasm. His eyes felt gritty, swollen, as though the dust in the road had found a way beneath his lids. Although he had always known that Amanander believed the throne of Meriga should be his, the blatant scheming shocked him. “And Vada,” he said, trying desperately to comprehend how far Amanander believed he could go, “Roderic is the old Senador’s grandson. No matter what Mortmain thought of Dad, do you really think the lesser lords there will march against Melisande Mortmain’s blood?”
Amanander’s eyes, fastened on the far horizon, were two dark slits. “And you?”
The question lay like a rock at the bottom of a still pond. Alexander swallowed hard. “I cannot break my oath.”
Amanander did not even blink. For some reason the lack of a reaction made Alexander flinch more than if his brother had raised his fist. “And what of your blood?”
Alexander took a deep breath. How could he explain to Amanander the lessons he’d learned all these years in Spogan, wrestling with the Chiefs of the Settle Islands, keeping the peace between Mondana and Ragonn and the Chiefs, balancing the interests of Meriga against the Sascatch Tribes just beyond the northern borders? “I’ve seen too much blood spilled when men don’t honor their oaths, Aman.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. It hurt him to disappoint his brother, for he knew that Aman
had counted on his support most dearly. “Perhaps things have been different for you in Dlas. You’ve only the Harleyriders and the sand to deal with—in Spogan, I must balance the Chiefs and the lords, and the Sascatch—” He broke off. “I’ve seen what happens if one man breaks his word. I’ve seen tens of hundreds die as a result. I cannot break the pledge I swore to Dad—to uphold the kingdom—”
“Ah.” Amanander faced Alexander, his face as blank as stone. “And yet you would countenance handing the regency to an untried boy—“
“Is he untried? I heard he acquitted himself well in Atland.” Alexander met his brother’s eyes and wondered why a chill ran down his spine.
“Oh, he acquitted himself admirably, if you find butchery admirable. Have you heard how he brought the Muten chief to his knees at last? He ordered fifty or more hostages tortured to death, one by one—had them flayed and hacked to death with blunted swords. You should have seen the blood spilt that day.”
Alexander frowned. “No,” he said slowly, “I had not heard. You were there? You saw this?”
“With my own eyes. Of course, it was only Muten vermin, and the Congress will not care, but—“
“If Roderic should prove to be an unworthy ruler, Aman, I will without hesitation support your claim. As undoubtedly will the others you’ve named. Perhaps we’ll be able to bring together a coalition—”
Amanander turned away, but not before Alexander caught the curl of scorn which twisted his mouth. “I see what you’ve become, dear brother. You’ve become a peacekeeper—at any price. You forget how our father treated us—abandoned us, ignored us—“
“I remember how Grandmother dragged us off to the South when Dad banished her, and he let us go in order to prevent civil war.”
“In order to prevent having to fight an enemy on his flank, you mean.”
Alexander hesitated. He remembered the years spent in the Estate of Missiluse, remembered the Muten who had come to live in the highest tower of the keep. It was then that there had been a change in Amanander, but Alexander had always preferred to think that Aman had simply begun to mature, to become the man he now was. And what sort of a man was that? he asked himself. His mind veered away from the question. But there had been a change in their relationship, even though he wanted to deny it, and would have denied it still to anyone who asked. He only vaguely remembered the day their father had come for them, but he knew that was the day he had been afraid of Aman for the first time.
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