Silence stretched as the tension in the room thickened the air. I blinked up at an intricately woven tapestry, my mother’s work, suspended over the bed by the four thick posts. It was my parents’ bed. Heavy curtains fell to the floor drawn back by thick loops of the same fabric. When closed, they shut out the rest of the room. The mattress beneath me gave more than it had the last time I slept there half a decade past. I turned my head cautiously to the left.
The gold of the firelight cast the two men in high relief. Irvaine’s leaner form loomed over Antano’s bent head.
“It wasn’t his fault. I wouldn’t have been able to eat even if food was offered.”
Both men straightened at my voice.
Irvaine glared at Antano. “He still stands responsible for not offering it.” He dismissed Antano with a flick of his hand. “See to it we are not disturbed.”
Antano turned toward the door just as it opened. A young man entered and bowed, not lifting his eyes from the floor the whole time. “My lord, the officiate wishes to speak to you.”
“What about? His duties are finished. I have already ordered he be supplied for his return journey.”
“It is about the…bedding, my lord.”
I bit back my own protest when I glimpsed Irvaine’s face. Tight control hid his emotion, but his eyes glinted brightly in the light. An impatient twitch flicked the fingers on his right hand. “Have him come. Antano stay.” He crossed to the bedside as the boy left. Pinning me with his gaze he asked, “Can you trust me?”
I began to ease myself up onto my elbows, but he stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Answer the question?”
I grimaced up at him. “To a point.”
“That will be enough. No matter what I do or say, don’t protest. Can you do that?”
I eyed him warily. “I will try.”
“Fair enough.”
The bedroom door opened and the officiate entered. The edges of his gray robe were brown from the dirt outside. Drunken laughter wafted in through the open doorway behind him.
“The witnesses are prepared, my lord.” The officiate bowed.
“I already told you earlier, Ryanir. There will be no bedding ceremony tonight.”
“But the king…”
Irvaine cut him off. “She is in my bed.” He gestured to where I lay. I tried to look submissive, an easy feat lying on my back on a massive bed.
“I intend she not leave it ‘til the morrow. Considering the events that brought her there, I doubt she will have the strength to resist. I gave my word as a loyal subject of the king. I shall attempt to produce heirs. It was part of my vows. Besides, I have to consider my lady’s delicate nature.”
Antano coughed before regaining control of himself. Irvaine’s attention never wavered from Ryanir’s face. The older man shrunk under the noble’s stare.
“I refuse to invite a crowd of drunken men into my bedchamber. I will do my duty to her and my king, have no fear.”
“But, my lord, the king’s instructions were very clear. You are to…”
“King Mendal intends to validate the marriage so Lord Wisten cannot make claim on the land through her.” Irvaine gestured toward the scattered parchment littering the top of the table next to the fireplace. I recognized the heavy trestle table from the kitchen. “I have been in communication with him too.”
Irvaine’s featured tightened. “A crowd of drunken men witnessing me climbing into the same bed with her while you recite words over us hardly validates our marriage more. Many of those men will not remember the events of this night come morning. No, Ryanir, there will be no bedding ceremony.”
Turning from him, Irvaine unpinned the brooch at his shoulder and threw his cloak so it draped the chair before the fire. The metal clasp skittered into the shadows beyond. He pulled the emerald and gold surcoat over his head and dropped it at his feet. His undertunic of green looked almost black in the shadows.
“Go, Ryanir.”
Ignoring the officiate’s mumbled response, Irvaine strode toward the bed. I choked on the protest swelling in my throat. I instinctively slid my hand to where I usually carried my eating knife and found nothing.
Irvaine’s gaze moved from my hand to my face. His expression a blank, only the rich depths of his eyes reassured me that he played a part. “Antano, show him out.”
After a brief scuffle, the door thumped closed behind our unwelcome guest and his escort.
Sagging forward, Irvaine dropped his palms to the mattress and let out a heavy sigh. “I am sorry about that.” He lifted his head to look at me.
I scrambled awkwardly from the bed, careful to exit on the side opposite from him.
He crossed to the table and picked up a log book. A tap on the door stayed his hand before he opened it.
“What?” he demanded.
“Food.”
“Come.”
The door opened and a middle-aged man entered, limping heavily on his left leg and carrying a tray. Two jugs swung on hooks on his belt. He paused long enough to close the door tightly behind him. Then he crossed to the table, managing his limp with the ease of practice.
Irvaine didn’t even glance his way. Instead he proceeded to open the log. He scanned the surface of the table and groaned. “Where did the letter go?”
“I moved it, my lord.”
“What?” Irvaine straightened and dropped the book to the table.
“Here.” Jarvin slid the heavy tray onto the table, causing an avalanche of parchment. I lunged to catch the ink well before it followed the sheets to the floor. He lobbed something at Irvaine, who caught it deftly.
I set the ink well far from the table edge and knelt on the stone floor to gather the scattered pages. Many of the sheets were filled with ranks of numbers in flared handwriting with figuring in the margins in a tight clear hand. Two men, one recorded and the other did the sums. Out of habit I scanned down to the totals at the bottom. My stomach sank as I realized their meaning.
“Only two months?” I whispered.
“Pardon?” Jarvin asked, pausing in transferring items from the tray to the table.
“Nothing.” I swept the pages into a stack. According to the figures, we had only two months of provisions. My head reeled. With no harvest left to gather, no money, and nothing to trade, I could see no way we would survive until spring, let alone the first harvests. The game of the forest wouldn’t support us all.
“Yes.” Irvaine’s voice directly behind me startled my heart into my throat. “We only have two months before the villagers all starve together, but I have a plan.” Kneeling down, he picked up the last three sheets of parchment just beyond my reach. “I see you are familiar with keeping accounts and figuring.”
“My father taught me since Orwin showed no interest in such menial work. Someone needed to see we weren’t cheated.”
“That sounds like Orwin.” His smirk lacked humor.
I offered him my stack, but he pressed his pages into my hand. Surprise brought my eyes up to look at him truly for the first time since waking in my parents’—no, his bed. His eyes, still dark and unreadable in the firelight, seemed to see into my soul without giving any insight in return.
“Keep them, look over the accounts, and tell me if anything seems off.” Rising, he turned toward Jarvin. “Now where is that letter?”
“Under your sword on the chair, my lord.” Jarvis plunked down two heavy mugs and pulled the larger jug from its hook on his belt. “What do you wish to drink, my lady?” After pouring a generous measure of liquid into the larger mug, he paused and waited for my answer.
“I will have what he has.” I could use a bit of wine after this day. Besides there was much left to come.
“Water then, my lady.” He filled the second mug from the same jug. I watched in confusion. A warrior drinking water and not wine on his wedding night?
“I require your signature on the dower agreement.” Irvaine approached suddenly
“On what
?” I gained my feet faster than my head wished. The world tilted a bit and the black haze threatened my vision again.
“Steady.” He crossed to me in two strides and enfolded me in warmth. “I thought you understood. You are of age. Your agreement is required for me to claim the dowry.”
I shook my head in protest. “I have no dowry.” This was all moving too quickly.
“She needs food,” Jarvin pointed out.
Not even bothering to assist me, Irvaine simply picked me up like I was a flour bag and deposited me in the only chair with surprising grace. “Eat,” he ordered, shoving a hunk of bread into my limp fingers as he removed the parchment from my other hand. “We can talk after.”
Ripping a piece of bread for himself, he claimed a mug and strode away to study the linen again. We all ate in silence. No one spoke until I had consumed two hunks of excellent bread and a trencher of stew. I finished my last bite and reached for my mug only to encounter my new husband’s watchful gaze.
“Better?”
“Yes, thank you.” The bread sat a bit heavy in my stomach, but my hands had steadied.
“Good. Now we can discuss details. I don’t intend to press you tonight. You’ve endured enough as it stands. However, I do insist we share the same bed and act in all other ways as a married couple. I will be giving you demonstrations of affection in public and I expect them to be welcomed or at least accepted. Understood?”
I nodded.
“She isn’t one of your troops, Tomas. You cannot command affection.”
“I am hardly doing that,” Irvaine protested.
“What am I to call you?” I asked before the argument could continue.
Those unsettling eyes regarded me again. Heat filled my middle and a pleasant tingle teased the back of my neck. He studied my features so long I began to wonder if he would answer me at all.
“Tomas. And you? What should I call you?” The way he said it made me wonder if he wanted an answer.
“My given name is adequate.”
“Brielle.” He said my name as though he were testing the taste of it on his tongue. “Yes, it suits you.”
“I am happy you approve.” I stifled a yawn as best I could. My head’s weight, suddenly awkward, listed to the side.
“I think it is time we slept.” Before I could protest, Irvaine lifted me into his arms again. My weary body sank against him, eagerly seeking sleep. He strode toward the bed. “Jarvin?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Clear the meal and see that Ryanir gets his evidence.”
He laid me on the bed. Exhaustion pulled at my senses. I needed to stay alert. My body betrayed me, relaxing into the feather softness.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter Six
Chaos ruled the village center. Horses, men, gear, and a wagon commandeered from a local farmer crowded the open market square. From the back of the wagon, a small, round man handed out rations to the soldiers assigned to travel with us. The charred remains of the previous night’s bond fire still smoked on the edge of the square. Hangover-shortened tempers flared as the men raised their voices to be heard over the sounds of the horses.
Village women moved among the men, new wives making sure their husbands had all their gear. Children tugged at their skirts and tangled in their feet. Half-grown boys dashed underfoot. They sought a bit of the excitement. I wanted to wish it all away. I didn’t want to leave, but I must. I was no longer mistress of my own decisions. I belonged to another. Rubbing a soothing hand over my mount’s neck, I turned my attention to my husband.
The eye of the storm centered on Irvaine. He sat astride his stallion, dark eyes observing all and ears tuned to the voices around him. When one of the soldiers walked by complaining about his rations, Irvaine intervened.
“You there.” He motioned the soldier over and indicated he wanted to see his provisions for the trip. After studying the bread, cheese, dried meat, and skin of ale, he sent the man on his way. “Brevand,” Irvaine gestured to his quartermaster. “I want to see the ration plan for the next month.”
Brevand’s chin rose. Defiance glinted in his gaze for a moment before he obeyed.
The furrows in Irvaine’s forehead deepened as he scanned the parchment. “This isn’t enough.”
“It is all we can spare.”
“The supply wagons will arrive in a matter of days.”
My gaze followed Antano as he moved through the ranks calling out names from a list of his own. When each man answered, he directed them to form ranks. However, my ears were still tuned to Irvaine and Brevand’s conversation.
“I am taking over half the company, Brevand. The wagons should provide enough to keep the remaining company for a few weeks at least. Surely there is enough for full rations for the villagers and our escort while we are gone. There is no profit making anyone starve.”
“More troops will arrive with the wagons. More mouths to feed.”
“Bringing more food.”
“I ran the figures thrice. We used up a week’s rations of wine last night.” Brevand glared up at me as though it were of my doing. The fact he had to look up to find my face diffused his power. Still, something about the intensity unsettled my calm.
“King’s orders. I had no choice.” Irvaine handed back the lists. “We will have to make do with less. Have our escort give back half the supplies. I need to speak with Antano.”
Half the men now formed ranks. I counted seventy-five mounted warriors standing at attention. They presented a fearsome sight with the early morning sun glinting off their armor.
“Reclaim half of the rations!” Brevand called to the nearest unarmed man. Most of the crowd stopped moving. The soldiers glanced at each other, but didn’t break ranks or speak. Instead, as one, they looked to Irvaine.
Anger flickered over his features. He glared at Brevand, who ignored him.
“We will hunt to supplement our meals.” Although Irvaine spoke loudly, not a trace of anger crept into his voice. “Once the rations are gathered we leave.” He pulled his stallion closer to my gelding.
“Is Brevand always so testy?” I asked.
“On occasion he can become peevish.” He squinted at the rising sun. “He announced the change in plans brazenly to annoy me, nothing more.”
“Why would he wish to irritate you?” Despite his control thus far, I didn’t trust a man of the sword to keep his temper.
“His second accounting of supplies came a quarter short of his first. Unless someone moved a significant amount of grain and vegetables from the barns during the night, Brevand botched his figures severely. He did not appreciate me taking him to task over it.”
“Why do you keep him as your quartermaster if he is so lax with his duties?”
“He isn’t normally so careless.” He studied my face. “Antano mentioned the nature of your relationship with Quaren’s new wife. My ties to Brevand are similar. His father took me under his wing, overlooked my illegitimate birth, and gave me a chance to prove my worth. Brev and I shared tutors, sword masters, everything. We are brothers in all but blood.”
It sounded like a relationship strong enough to bear a bit of incompetence. Brother or not, Brevand held too much hate behind his eyes for my peace of mind.
“Ready, my lord.” Antano approached. His sat his solid chestnut mare as though molded to the beast’s back. He acknowledged me with a slight dip of his head.
“Then let us move out.” Irvaine heeled his stallion and led the way west. Antano and I flanked him a pace behind while the crier bellowed orders to the waiting men. The villagers who had not gathered in the square stuck their heads out windows or paused in their work as we passed their houses.
Loren hurried out the door of one of the last cottages we came passed. Behind the house, Quaren worked at preparing the kitchen garden for spring. He came around the front of the house to stand at her side. She wiped her hands on a floury apron before waving farewell. I waved back.
A crowd of villagers an
d the remaining soldiers followed us to the village edge. As I looked back one last time at the village of my birth, I spotted a face that didn’t belong.
Tyront? One of my cousin’s henchmen from childhood, Tyront and I squabbled enough times for me to lose count. He used his mouth more than his brain. I recognized his broken nose.
A horn blast from our crier brought my attention forward again. Something was wrong. I felt it in my gut. Tyront belonged with my cousin. Orwin should have been far from here, enjoying his ill-gotten freedom. Why would one of his cronies be among the villagers?
As we tramped the last bit of village road, we came in sight of the healer’s cottage. A middle-aged man worked on a broken wagon wheel in the front yard while a younger man bent over a churn. Taltana straightened from clearing her garden to watch us pass. I waved, but she didn’t acknowledge my gesture.
By the time we reached the forest edge beyond the last field, we were flanked by four additional men. A young squire charged ahead and disappeared among the shadows between the trees.
Irvaine came alongside. “He carries word of our impending arrival.”
I jumped. My mount shied with a whinny of protest. I tightened my hold on the reins until he resumed his leisurely pace.
“I am sorry. I didn’t intend to startle you.”
“My mind was on something else.”
“What?”
I glanced his way, encountering his interested gaze. Turning to watch the trail ahead, I debated telling him. I could be worrying about nothing. However, if something came of it, I would regret not mentioning it.
“I saw a face in the crowd as we left the village. He could be harmless, but ...”
Irvaine tensed. “Orwin?”
“No.”
“Then whom?”
“Tyront, one of Orwin’s childhood companions.”
“How close are they?”
“Inseparable. He rode out with the rest to defend King Trentham.”
Irvaine grunted. “Have you seen him since?”
“No.”
“Could you describe him?”
“Shorter than I by a hand’s span, his brown hair is thick and straight. His nose has been visibly broken twice and he has only one eyebrow.”
Duty: a novel of Rhynan Page 3
