The little girl paused at her knee and asked “Are you my sister Hilary? Mama told me about you.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Why aren’t you in the Tower now?”
Hilary smiled. “Because I got ill, and they had to send me away.”
“If you’re ill,” the child asked reasonably, “why aren’t you in bed?”
That, Hilary thought, was an excellent question; it was a pity she did not have an equally excellent answer. At last she said, “Mama wanted me to be at dinner tonight.”
“Oh.” The child asked no more, and Hilary thought that, small as she was, the child already knew her mother was not to be questioned. “Can I sit in your lap?”
“If you like,” Hilary said, and lifted the little girl to her knee. Maellen snuggled against her.
Ginevra Hastur, hearing them, asked, “Yes, Hilary, if you have come here from the Tower, how is it that you join us tonight?”
“I did as my parents willed,” replied Hilary.
Despard interrupted, “Cassilda, I should like you to know my sister Hilary . . . .”
Lady Castamir interrupted, “But, Hilary, you are eating nothing. Do let me give you some of this excellent roast rabbit-horn,” and placed a well-carved portion on Hilary’s plate. Hilary lost her battle for composure and was suddenly and thoroughly sick all over the table and her neighbors.
~o0o~
A little while later, when Hilary had been taken to bed, and the guests had departed, Lady Castamir stood angrily glaring at her.
“How could you behave so? Now the gods alone know what they’ll be thinking.”
“Nothing worse than what you seem to be thinking,” Hilary interrupted.
Her mother glared at her. “Don’t you be impertinent, girl. Now that you have shown yourself in such shape before noble neighbors, how do you think we are to get you married?”
“Mother,” said Hilary evenly, “I am not in any state to be married. This was one reason why they sent me home; if I was not well enough to remain at Arilinn, how could you think me well enough to marry?”
“Don’t be foolish; if you are not to be Keeper, of course you must marry, and as soon as possible.” Yllana Castamir snapped. “What other kind of life is there for a respectable young woman? And you are already seventeen.”
“Hardly senile,” Hilary commented. “And I could always cut my hair and become a Renunciate, as a daughter of Aillard recently did.”
“Do be serious,” her mother said crossly. “Women of our rank cannot do as we wish; there is a duty laid upon us. Of course, spending so many years in the Tower, doing as you please—”
Hilary thought that this was the last way she would have chosen to describe her years at Arilinn, constantly subject to Leonie’s will.
“—you have not been bound to carry out your duty to clan and family,” her mother finished harshly. “But now that you have been sent away, you are so bound. You will be well enough by the end of this tenday, I should hope, that we can arrange a small function. Once it is known that we have a marriageable daughter, all of our kinfolk will come, I imagine.”
“I cannot keep you from imagining whatever you like,” Hilary said wearily, feeling as if one of the Terrans’ earth-moving machines had rolled over her. It did not matter what she said; her mother would not listen to her anyway.
~o0o~
For the next three or four days, Hilary was carried along by her mother’s brisk commands. A seamstress was summoned, and a number of beautiful dresses ordered. At any other time, Hilary would have been delighted; but it was so obvious that these were intended only to show her off in the marriage market, that she felt very cynical about them.
At the end of that tenday, her mother and father gave a small dance. Everyone from Syrtis and the nearby village came. Hilary, who did not feel much like dancing, spent much of the evening alone, listening to the musicians. Then her brother Despard led two young men to her.
“Rafael Hastur—the son of the Regent—and his paxman Rafael Syrtis,” he said.
Young Rafael Hastur bowed; he was a handsome young man about thirty. “I believe we may have met when we were children at just such an affair as this, damisela; it was the year before you were taken to the Tower.”
“I remember,” Despard said. “Hilary was too young to dance even with kinsmen, and so she and I watched the musicians from the top of the stairs. You came upstairs with your sister Cassilda, and we danced a set with the governess and the fencing-master.”
Hilary smiled. “I remember, too,” she said. “But I have spent so much time isolated in Arilinn that I have never danced at a public dance.”
Rafael Hastur said, “Then I must just claim you as kin, damisela—or should I say, cousin—and take this dance. If you will honor me—” He held out his hands to her. She did not feel much like dancing, but she felt it would please her mother to see her dancing with the only son of the Hastur. Afterward, Rafael Syrtis said that if she was his lord’s kin, she must accept him as kin, too; and she danced with him, and with Despard. Then she had to sit down with a glass of cider, to recover her strength. Her mother chose this time to ask if she had danced much. Hilary told her about the two Rafaels, and her mother snorted.
“A waste of time, dear; Rafael Hastur is betrothed to his cousin Alata Elhalyn. As for the Syrtis boy, he’s only the son of Lord Danvan’s hawkmaster. He’s reputed to be a lover of men and a cristoforo,” she said. “And he wouldn’t be any good to you; I heard he was pledged to one of the Hastur foster-children, but the girl’s to be married to Kennard Alton. If Lord Hastur wouldn’t have him for his own foster-kin, he wouldn’t allow him to marry you.”
“Mother,” Hilary protested, “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
“Not until you’re properly married off!” said Lady Yllana and went off again, returning quickly with a burly red-haired man.
“Dom Edric Ridenow,” she said, “allow me to present my daughter Hilary, who until a few days ago was pledged to the Arilinn Tower.”
He bowed. “I believe you know my brother, Damon,” he remarked. “He has mentioned your name; he came from the Tower and is now hospital-officer in the Guards.”
“I know Damon quite well,” Hilary said. “We were friends for many years and I think he was a friend to Leonie, too.”
As much, she thought, as any man can be friend to a pledged Keeper. Hilary had come to believe that, whatever reason Leonie had given for dismissing Damon, the older woman had begun to think of him in a way she must not lawfully think of any man. And so, of course, Damon had had to go. Hilary was happy to know he was in the Guards now. She hoped, sooner or later, that she would see him. Now, she thought, if mother would scheme to marry me to him, it might not be so bad—but she was sure no such idea would ever cross her mother’s mind.
“I suppose, since you are from Arilinn, you are fond of hunting, damisela?” Hilary was about to explain that the state of her health had not allowed her to do much riding or hawking, but Lady Yllana broke in.
“Certainly Hilary is fond of hawking,” she said, her hands gripping Hilary’s arm in a way that defied her to say a single word of denial. Edric smiled, his eyes taking in Hilary’s décolletage in a way she did not like at all. She remembered Damon speaking of this brother scathingly as “the red fox.”
But she could not help thinking that if he was Damon’s brother, it was not altogether unlikely he should have some of Damon’s virtues. And if it would make her mother happy, she might as well hunt with him, she did know a little of it. So it was arranged for the following day
Before she went to bed that night, her mother burbled, “Aren’t you excited, you silly girl? A Comyn lord, and it’s all too obvious that the man’s looking for a wife. And he’s heir to the head of the Domain! How would you like to be Lady Ridenow?”
Hilary felt somewhat shaky—it had been a long evening—but she said she could probably do worse, and her mother left her to sleep.
; ~o0o~
The next morning Hilary woke, not feeling like hunting, or to tell the truth, doing anything whatever except staying where she was and sleeping. However, she knew what her mother would have said to that; so she got up and dressed, drank a little milk, and went down to her horse.
She found Dom Edric already there, aboard a great gray mare. She thought that even this substantial beast must bear his weight with some difficulty. Dom Edric was nothing at all like Damon: he was huge—gross, even—where Damon was slight and slender; he was rough-spoken where Damon was impeccably polite. And he looked at her—well, she thought, she must learn to expect that. She was no longer a Keeper, protected by her crimson robe. She wondered if all men in the world looked upon women like that—as if she were a sweetshop window before a hungry small boy. If so, the task of readjustment would be harder than she had ever thought.
But perhaps he had never been taught otherwise. She could not expect him to behave with the courtesy of a Tower technician, but perhaps he did not know she found his look offensive. “I knew your brother Damon very well at Arilinn,” she said. “Have you never spent time within Tower walls, Dom Edric?”
His laugh was as gross and mountainous as everything else about him. “Me? In a Tower? All Gods forbid, Lady Hilary. Damon’s not my kind at all. Gods only know how the same dam whelped us both! I never thought too well of Damon. When he left the Tower, I hoped he’d become more the image of a man, but he hasn’t. Men in the Tower are a sickly lot—no guts to any of ’em that I ever saw. O’course, one expects that in a lady,” he simpered—there was really no other word for it—and Hilary’s heart sank.
“Damon told me once that most Comyn men are lacking in either brains or guts; it’s rare to find them with both—”
“Aye,” Edric answered, “Damon got the brains and I got the guts.”
And you’re proud of it, Hilary thought. A man of Edric’s type could brag of having no brains and was unwilling to credit his brother with courage. It was not so much that Damon lacked courage, as that Edric lacked imagination.
She said so, and Edric remarked, “Aye, and I thank the Gods for it. As I see it, imagination’s all very well for the ladies; but who wants a man with so much imagination that he can’t act when he must?”
I, for one, Hilary thought. Already she knew Edric had too little laran to read her thoughts. Well, she thought doggedly, he may have other virtues. She put all of her energies to the task of staying in the saddle; she was at the best of times only an indifferent rider.
After being Keeper at Arilinn, the thought of being married off to someone completely lacking in laran seemed to Hilary all too much like being coupled with a dumb animal. But her mother, who had precious little laran of her own, was unlikely to think of that as a reason for stopping any such marriage. Hilary braced herself for the proposal she knew was coming, and steeled herself to do what her family required. No one, she thought, escapes a marriage of this kind. I have known that since I was younger than Maellen . . . .
The cool air had put some color in her cheeks, and Hilary did not realize how pretty she looked in her riding habit. She knew that Dom Edric could—and should—look upon her with desire. This did not precisely revolt her. She had known some women who had been given in marriage to men indifferent to women and knew how unfortunate they were. Hard as it was to be given in marriage to a desire she had carefully been trained not to feel, there were many women who suffered at finding themselves married to a man who kept his desires for a handsome guardsman, or worse, some little pageboy.
The intensity of Edric’s stare disquieted her; she did not much like him, and almost for the first time Hilary thought what it would be like to be bound to a man who could never share her innermost self. She had known so few men except the telepaths of Arilinn, and now she was being offered openly to this crude person who boasted of his lack of imagination and sensitivity as if they were virtues. It was not a good life to which to look forward; but if this was her duty, she thought, trying to quell her rebellious spirit, she would marry Edric. And after all, what alternative did she have? She had hoped she would be given a few months to readjust; she should have known better.
Edric had drawn his horse up close to hers. He smiled and said, “I’m a plain man, Hilary; I won’t beat around the bush. You must know that my family and yours are both looking forward to marrying us off. Does that suit you?”
Hilary thought, at least he has the virtue of honesty. She looked up at him with a little more liking because of it, and said, “It’s true. My mother told me that you had come here looking for a wife.”
Edric asked, “And shall I ask you formally to marry me, then?”
She said demurely, “If that is what you wish to do.” Why, she thought, perhaps the poor fellow is only inarticulate, then, and smiled.
He said, “We will consider it done, then,” and added, “I am hungry; perhaps we should tell your mother when we stop for lunch.”
“If you like. I think it will make her very happy,” said Hilary. She did not really feel much like eating, and did not see how he could be hungry after his enormous breakfast; but perhaps the poor fellow only gobbled because he was shy and could not think of anything else to do. She knew that some of the younger men in the Towers gobbled greedily to conceal nervousness; and it occurred to her that she might like Edric all the better for a few faults.
“Well, we’ve had no hunting yet,” he said, deftly unhooding his falcon and letting it fly. Hilary had done little hunting at Arilinn, although a few of the women were avid falconers, some even training their own birds. She watched with interest as the falcon soared aloft. Damon, she knew, had been a most competent falconer; and little Callista was already adept enough with her own—a great hawk like Edric’s.
Edric’s falcon was not unlike Damon’s favorite bird; she said so, and Edric replied without much interest, “It probably is Damon’s. I’ve always felt falconry was a sport mostly for women; certainly no man I know, except for Damon, cares to handle birds that much. Well, better him than me, I reckon. If he wants to train falcons for all the ladies, it saves me the trouble of worrying about a strange falconer on the place. But, when you’re married to me, and Damon trains your falcons, make sure that’s all he does for you.”
Hilary blushed. His meaning was unmistakable even without the aid of telepathy, and the remark came just short of being improper. Her father, or Despard, or Damon, would never have spoken so in her presence—and certainly would not have grinned and chuckled so suggestively. Still, she clung to the thought that a man speaking to his promised wife need not observe so many courtesies.
Edric’s eyes were on the falcon; Hilary could not see so far, but Edric put spurs to his horse and raced toward where she could just see it descending on some small wild thing in the grass. By the time she reached it he was standing in his saddle, crossly calling off one of the dogs. The quarry was probably a squirrel; it was being torn to pieces by falcon and dogs, and there was nothing left of it except a few scraps of blood-stained fur.
Edric scowled. “Hardly worth the trouble; still, it makes a man hungry.” Hungry, Hilary thought, was the last thing it made her feel. In fact, she felt as if she would not want to eat again for a long, long time. Still, she controlled herself, knowing her mother would be very vexed if she showed any sign of distaste.
The hunting party returned home, and it was not long before the entire family was gathered. Edric said to her father, “Hilary and I have something to tell you, and I hope you will be pleased, sir.”
Her mother asked, “Does this mean, Dom Edric, that there’s a wedding in the offing?” Edric nodded gruffly, and her mother smiled at Hilary. It had been a long time since her mother had looked so approvingly at her.
Her father glanced doubtfully at Edric, and then said, “Whatever Hilary wants is fine with me,” and gave Edric a hearty handclasp, following it with a warm hug.
Despard grinned and said “Whatever Hilary wants—if this is
your choice, sister—”
Her father was opening a bottle of homemade apple wine. “I laid this wine down before Despard was born,” he said. “We drank the first of it at his wedding and now we shall celebrate Hilary’s upcoming marriage.”
Hilary accepted a goblet and drank in her turn. Then weariness and exhaustion overcame her, and she collapsed into her father’s arms.
She came to herself a little when she was carried up the stairs. “It was only—the smell of blood—” she tried to explain, and lost consciousness again. When she woke, Edric was gone. Her mother, at the bedside, looked cross.
“I hope you realize, you foolish girl, what you’ve done,” she said angrily. “Dom Edric was most apologetic, but he said that he must have a wife who is neither sickly nor frail. He fears you cannot give him a healthy son, Hilary. The Ridenows have been free of the infertility which has plagued so many of the Domains, and he dares not pledge himself to an unhealthy woman.”
“Good enough for him,” said Despard wrathfully. “Why doesn’t he go marry the swineherd’s daughter, if that’s all he wants in a woman?”
Domna Yllana was beyond speech as she looked at Hilary. When she found her voice, she snarled, “Well, I’ve done my best; I wash my hands of you!”
I wish I believed you would, Hilary thought. But she might, at least, get a couple of months to recover her strength.
“Yes, Mother,” she said weakly. Her eyes caught Despard’s behind Domna Yllana’s back and he smiled.
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Hilary’s Wedding
Marion Zimmer Bradley
“I don’t understand you at all, Hilary,” Domna Yllana said with a look of frustration. “Your own wedding gown, and it might as well be a new pinafore for your sister. I never had anything so fine till after Despard was born; if I had, I would have been wild with excitement. One would think it was someone else’s wedding, not yours at all.”
Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover Page 14
