Angelique could see a half-dozen horsemen of Gulden's size beyond the gate at the road. They were well-armed and sat astride sturdy beasts. The horses that had been tethered beside the barn, which Aloysius had used to bring home the silk and silver that were her bride price, waited there as well.
"Aye, girl, it's farewell," Aloysius said. Angelique submitted to another brief hug. "Be sure to write us now. Your mother'll be pleased for word."
She nodded, pausing to look up at that window. Briskly, Angelique turned. She had said her good-byes.
Culdun offered a hand to steady her climb. He smiled encouragingly as she murmured a thank you, but her sight was blurred with tears and she didn't see it.
Angelique wasn't certain how long they'd been driving, although she was grateful for the time alone. She hadn't expected to cry. It was something she seldom did. But after a bit, her tears stopped, and she became more aware of her surroundings.
It was as grand a carriage as the six matched horses had suggested. Its simple lines outside, however, had given little hint to the extent of luxury within. She sat facing forward on a full bench lined in crushed, red velvet. The seat was thickly padded and slanted back at a comfortable angle so that the larger bumps and potholes did not throw her about too severely. Across from Angelique was a half-bench, similarly cushioned. Beside it stood a cabinet which had deep holes set into its top for decanters. A glass covered tray with fruits and sweetbreads was nestled into the cabinet-top next to a decanter of wine. On the wall beside the cabinet, where a window should have been, leather pockets were neatly arranged to hold glasses and silverware. Small lanterns flanked the doors, delicate pink-glassed chimneys hanging in little brass rings. Directly above them were narrow slits in the roofing which drew the smoke away when they were lit.
But what most took her breath away, however, was the slender vase affixed to the wall beside the door she had entered. It held a single pink rose, a bud barely in bloom. Angelique lifted it gently from the glass, wary of thorns, only to find someone had carefully stripped it of those sharp barbs. She wondered again about this lonely noble who lived in such isolation.
There was a knock at the door, but, before she could respond, the door opened without the carriage halting and Culdun climbed deftly in. He took the seat opposite her. "I trust that I am not intruding, my Lady?"
"No, not at all."
He nodded in satisfaction, settling himself more comfortably as he tugged down the sleeves of his coat. Angelique noticed the box step that had been built into the floor beneath his seat. It compensated for the man's shorter height, so that his feet could rest there instead of dangling.
"I see you found the rose."
Angelique smiled, again lifting the pale bud to smell the light, sweet scent. "Was this your doing, Culdun?"
His smile was kind as he answered, "I admit I'd been thinking I should, miss. But as it turned out, I found my Liege had already attended to it... just as you were hoping."
She laughed faintly. "Am I so transparent?"
"No, only nervous. It's the least one can expect given the circumstances, isn't it?"
His eyes lost their tenderness, replaced by a searching intensity. Angelique frowned, trying to decipher the unspoken part of his question.
"I'm sorry." He passed a hand tiredly over his face. "I’vecome to offer you a chance for questions, not make you frown."
"Questions?"
"Aye," he grinned broadly, gray eyes twinkling again. "Such as how long is the journey?"
"I was curious," Angelique admitted cheerfully.
"Well, that depends on you."
"Oh?"
"We've fresh horses posted along the way, and it's quite possible to pull straight through. But traveling is not much fun for the less experienced. My Liege has no wish to exhaust you for the sake of a day or two. If we drive through, we'll arrive tomorrow afternoon."
"So soon?"
"Aye, we've a swift lot of horses. However, we've also brought pavilions and comforts for overnights if you'd rather stop for the evenings. In that case, we'd be out for three or three-and-a-half days."
"Sounds like an awful lot of bother for just one person's comfort," Angelique mused.
Culdun chuckled, but assured her, "It would not be a bother, miss. And I do not expect you to answer me now or in the hour. You simply manage as far as you feel capable and then tell us. We'll call a halt for you. If you feel the need to stretch your legs, we can make a stop at any time you'd like. And, of course, you're always welcome to walk about when the horses are being changed."
"That is most kind. But I must say I disagree with you, Culdun," Angelique murmured with a half-smile, eyes on the rose in her hand. "You are taking an awful lot of trouble over me."
His responding laughter was soft and friendly, making Angelique feel less alone than she had for years.
"What else may I ask you, Culdun?"
"What else would you like to know, my Lady?"
She moistened her lips, her mind jumbled with all the things Aloysius had not been able to say. "Can you tell me about...?"
"My Liege?"
Anxiously, she nodded.
"What has your father said?"
"Very little."
"And yet you are here?" Suspicion suddenly separated him from her again.
Angelique's voice was firm. "My reasons are my own, Culdun."
"Mistress," he acknowledged, tipping his head, his growing respect evident. "I did not mean to pry."
She held her silence then, turning to replace the rose before wrapping her shawl more securely around her. As her gaze drifted to the window and the passing scenery, Culdun waited patiently.
The carriage rattled and swayed over a particularly bad bit of road. Angelique barely seemed to notice, but when they had settled into a smoother ride, she ventured, "Does he have a name Culdun?"
"A given name? Drew."
"Andrew?" She looked at him finally.
"Drew," Culdun repeated succinctly.
"Aloysius said," her gaze returned to the window, "his — my Liege's father was a count?"
"Parents? Yes, Drew's father was a nobleman. Drew' mother died in childbirth. There was a stepmother. She came in the later years. But for a long time there was only the father and the child. I must admit, I did not know the parents. They did not live at this estate."
Angelique nodded faintly. "There is a village?"
"Yes, it is a small community hidden in the woods beyond the palace grounds. There are common lands for farming. A good forest for hunting, although we do not grant outsiders hunting privileges. Not even for wolves. My Liege is strongly committed to the safety of all within our little valley and that protection extends to the animals of our forests as well as to the people. And since we are self-sufficient, my Liege has never found reason to humor the neighboring poachers. Hunting for sport is simply not allowed."
Angelique raised her eyebrows in response to this bit of information.
"You disapprove of this policy?" Culdun prompted watching her closely.
"It is..." She hesitated, shaking her head and choosing hi words carefully. "It is a different perspective. It seems reasonable…
"But?"
"The villagers do not object?" Her brothers were always speculating about bounties for wolf pelts. She imagined many families could have used such extra money. But if the village prospered, what need would they have for that dangerous sport?
Angelique realized suddenly that Culdun had not answered her. She shifted about, nestling comfortably into the corner, and faced him. His eyes were studying her again. She said nothing to distract him, but rather folded her hands and waited.
Culdun began to nod, and then he murmured, "Your father said you were independent."
Angelique blushed, but admitted, "I have been so accused."
His voice took on a much more assured tone. "I think the man was right. You have a mind of your own." He made it sound like a compliment, and it drew a smile from her
. "Will you permit me to show you something?"
At her curious nod, he began to shed his coat. "Our villagers are—" he grinned crookedly, "of a different perspective too. We would each give our life for our Liege. The valley has become a sanctuary for us as well as for the animals.
"Originally my folk came from the deep woods of England and from the Emerald Isles beyond. Centuries ago most of us were forced into exile. It was a bitter time, and I still vividly remember that last battle of my childhood." He rolled back his sleeves and astonishment chased aside the confusion his words had created. Culdun smiled again. He was pleased at the curiosity that made her lean forward as he extended his arms.
"My folk are known simply as the Old Ones." Angelique shook her head, not recognizing the reference, and Culdun nodded. "Few remember us. We were scattered. Some fled to the northern icelands. Some crossed the sea to try and begin again in the Great Forest. A few stayed, hiding scavenging like animals in the deeper woods. But mostly we crossed the dividing waters and sought a new way among your Continent's peoples. We were not well received. We appeared odd. We were too short for laborers. We were too clever to be trustworthy. With our painted bodies, we were seen as too heathen to be—"
"No," Angelique breathed in protest, gazing at the magnificent writhing coils of vines and snakes. "The work is beautiful. Surely beyond the metalwork crafts."
"Even the snakes?" he challenged boldly, turning his arms and flexing the tendons, to make the images seem to come alive.
Angelique offered a quizzical expression and sat back in her seat. "Why would someone not like snakes? I have come to respect the guardianship of a great many garden snakes, Culdun. I prefer stepping around them in the barn and fields as opposed to chasing filthy rats with my broom."
"These are not garden snakes, mistress," he warned softly.
"Ah, then I am mistaken? You are not here as my guardian?"
His lips curled slowly, and the soft laughter began again.
Angelique shared his smile, adding quietly, "There are a great many sorts of guardians, Culdun."
"And I am merely one with a different perspective?"
"So it would seem."
Chapter 4
Her sleep that night was fitful. Not from the rock and sway of the carriage, but rather from dreams. Aloysius' nervous eyes stared out of vine-latticed prisons as shimmering red and blue snakes guided her down a path, their bodies glowing as they kept the darkness at bay. But only until she reached the end of the road and then there was nothing but a portal into blackness. And so Angelique welcomed the jostling which kept waking her. She was not prepared to find what that blackness was hiding.
For the most part, Culdun rode up top with the driver. He shared meals with her, producing lavishly filled baskets full of all sorts of cheeses, meats, and sweets. He lit the pink chimney lanterns at dusk, and once she even awakened to find a soft, quilted coverlet and satin pillow had been arranged around her for comfort.
She was touched by Culdun's concern, but the fact that he had not awakened her with his movements was alarming. After years of tending an invalid mother, Angelique knew only too well that she should have noticed the touch of Culdun's hand, but calmed herself by remembering that Culdun had spent many years learning to move this quietly. But as the next day wore on, Angelique began to admit that the little knot in the pit of her stomach was not simply nervousness. It was fear.
She was a fairly clever woman. It would have taken far less to draw her suspicions, especially where Aloysius' adroit use of half-truths was involved. But she had been preoccupied with the rational, typical sorts of things he might so conveniently overlook.
Now Angelique realized, much more than the usual details must have been neglected. Culdun was of a very different kind of person. In fact, she was now certain he was not quite mortal. She had to wonder at what sort of person could claim the loyalty of a folk who were not-quite-mortal. Her mind said it was likely a person who was not-quite-mortal himself. But what did such a person want with a very mortal bride?
Culdun's worry for her waning appetite and growing silence resurfaced at lunch. Again he had asked if she agreed with the terms of the proposal; it was not too late to be returned home. She had assured him that it was the anticipation she was finding difficult, not her regrets. When he left her alone, Angelique realized that not once had she considered returning to the dreary prison of Aloysius' house. Instead, her thoughts had been singularly absorbed with the fears of the mysteries to come — her fear that she would prove inadequate in meeting the challenges ahead. No, it had not been regrets which plagued her.
The insight lent some relief, and the rhythmic jostling of the carriage began to lull her into a less fretful sleep. The air was warm. The sun filtered cheerfully through the wooded ceiling that branched above the road, and for a short time she slept, feeling safe.
When Angelique woke it was to the sound of voices outside the carriage. Culdun's back blocked the door's window as he stood on the step, speaking to another on horseback.
At first, Angelique assumed they had simply stopped to change horses again. The lack of clink and clatter registered almost immediately, however, and she sat up, pushing back the thick swirls of her hair. Her silver comb had come out, she realized with a start, thinking she must be a disheveled mess! With relief she found it had not fallen far, and she ran it through her hair a few times, trying to get the worst of the tangle back into some order. Just as she began to fit the comb back into place, Culdun's words became clearer, and Angelique realized they were talking about her.
"...fine considering," Culdun continued. "The trip has been exhausting for all of us, yet she has not once complained. There is strength in her."
"Aye, it is easy to forget the exhaustion of distances. I am sorry to force you through such a long journey. You say she does well, though?"
Angelique liked the voice. It was low but not deep, and she edged closer to the carriage door. She wished Culdun would move or that she had the courage to open the shade on the other window.
"What does she know of me, Culdun?"
Angelique flinched at the emptiness in that quiet question.
"Very little, my Liege. Apparently her father was somewhat lax in providing details."
A bitterness twisted the other's laughter. "Had we expected him to be any different from the others? Shall we wager, Culdun, that he's said nothing of magick or perverted monsters?"
"She is different." Culdun's solemn words sliced quickly through the sarcasm.
"How different, Culdun?"
"She possesses... a different perspective."
Angelique smiled at the phrase. She had won an ally in Culdun. Whatever task lay ahead, he would be there with his support. And if he, with all his years of wisdom, believed in her, then perhaps she needn't question her own abilities.
Culdun shifted and Angelique glimpsed the white flanks of a tall, skittish horse. The animal danced away and its rider skillfully brought it around in a tight circle. All Angelique could see was a thigh clad in dark britches and a glossy black boot. A well-muscled steed with a competent, long-legged rider; she almost giggled at the contrast it provided to her pot-bellied, gout-legged fears.
"Settle Angelique in her room." The bite had left the words and a cautious tension had emerged instead. "Arrange for her meals if she has need."
"You'll not greet her today?" Culdun’s tone was careful.
"Tonight at dinner. Eight as usual. As you say, it has been a long trip. She deserves a few hours at least to recuperate before being confronted with the wicked magickian, doesn't she?"
"You are overly harsh with yourself, my Liege."
"I am overly busy," the other corrected. "The poachers were out again last night."
"What? Was the moon out?!"
"Aye, one of our odd days. We slipped into their world again, and they into ours. I'm off to unearth the rest of their traps before any of your village children do."
"Very well. I'll tell
her what you're about."
"Do you think she’ll understand?"
Angelique frowned at the implied mockery in the voice, but in her defense Culdun said, "My Liege, you have not met this sort of woman before. She is not like the others."
For one moment, there was silence, not even the horse's bit jingled. Angelique gathered her courage and moved to see around Culdun's shoulder. What she saw made her breath catch in he throat. A tall, strong figure sat motionless on a fine looking stallion black-gloved hands holding a tight rein. The loose-fitting jerkin belted at the waist, was as black as the shiny boots and made a sharp contrast with the whiteness of the shirt sleeves that billowed with the wind. A narrow, red cape draped about head and chest, rakishly flung back over one shoulder. With the way the cape hooded and hung, it was impossible for Angelique to see the other's face. The stallion snorted abruptly, shifting against the reins to protest the stillness. The rider held him easily.
"Is she pretty, Culdun?"
"Yes, my Liege."
"I might have been spared that, don't you think?" The emptiness in the rider's voice had returned.
The horse tossed its head impatiently. Suddenly, without another word, the rider spun the beast about and launched into full gallop. Culdun climbed back onto the driver's bench, but Angelique barely noticed. She watched the horse and rider until both vanished from sight.
Angelique was a shaking mass of nerves by eight that evening. Her logic had been pushed to the brink of rationality, and her body regretted the exhaustive turmoil of the past night. Her corset was fashionably too tight. Her feet were protesting the persistent necessity of real shoes. But the dress, with its pearl seeded, peach bodice and cool, ice-blue silk was the most beautiful thing she had ever been uncomfortably tied into.
She had wanted to meet Drew with confidence, not insecurity. But this palace was an endless torture of subtle reminders that she could no longer be quite sure of what she was dealing with. How, for example, could each dress in the wardrobe be exactly her size? How could her haphazard words sometimes alter a ruby-studded hair comb into one with sapphires? And how could similar words change the color of her petticoats from cream to white? It was all terribly disconcerting. Somehow, she had never suspected that Aloysius' use of the term "magickal" should have been taken so literally.
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