He was obsessed with Carlina, and that was a different thing. As if Bard had told him so, he knew that what Bard wanted of Carlina was that she was King Ardrin’s daughter, the reassurance that he was the king’s lawful son-in-law, not an exiled outlaw desperately trying to reclaim some position, some identity.
All the more reason, Paul thought, that I should make Carlina my ally at once … and yet, I could never give up Melisendra for this. Madness! Melisendra would even make a better queen.
And yet, if Bard has Carlina, he will not contest with me for Melisendra.…
I must make sure, then, that Carlina is delivered into Bard’s hands, and as quickly as possible. And about one thing, at least, I need not worry. It will be easy for me to keep my hands off her. I would not have her in my bed, not if she were thirty times over a queen.
A dynastic marriage with Carlina would give Bard—or Paul in his place—a claim of his own to the throne, if the sickly Alaric died childless—which seemed likely. Well, then, the throne and Carlina for Bard. And for Paul—freedom and Melisendra! Bard would never feel safe while he was alive— but if he could manage to get away, preferably as soon as possible, then perhaps Bard would be too busy holding his throne to send after them. But first, Bard must have Carlina.
The priestesses had gone along the path, and Paul stole after them, keeping in the shadows. First one, then another went into small houses at the side of the path. Carlina turned into one, and after a moment, inside, he saw the tiny glow of a lamp. Paul hid to consider. Not that he was really afraid of the women. But there were a lot of them, and they had those wicked little knives.
Carlina must be given no time to make an outcry. Not even a mental one. There were sure to be other telepaths in this place. Which meant—he considered it coldly—that he must knock her down and render her completely unconscious with one blow before she saw him or was alarmed at the idea of an intruder. And he must have her well away from the island before she saw his face.
He slipped noiselessly through the door. Humming a tune to herself, she stood trimming the tiny wick of the little lamp. Then she took off her black mantle, hung it over a rod, and reached up to unfasten her braids. He did not want to wait while she undressed; in this cold he could not take her far without clothing, and he knew he could not put clothes back on her limp body. He slid from his place of concealment and struck one hard blow, watching her crumple soundlessly to the floor. He was shocked, unaccustomed as yet to what little laran he had, to the sudden nothingness where, a moment ago, there had been a presence. Suddenly afraid, he bent to reassure himself that she was breathing. She was. He bundled her limp body into the black cloak, wadding a couple of extra folds over her nose and mouth. She could breathe, but the cloak would stifle any outcry, though, if she woke and felt fear, the alarm would be out and the hunt up within moments. He carried her out, kicked the door shut behind him. Now came the one real risk of the whole performance. If someone should see him now, he would probably never get off the island alive. He carried her swiftly down the path to the boat and hauled it over. Half an hour later he was riding away from the Island of Silence, Carlina’s limp body trussed across the back of his pack beast. He had made her as comfortable as he could, but he wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the island, as quickly as he could. With luck, they might not miss her till morning; and he had seen no riding horses on the island at all. But sooner or later she would recover consciousness and make some form of telepathic outcry. And he wanted to be far enough away, by then, so that it would make no difference.
She seemed still unconscious when he reached the place in the hills where he had left the escort. His men were ready saddled, with a horse-litter standing by.
He motioned to them. “Mount and get ready to ride. Have you got a fresh horse for me? Yes, and extra horses for the litter, so we won’t have to stop anywhere for post horses.” He dismounted, lifted the unconscious bundle that was Carlina into the litter, and closed the curtains.
“Let’s go!”
The sun was rising when they stopped to breathe the horses. Paul dismounted, swallowed a bit of food—there was no time to stop and cook a meal—then went and thrust aside the curtains of the litter.
Carlina was conscious. She had gotten the gag out of her mouth. She was lying on her side, silently and desperately struggling to tear loose the knots around her hands.
“Do they hurt you, my lady? I will loosen them if you like,” Paul said.
At the sound of his voice she shrank away.
“Bard,” she said. “I should have known it was you. Who else would be impious enough to brave the wrath of Avarra!”
“I do not fear any Goddess,” he said truthfully.
“That I can well believe, Bard mac Fianna. But you will not dare her with impunity.”
“As for that,” Paul said, “I do not intend to debate the matter. Your Goddess, if she exists, did not intervene to protect you from being taken from the island. And I do not think she will protect you now. If the thought that she will punish me comforts you, I do not begrudge you that comfort. I came only to say that if you are weary of those bonds, I will loosen them; you need only give me your word of honor not to escape.”
She glared at him with implacable defiance. “I will certainly escape if I can.”
Damn the woman, Paul thought with exasperation, doesn’t she know when she’s beaten? With an unfamiliar feeling he did not recognize as guilt, he realized that he did not want to hurt her, or even to tie her up more tightly. With a curse, he thrust the curtains together and strode away.
* * *
Chapter Five
« ^ »
Bard had had another unwelcome piece of news as he rode back toward Castle Asturias: his second-in-command had come to him and told him that three days after the battle all the mercenaries of the Sisterhood of the Sword had come to the officer, demanded what pay was owing to them, and left the camp.
Bard stared. “I paid them generously, and what is more, I put them under my personal protection,” he said in outrage. “Did they give any reason?”
“Yes. They said that your men had raped the women prisoners of war, and you had not punished them,” the officer said. “To tell you the truth, Lord General, I think we’re well rid of them. There is something about them that makes me uneasy. They’re—” he hesitated, thought it over a minute, and said, “obsessed, that’s what it is. Tell you what, my lord, you remember when we rode against the Island of Silence, and that old witch there who cursed us? Those damned Sword Sisters make me think of her, them and their Goddess!”
Bard scowled. Mention of the Island of Silence made him realize that Paul should have returned by now. Unless the curse of the island, and of Avarra had caught Paul too. His officer misread the scowl and thought he was angry at having that defeat mentioned; he stared uneasily at the floor. “I never thought a batch of women would drive us off that way, Lord General. They’re all mad there, them and their Goddess alike, see? It’s unlucky to have anything to do with them, and if you’ll take my advice, sir, you won’t have anything to do with the Sisterhood either. Did you know? They ransomed the prisoners of war, the women of the Sisterhood, that is, and took them along with them. They said they ought to have known they were both fighting on the same side, they ought never to have taken up arms against their sisters—some rubbish like that. Crazy, they are, sir. Glad to see them gone.”
“They didn’t kill the prisoners themselves? I heard that if a woman of the Sisterhood is raped her sisters hunt her down and kill her if she doesn’t kill herself.”
“Kill them? No, sir, the guards heard them all crying together in the tents. And they gave them back their weapons and put decent clothes on ’em—the soldiers tore their own clothes off, you remember—and gave them horses, and they all rode off together. I tell you, you can’t trust women like that, no sense of loyalty, see?”
When he arrived at Castle Asturias, he sent word to his father and to
his brother, King Alaric, that he had arrived, and as he gave his horse to the grooms, he noticed the horse Paul had ridden to the Lake of Silence standing in the yard. He went in, hurrying to the presence chamber. His father met and embraced him, and Alaric hobbled toward him, holding him in a kinsman’s embrace.
“Bard, your lady is here. The Princess Carlina.”
He had known this, but he was surprised to hear that Alaric and his father knew.
“She is?” he asked numbly.
“She came in a horse-litter a little while ago; your paxman Paolo Harryl escorted her here,” Alaric said. “But I still think you should marry Melisendra, Bard. Erlend’s too good a son to you to be a nedestro. When I am crowned king, I shall give him a patent of legitimacy. Then he will be your son whether you marry Melisendra or not!”
“She is in her old rooms?”
“What else,” Alaric said, staring. “I gave orders she should be taken to them and should have women to wait on her and bathe her and so forth. She had been riding all day in a horse-litter, she must have been tired and dirty.”
Was it possible, Bard wondered, that Carlina had come willingly?
Alaric went on, “Paolo said she was too tired and too travel-worn to see anyone, but that I should send waiting-women to look after her. She is King Ardrin’s daughter, and your wife. When you have the catenas ceremony, I will perform it, if you wish, it is supposed to be an honor if the king performs the wedding.”
Bard thanked his brother and asked leave to withdraw. Alaric’s smile was childish.
“You don’t have to ask me, Bard. I keep forgetting I’m the king and have to give people permission to go and come, even Father, isn’t it foolish?”
He had been assigned rooms near Carlina’s old rooms. When he came into them, Paul was waiting for him.
“I gather,” Bard said dryly, “that you had success on your mission. Did she come willingly?”
Paul shook his head ruefully, indicating a long scratch on his cheek. “The first night I was unwise enough to let her go—to loosen her bonds for a few minutes so that she could relieve herself. That was the only time I made that mistake. Fortunately, none of the men were from Asturias, or knew who the lady was. They were all mercenaries from Hammerfell and Aldaran, and most of them couldn’t speak her language. But when she saw where I had brought her—to her own home—she gave me her word of honor not to try to escape tonight. I thought it would be too humiliating for the lady to come into her own home tied hand and foot like a sack of washing, so I accepted it. And the king sent ladies to wait on her. I imagine you’ll find her pretty tame—I didn’t touch her, except when I had to knock her out———I didn’t put a hand on her until she scratched me. Even then, I just bundled her up like a sack of beans and dumped her back into the litter. No more force than absolutely necessary, I promise you that.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Bard said. “So where is she now?”
“In her own rooms; and by tomorrow, I suppose, you can talk her out of wanting to go, or put a guard on her yourself,” Paul said. He wondered if it was the right time to talk about Melisendra to Bard, and decided it probably wasn’t.
Bard went and called his body servant, had himself shaved and dressed. He’d give Carlina a little time to rest from the long arduous journey, and make herself pretty. He was hoping against hope that Carlina would welcome him, resigned to their marriage. Of course she had struggled when she was abducted, but when she found herself in her own home, she had been willing to give her parole. Surely, that meant she knew she had nothing to fear. Certainly, Carlie knew he wouldn’t hurt a hair of her head. After all, she was his wife, by all the laws of the gods and of the Hundred Kingdoms!
A guard before her door came to attention as Bard approached, and Bard, returning the man’s salute, wondered if Paul had doubted the validity of Carlina’s parole. But why? Probably Carlina, being carried off so suddenly without a word, had feared that she was being kidnapped; held for ransom, or forced into a marriage of state with someone. Surely her parole meant she was glad to find herself safe at home?
He found Carlina in one of the inner rooms, lying across a bed, sleeping. She was pale and looked like a schoolgirl, wearing some sort of dark plain robe; she had pulled a thick, graceless black mantle around herself like a blanket. Her eyes were red, against the ivory paleness of her face. He had never been able to endure Carlina’s tears. After a moment her eyes opened and she looked up at him, her face contracting in fear. She sat bolt upright, and clutched the black mantle around her body.
“Bard,” she said, blinking. “Yes. It is really you this time, isn’t it? Who was the other man—one of your bastard kin from the Hellers? You will not hurt me, will you, Bard? After all, we were children together, playmates.”
He heard her long sigh, like an explosion of relief. He said, fastening on an irrelevancy, “How did you know?”
“Oh, you are certainly very much alike,” she said. “Even your voices; but I scratched his face to the bone, thinking it was you. If he was only your witless tool, perhaps I owe him an apology.”
He went back to what she had said before. “Certainly I would never hurt you, Carlie. After all, you are my wife, and even now, the King of Asturias waits to join us with the catenas. Would tonight suit you, or would you rather wait until some of your kinsmen and kinswomen can be summoned?”
“Neither tonight nor any other time,” Carlina said, and her hands were white as skeleton joints against the black mantle. “I have sworn an oath to the Priestesses of Avarra, and to the Mother, that I will devote my life to prayer, in chastity. I belong to Avarra, not to you.”
Bard’s face hardened. He said, “Who is false to a first oath will be false also to the second. Before ever you gave oath to Avarra you and I were handfasted before all men.”
“But not married,” Carlina retorted, “and a handfasting can be broken, being unconsummated! You have no more right to me than—than—than that guard out there in the hall!”
“That’s a matter of opinion. Your father gave you to me—”
“And took me back at your exile!”
“I do not accept his right to do so.”
“And I did not accept his right to give me to you without my consent in the first place, so we are even,” Carlina flung back at him, her eyes blazing.
Bard thought that she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her, color high in her cheeks, her eyes bright with wrath. Women had defied or refused him before this, but he had never waited nearly so long for any one of them. Now the time of waiting was over. She would not leave this suite until she was his wife in fact, as she had really been all these years. He was excited by her nearness, and by the element of challenge in her voice and her eyes. Even Melisendra had not resisted him this way. No woman had ever been able to resist him, except Melora, and she—angrily, he banished the thought of Melora. She meant nothing to him. She was gone.
“Bard, I cannot believe you could harm me. We were children together. I bear you no ill will; let me go back to the island, and to the Mother, and I will intercede with them so that there shall be no punishment and no curse.”
He snapped his fingers. “I do not care that much for any curses, whether of Avarra or any other spook!”
Carlina made a horrified, pious gesture. “I beg you not to speak such blasphemies! Bard, send me back to the island.”
He shook his head. “No. Whatever happens, that is over. You belong here, with me. I call upon you to carry out your duty to me, and become my wife tonight.”
“No. Never.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Bard, I don’t hate you. You were my foster brother, with Geremy and poor Beltran! We were all children together, and you were always kind to me. Be kind to me now, and don’t insist on this. There are so many women you could have, ladies of high degree, leroni, beautiful women—there is Melisendra, who is the mother of your son, and a fine little boy he is—why do you want me, Bard?”
He looked straight i
nto her eyes and told her the literal truth.
“I don’t know. But there is never any woman I have wanted as I want you. You are my wife and I will have you.”
“Bard—” her face paled. “No. Please.”
He said, “You managed to break the handfasting by a trick, because it had not been consummated, and you will not trick me that way again. You will do your duty to me, willing or unwilling, Carlina.”
“Are you saying that you are intending to rape me?”
He sat on the bed beside her, reaching for her hand. “I would rather have you willing than unwilling. But one way or another, I will have you, Carlie, so you must resign yourself to it.”
She snatched her hand out of his reach and flung herself down, as far away from him as she could, pulling the heavy mantle around her, and he could hear her sobbing in its shelter. He pulled the heavy mantle off her, though she clung to it, and flung it angrily to the floor. He could not bear to see Carlina cry. He had never been able to endure her tears, even when she cried because a kitten had scratched her. It seemed that he could see her now, nine years old, thin as a stick, with her hair in thin plaits like black ropes, sucking her scratched thumb and weeping.
“Damn it, stop crying, Carlie! I can’t stand to see you cry! Do you think I could ever hurt you? I don’t want to hurt you, but I have to make sure you can’t get away from me on that pretense again. You won’t be angry with me afterward, that I promise you. No woman has ever minded, afterward.”
“Do you really believe that, Bard?”
He didn’t bother to answer that. He didn’t believe it, he knew it. Women had all kinds of excuses to keep them from doing what they wanted to do anyway. He remembered Lisarda, wretched little slut, she hadn’t minded afterward, either, she’d loved it! But women weren’t brought up to be honest about these things. Instead of answering, he bent over her and pulled her into his arms; but she struggled away, fighting, and her nails ripped down his cheek.
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