I can’t do this, Alayna thought, but really, what else was there to do? If she stayed in bed one more day, weeping and sleeping and weeping some more, she’d go mad. She lifted her chin, determined to behave like a lady even if she didn’t feel like one.
“This is a pleasant gathering,” she said, curtsying as one did to equals. “Shayla, would you like me to wind that skein of yarn into a ball?”
“Yes, please.” Shayla answered, leaping up and handing her knitting to her mother. “I’ve dropped another stitch and I can’t find it. I give up!”
“Come, let’s sit here together,” Alayna said, lowering herself to a bench that could accommodate two. “Would you rather hold or wind?”
“Hold, I think. That’s something I can’t mess up. Unless you—but then—I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right.” The words came with surprising ease. Tears receded. “I believe I can handle the winding without tangling the yarn too badly. And the good thing about winding, like knitting itself, is that if we make a mess of it, we can always undo the work and begin again.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Shayla slipped the looped skein over her wrists and held it out.
Alayna, having done this work since she was too young to remember, found the end and began winding it into a ball, neither so loosely that the strand would tangle nor so tightly the yarn would stretch and become less resilient. She found the simple rhythm soothing, unlike fancy needlework, where she had to keep her mind on what she was doing. Shayla chattered away about the puppies that had just been born to Lord Scathfell’s favorite dog.
Kyria and I used to talk about such doings at home. Sitting here with Shayla was almost like having a little sister.
“Now,” Alayna said when the ball was half-done, and Shayla no longer looked so intimidated. “I gather you’re having difficulty with double-pointed needles.”
“I don’t see why we can’t make socks with the regular one-pointed ones.”
“So did I when I seemed to have five thumbs. It took me forever to learn to turn the heel properly, but the only way to avoid a seam that will give blisters is to knit them in the round. How many needles have you broken?”
Shayla’s eyes went round. “Broken? Um . . . none. I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Knit enough socks and you’ll find out.” Alayna dropped her voice to a whisper. “I broke six in one tenday the winter I was twelve. My sister-in-law said I did it on purpose, but I think it’s more likely I was growing so fast, I didn’t know my own strength. Don’t you think?”
Shayla giggled.
As one tenday progressed into the next, bringing intimations of approaching winter, Alayna began attending the women’s musical gatherings as well. Much of the time, the gathering consisted of Alayna, Marianna, and Shayla. Jerana sat in a corner with her eyes closed, but did not sing or play.
Shayla begged Alayna to teach them new songs. At first, Alayna had not the heart to sing, or to sing anything except laments, but after several requests, she made an effort. They sang rounds, and “A Summer’s Lass” and several versions of “Fra’ Domenic’s Pockets,” which had them all laughing uproariously. Wiping her eyes, Alayna realized how long it had been since she’d laughed.
“Very good. So charming!” Dom Nevin applauded from the opened door. He strode to Alayna, took her hand, and brought it to his lips. “My dear, I had no idea you were such a songbird.”
Alayna pulled her hand away in a manner that was, if not outright rude, decidedly unencouraging. “Pardon me for speaking frankly,” she said, “but it was not a public performance. We sing for one another here, for our own amusement only. I beg you to leave us so that we may continue.”
He made a careless gesture. “It was never my intention to embarrass anyone, if that’s what you mean. Although I hardly know why you are so modest about your singing. It was a delight to hear you.”
With an effort, Alayna held her tongue.
“Why, your voice would grace any gathering. Whatever man marries you will have no cause to hire a singing-woman when his own wife is far superior.”
Alayna’s cheeks grew hot, remembering that her own kinswoman, Great-Aunt Aliciane, had gone to Aldaran as singing-woman and later became that lord’s barragana, even while his wife was alive.
I will hurl myself over the castle walls before I become your singing-woman. Oh, Kyria, why did you abandon me to the attentions of such an odious man?
“Be at ease, ladies, for I did not come here to disturb your revels, charming as they are,” Dom Nevin was saying. “Having no other means of speaking to Damisela Alayna, I took advantage of this opportunity.”
Marianna and Shayla rose and edged toward the door, but Dimitra lingered.
Don’t leave me alone with him. “You could have sent me a note,” Alayna said.
He blinked. “I did.”
Alayna suddenly thought of the stack of notes, all from him. She also remembered burning them, unread, except for the first. “They must have gone astray,” she murmured.
She got to her feet and pulled herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very much compared with his. “Very well, since you clearly have something to say to me, here I am. Domna Dimitra, please remain as my chaperone, as is proper.”
“I’ll be just outside, in case you need me.” Dimitra slipped out the door, leaving it ajar.
Dom Nevin waited until Dimitra was out of sight. “Fair damisela, you cannot be entirely insensible—surely you must realize how much I admire you. Indeed, you are the most beautiful, the most enticing creature I have ever laid eyes on. Perhaps you think I flatter, but these words spring from my most sincere feelings for you.” He paused, clearly awaiting a reply.
“Thank you.”
“You may well wonder why I choose to make my affections known at this time.” He began pacing, gesturing as he spoke. “I have long felt myself in need of a wife, firstly to secure the happiness of the marital state once more. There may be some men who can live without female companionship, but I am not among them. I feel—I appreciate the presence of women in my life. Moreover, I wish to provide motherly guidance for my daughter. I have therefore fixed my desire upon you, my most adored lady.”
Alayna stared at him, appalled that he would make advances to her while she was still in mourning for her sister.
“Besides your obvious attributes,” he said, still pacing but at least not moving any closer, “you possess an impeccable lineage, for did not Lord Scathfell promise himself to your own sister? When I learned of the betrothal and that his promised wife had a sister, I thought I could do no better.”
“You cannot be serious,” Alayna burst out.
“Once again, your modesty does you credit. I assure you, I am in utter earnest.” Dom Nevin halted, took a step toward her, and lowered himself to one knee. “I entreat you with all my heart to do me the honor of becoming my wife di catenas.”
“I cannot possibly marry you.”
“Why not? I am cousin to Lord Scathfell, as you know, and I have a good estate of my own. One to which I would otherwise have returned, had your beauty not kept me here.”
“Have you forgotten how recently I learned of my sister’s death? Even if you came back next year, or in five years, my answer would be the same. Besides, I have no dowry.”
“No dowry?” Dom Nevin got to his feet, his knees creaking. “But surely—well, it makes no difference. If my kinsman required none of your sister, can I be any less magnanimous? Once we are joined, it will not matter.”
Alayna had run out of words. He was in earnest. This was no joke, no bad dream. He had issued his proposal within Dimitra’s hearing, which meant the news would be all over the castle by nightfall. If she refused him, she might offend Lord Scathfell. Nevin was his kinsman, after all. What if he insisted? She’d heard tales of young women forced by their families to ma
rry. When her brothers and their friends thought she wasn’t listening, they’d told of such brides being drugged with aphrosone on their wedding nights to make them willing.
“Thank you for the honor,” she managed to stammer. “I must—I need time to consider it.”
On those words, he left her.
18
After Dom Nevin departed—with a bow so highly flourished it put the acrobatic entertainers to shame—Alayna remained rooted to the spot. If she moved, she thought, she might faint again, and she could not risk it. Unless she acted speedily and decisively, she’d end up married to him.
The door remained ajar, as it had been during their interview, and chance granted her a glimpse of Dom Nevin handing Dimitra something—a purse of coins, Alayna thought.
She arranged the whole thing, the notes, his barging in on us, and then leaving me virtually alone with him. For all I know, he put her up to it—and now she’s got her reward. How much more will he pay her once we’re wed?
Now Alayna had no fear of fainting, she was far too angry. She drew herself up and took a deep breath. “Dimitra, are you still there?”
“Yes, sweetling.” Dimitra stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“You overheard?”
“I stayed near, in case you should have need of me.”
Alayna forced a smile. “Then you know Dom Nevin has proposed marriage to me.”
A nod, a dip of the head. “I gathered as much. Let me be the first to wish you happiness.”
“I did not give him an answer.”
“After he has paid you such attention. What are you thinking? That you will get a better offer elsewhere? I assure you—”
“No, no, I have no intention of teasing him.” She swallowed hard, though it took every shred of her self-control to maintain a suitably decorous expression. “I told him I needed time to consider. Marriage is not to be entered lightly, especially di catenas, which cannot be dissolved. I must regard this marriage as the only one I will ever undertake. I want to be sure of my feelings.”
“If you mean love, then do not be foolish. Love is a fleeting thing, a passion of the moment, and those who marry for it all too often regret their rashness. A good match, one based on mutual understanding and advantage, is much more likely to lead to happiness than infatuation.”
Something in the older woman’s voice struck Alayna as poignant, even sad. Dimitra had never spoken of her own life, whether she had ever married and if she had been happy. She was called domna, so Alayna had assumed she was widowed, but the term might also be used as a title of respect for any older woman.
“How can I love a man I’ve barely spent an hour with? How can he love me?” Alayna affected an insouciant shrug. “But I suppose you are right, and such things do not matter, or are not the only things that I should take into consideration. I’ve led a sheltered life in the country, you see. We were all terribly surprised when Lord Scathfell made an offer for my sister. I myself did not hope to marry, certainly not a man as distinguished as Dom Nevin.”
“I see that you are aware of the honor he does you by his proposal.” Dimitra sounded smugly satisfied. “Then why do you hesitate? Such opportunities do not come along every day. Why not jump at the chance?”
“You believe I should accept him, then?” Alayna made a play of picking at her skirts, which allowed her to avert her face. She did not entirely trust her ability to mask her revulsion.
“Of course! Isn’t it obvious this is the best outcome? But you must not hesitate or he may begin to doubt your sincerity. What will become of you if you allow him to slip away? You may never receive another such offer, one that will guarantee you a life of comfort. Heed my advice, for it is the same as I would give to my own daughter.”
Alayna drew back, fearful that Dimitra would not stop before she had wrested a firm promise to accept Dom Nevin.
“Come now, sweetling, it’s not as difficult as all that.” Dimitra put an arm around Alayna’s shoulders and guided her toward the door. “Why don’t you have a nice lie-down? Once you’re rested, I’m sure you’ll see things more clearly.”
“Yes, I think you are right. Today has been very tiring, and I’m not back to my full strength. I keep thinking of my sister . . .” Alayna did not have to feign the catch in her voice. Kyria, I still miss you so.
Realistically, Alayna told herself, she could not remain at Scathfell Castle indefinitely. Marrying for love was a dream, nothing more. No handsome lord would seek out her hand or any such romantic nonsense. Lord Scathfell . . . but he was as far above her as she was above the pot boy.
There was only one way out for her. She’d have to ask Dom Ruyven to marry her.
As soon as Dimitra took her leave and closed the outer door behind her, Alayna began rummaging through her rooms for paper and pen. She pulled out drawers and opened boxes, pushed aside hanging garments and lifted up piles of folded shawls and underthings. She found a couple of books, expensive ones bound in fine leather, but still nothing to write with. Was this a deliberate attempt to prevent communication, or didn’t fine ladies write letters? It was all too easy to conclude that Dimitra had removed any writing materials for the purpose of making sure Alayna never communicated with anyone except under supervision.
Alayna considered and discarded the notion of tearing off a strip of sheet and marking it with a charred bit of wood, except she’d need a knife to make a slit in the hem so the fabric could be ripped, and any bits of half-burned wood had been neatly removed, leaving only a bed of fine ash.
Just as Alayna finished tidying up the evidence of her search, Sadhi tapped on the door and entered, once more carrying a tray. “Domna Dimitra thought you might care for a bit of midafternoon refreshment. And a fire?”
Alayna glanced at the pitcher—sure to be jaco again, for apparently the entire castle lived on the stuff—and a plate of exquisite little nut and honey rolls.
“This looks lovely. Thank you so much, Sadhi. And thank Domna Dimitra for her thoughtfulness.” Alayna seated herself while Sadhi poured a cup of jaco.
“If I may be so bold, vai damisela, I—Domna Dimitra and I—are most happy for you, although we will of course miss you when you leave us.”
“Happy for me? Why?”
“Why, for your upcoming betrothed to Dom Nevin.”
Alayna fumed inside. “Any such understanding is premature, I assure you, and I will thank you to not repeat it. Come back later for the tray. I will rest until dinner time.”
“Very well, miss.”
The room fell silent and, without a fire, chilly as well. Alayna shivered, then got herself under control. She might be concluding wrongly that Sadhi was acting as Dimitra’s agent, and that the two of them were bent on keeping Alayna prisoner in her own rooms until she accepted Dom Nevin’s proposal. There was one way to find out.
Alayna cracked open the outer door and peeked outside. As far as she could see in either direction, the corridor was empty. She dipped back inside just long enough to snatch up one of the shawls from the chest at the foot of her bed, and hurried toward the staircase. Here she met a couple of maidservants, their arms full of folded linens. Their chatter ceased when they spotted her.
She reached the ground floor without being challenged. Checking room by room, she made her way along the great central hallway. At the far end lay the entry and foyer, and one of these doors led to the Great Hall. There must be a place men gathered during the day. What did they do if they weren’t tending cattle or supervising the nut harvest or meeting with the livestock manager, all the things her father and brothers did? Practicing with their swords? Polishing their saddles—no, they’d have stable boys to do that. Being fitted for new dancing shoes? Alayna reflected that she might know a great deal about running a small, impoverished estate, but very little of the lives of fine folk.
Almost by accident, she stumbled int
o a chamber tucked between a gloomy, echoing, unlit hall and the kitchens. A fire danced in the ample hearth, the soot-darkened stones attesting to its frequent use. Worn carpets cushioned the floor. The air bore a slightly masculine smell, leather and outdoors. Two men were sitting at a table, playing a game of castles.
“Excuse me—” Alayna began.
The men looked up: Zefano the coridom, and Dom Nevin. Dom Nevin got to his feet, looking very pleased, and offered Alayna a half-bow. Zefano did likewise, only his bow was deeper and his expression respectful.
“Vai damisela,” Zefano said. “How may I be of service? It isn’t customary for ladies to venture unescorted into this part of the castle.”
“I’m sorry to intrude. I’ll leave you now.”
“Of course, you will do no such thing,” said Dom Nevin. In a few long strides, he crossed the carpet and seized Alayna’s hand. “My darling, I’m utterly thrilled that you have sought me out. Zefano, leave us. This is a private matter.”
Don’t go, Alayna pleaded silently, but the coridom bowed to Dom Nevin and left the room, all the while avoiding Alayna’s eyes. And there she was, her hand clasped in Dom Nevin’s.
“I see in your eyes that you have come to give me your answer. No, you need not speak it aloud. Your actions speak louder and more eloquently than any words.”
“I beg you, sir, to release my hand. You’ve misunderstood me completely. I have no answer for you. The only reason I’m here is that I got lost—”
“Lost in the wonder of love, I have no doubt. Let us seal our promise with a kiss.”
So quickly Alayna could not pull away, he shifted his grip from her hand to her shoulder. He drew her in, holding her hard against his body. At the same time, he circled his free arm around her upper body. She pushed against his chest, but it was like thrusting against a rock wall. His face lowered over her, his lips almost upon hers.
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