Thunderlord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Alayna was filled with revulsion. She might be young and unsophisticated, but she’d grown up on a country estate. She’d heard more than one tale of how a marriage might be secured against the woman’s will.

  Kyria would know what to do.

  The thought brought the memory of Kyria’s common sense and forthrightness.

  This is what Kyria would have done, she thought, bringing one knee up between Dom Nevin’s thighs. Her skirts hampered her movement, and she was off her mark, so her knee jammed into his thigh, but it was enough to startle him. His grip loosened. Alayna stepped down hard on his foot. Her slipper didn’t make much impact on his thick leather boot, but he was already caught off guard. She seized the opportunity to wrench herself free of his grip and scramble backward.

  “You—” Whatever he was going to say was cut short when the door at the far end of the chamber swung open.

  Lord Scathfell entered, followed closely by Dom Ruyven. Alayna was so glad to see them, she could have wept.

  Lord Scathfell’s expression turned quizzical. “Damisela Alayna. Dom Nevin.”

  “Vai dom.” Nevin bowed, but not quickly enough to hide the scarlet rising in his cheeks.

  “Are we interrupting?” Lord Scathfell asked, carefully polite.

  Gazing directly at Lord Scathfell, Alayna said, “Dom Nevin was just taking his leave of me.”

  “Indeed,” said Lord Scathfell.

  “My lords.” After another deep bow, this time to Ruyven as well as Lord Scathfell, Nevin hurried from the room.

  “Now then,” Lord Scathfell said in the same kindly tone Alayna remembered from the ball, “what’s all this about? You’re white as new snow. Has Nevin imposed himself upon your kind graces?”

  Alayna fell into the nearest chair and burst into tears.

  “Ruyven, you’d best find Domna Dimitra. This is a woman’s province, not either of ours.”

  “No,” Alayna managed to gasp. “Not her!”

  After a murmured discussion, Lord Scathfell pressed a goblet into her hands. “Drink this,” he said. “It will doubtless taste vile to you, but it will help, I promise.”

  Her hands were shaking, and her body still heaved with sobs. He put his hands over hers and held the goblet, tilting it so that the pungent, stinging fluid flooded her mouth. His skin was warm, and his touch gentle. She swallowed, tried hard not to choke on it, and swallowed again. Fire ran down her gullet and filled her belly. Whatever this stuff was, Nevin’s fortified wine was tame by comparison.

  When Lord Scathfell lifted the goblet to her lips again, she shook her head. “No more, please. I’m better now, as you see.”

  “I rather doubt you’ve drunk enough to make a difference, but I will not urge you if you do not wish it. Now tell me, what is the matter? How did you come to this chamber, reserved for the men of my household, and what has Nevin done to distress you so?”

  “I came looking for you,” she said to Dom Ruyven.

  “Me? Whatever for?”

  Now she felt like even more of a fool for thinking Dom Ruyven would have any interest in marrying her. For all the attention he’d paid to her on the trail, they were nothing to one another, that much was now clear.

  I’m such a fool. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

  “You need not answer that, since it so clearly distresses you,” Lord Scathfell interjected. “But I would like to know what Nevin has done. You are, after all, in my castle and under my protection. If he has given offense, I would hear of it so that I may deal with him as he deserves.”

  Alayna wailed, “He asked me to marry him.”

  Lord Scathfell’s expression closed up, but not before she caught a moment of surprise and then barely masked rage. She remembered what Dimitra had said about him having a temper, but his voice told her that the anger was not at her but in her defense. “Tell me,” he said.

  “I put him off,” she explained. “I told him I needed time to consider—but now he thinks I mean to accept him and I can’t—I won’t. I’m sorry, I know he is your kinsman, but he’s horrible and Domna Dimitra thinks I should—and she’s been practically throwing me at him—and I don’t know what to do.”

  “And you sought Ruyven’s advice because he had been as a father to you during your difficult journey?” Lord Scathfell took her hands in his. His touch was so light, she could have broken free as easily as sighing but found she had no wish to.

  “Nevin has his place,” said Lord Scathfell, “and yes, he is kin, but I know his nature. I would not force any woman, let alone such a tender flower, into an unwilling marriage with him. You, my sweet lady, deserve so much better.”

  It was all Alayna could do to sit still and not bury her face in his hands, covering them with her tears.

  “Ruyven, I believe it is time to give my kinsman useful employment elsewhere.”

  “I will see to it with pleasure, vai dom. I presume you intend a long assignment, very far away?”

  One corner of Lord Scathfell’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. “An emissary to King Allart’s court in Thendara would suffice. If he leaves now and rides with haste, he can just make it before winter sets in.”

  You’re sending him away for my sake? Alayna could scarcely believe her ears.

  Ruyven offered an abbreviated bow, one to a superior with whom a person is on affectionate terms, and left the room.

  “Now,” Lord Scathfell said once they were alone, “that was not so difficult, was it?”

  Alayna’s moment of relief drained away. “I am grateful to be freed from his advances, which I assure you were neither welcome nor encouraged. But it is now impossible that I remain here indefinitely as your unmarried guest. Domna Dimitra knows of the proposal, so it is not secret. I’m sure the servants have all heard by now. I will be thought a flirt and a tease—or worse. I fear my only hope is to marry some man who is—well, less intolerable than Dom Nevin.”

  “Sweet damisela, there is no reason for you to marry any man who does not please you.”

  “I beg you, do not make fun of me,” she cried. “I understand that I have no place here. I had one only while my sister was promised to you and this castle was to be her home. Now she is gone, and I cannot claim even that.”

  Lord Scathfell was shaking his head now, with an unreadable half-smile that made her heart sink.

  Struggling against tears, she hung her head. “Forgive me. I presumed too much. If you will allow me to trespass through the winter, until the mountain passes are open again, and arrange for an escort suitable for someone like myself, I will go home and face Papa with the news of Kyria’s death.”

  “Go home?” Again, she heard a sharpness in his tone.

  I’ve asked too much. It’s outrageous to think he can spare men and horses for such a long journey of no benefit to himself.

  He took her hands in that gentle way of his. His fingers caressed hers. “Do you truly wish to leave me?”

  She looked up, astonished.

  “You braved mountains and bandits, all the long miles between your home and mine, in order to keep your sister company,” he went on. “Such steadfast devotion is worth more than all the pearls in Temora. Now your sister is gone, lost to both of us. Will you remain with me in her stead?”

  Alayna’s brain seemed to have turned to jelly. “I don’t understand what you are asking.”

  “Silly girl, I am asking you to be my wife.”

  “Your—wife.”

  “This may not the proposal you dreamed of, but as your father is not here, we must arrange matters ourselves. I did not offer myself to your sister out of love, but I intended to be a good husband to her, and the match was advantageous to both her family and myself. It has been a long time since Scathfell was home to a family.”

  He paused, his vision turning inward for a moment. Then he smiled. “You, on the other
hand, I have come to know, although not nearly as well as I should like. I see that you are modest and charming.” He stroked the back of Alayna’s hand, and a shiver ran up her spine. “And loving.”

  This was not at all how Dom Nevin had made her feel. This was wonderful. “You truly mean it?” she whispered, half afraid she had misunderstood.

  “Dearest damisela, I swear I would never toy with your affections. I meant to marry a Rockraven daughter, and I still do, although I never thought to find one I could so easily love.” Lord Scathfell bent to kiss her hand, this time on the palm. She felt the kiss all through her body.

  “Then, yes.” More tears spilled down her cheeks as laughter shook her. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  His features softened into a smile that made him look younger and even more handsome. “Will you seal your promise to me with a kiss?”

  Alayna leaned forward, lifting her face to his, and closed her eyes. He cupped her face. She had not realized how warm a man’s hands would feel against her cheeks or the tenderness with which he might place his lips on hers. This was not like the Midwinter Festival Night kisses from her brother’s friends, not those wet sloppy things. Lord Scathfell’s lips were smooth, and she felt a light prickle from his beard. She wanted to kiss him back and was not sure how. He slipped one hand around the back of her neck, under her hair, cupping the tender skin that only a husband might touch. As he did so, the kiss deepened. Her lips softened and parted, as if she were kissing him with the inside of her mouth. She felt the pressure of his teeth and then his tongue, touching her so delicately and fleetingly that when he withdrew, she wanted to pull him close again. Her entire body was on fire. Her nipples ached and the secret place between her thighs pulsed with the beating of her heart.

  Heat flooding her cheeks, Alayna opened her eyes. Lord Scathfell was looking at her with a curious expression. “I do not displease you, then, my promised wife?”

  She could not speak, only shake her head. Displease me? I had no idea such a wonderful man walked the world.

  “And it is your will that we be wed di catenas at Midwinter Festival?”

  “Lord Scathfell, I—”

  “You must call me Gwynn-Alar when we are alone. Or Gwynn, even better.”

  Alayna pressed one hand flat between her breasts, as if she could still the frantic movement of her heart.

  “I take that as assent.” Rising, Lord Scathfell—Gwynn—bent over to kiss her brow. “We will speak more of this after I deal with Nevin. After all, we will have the rest of our lives together.”

  A moment later, two of the castle guards entered. “Escort the future Lady Scathfell anywhere she wishes to go,” Gwynn said. “But see that Domna Dimitra attends me without delay.”

  Bracketed between the guards, Alayna returned to her suite of rooms. Her heart beat fast and light, like the wings of the little red-capped birds that nested in the hedges in the summer. She felt dizzy, as if she’d drunk too much hot spiced wine. Only a fraction of an hour ago, she’d been desperate to avoid marrying Dom Nevin. Now she need not worry about her future again. She thought of Kyria and stumbled. Kyria would have wanted her to be safe and happy. A thought came to her, that this marriage and the security it brought was Kyria’s parting gift.

  Then I will make the most of it. She would see to it that Gwynn never had a moment’s regret. I won’t be like Ellimira, ordering everyone around. I will be kind and gentle, and Gwynn will think himself blessed to have such a loving wife.

  It did not matter if Nevin was sent away, for he had no power over her. As for Dimitra . . . Can I ever trust her again? But was it right that a single mistake should cost Dimitra her place? Perhaps she had reasons Alayna knew nothing of.

  They had gone most of the way to the women’s portion of the castle, but Alayna turned and, with a determined stride, headed back the way they had come.

  “Vai damisela!” The guards had to run a few steps to catch up with her. “Your quarters are this way.”

  “I wish to speak with my intended husband again,” she replied without slackening her pace. “Right now.”

  Gwynn was still in the men’s parlor, sitting in one of the large, comfortable chairs. Ruyven was with him. Both men turned their heads as she burst through the doors.

  “My lord, I am sorry to interrupt, but I’ve had a moment to think about our last conversation, and I would not want you to behave against your own best interests on my account.”

  “My dear, let us have no false modesty or protestations that you are somehow unworthy of becoming Lady Scathfell,” Ruyven said, scowling.

  “That is not at all what I meant,” she shot back, then turned to Gwynn. “I would not build our life together on the pain of others, no matter how well deserved. You decided to send Dom Nevin away to protect me, and for that I am more grateful than I have words to express. I expect that Domna Dimitra will be brought here any moment for equal punishment for her part in the matter. You must have had good reasons for including both of them in your household to begin with. I don’t know about Dom Nevin—you said he has his place, so I assume he was useful to you in some way, if only for the duty one kinsman owes another.”

  Gwynn and Ruyven exchanged glances. “I think it best that Nevin makes himself useful elsewhere,” Gwynn said. “Your honor in this matter does you credit, but he has shown he is not to be trusted. He might treat you with respect for a time, out of fear of my displeasure, but in his mind, he will always see you as a young woman he can impose upon. I will not tolerate that behavior toward my wife.”

  “But until this episode, Domna Dimitra fulfilled her duties admirably. She cared for me and helped me adjust to life in the castle.” She was the closest thing I had to a friend. “I was angry with her because I saw her acting in her own interest or Dom Nevin’s, not out of regard for my own happiness. If she repents, I will forgive her. Will you do the same?”

  “That depends on the sincerity of her remorse,” Gwynn said.

  “If I may, vai dom,” Ruyven spoke. “The domna and I have never been on more than polite terms, so you know I harbor no favoritism toward her when I urge you to consider Damisela Alayna’s request. Dimitra must be taught a lesson in no uncertain terms, but a pardon following censure and the threat of dismissal is not a bad strategy. If she knows you may send her away at the slightest lapse in judgment, she will perform her duties all the more assiduously.”

  “As usual, my old friend, you counsel me wisely.” Gwynn laid his hand on Ruyven’s shoulder. “Ah, I see Dimitra has arrived. Let us see what we can accomplish. Alayna, preciosa, you need not remain if you do not wish to.”

  “I will stay,” she said, and caught the flash of approval in Gwynn’s eyes. As Lady Scathfell, she might be called upon to watch or even to inflict even worse censure. At his gesture, she took a seat behind his right shoulder.

  Dimitra curtsied formally to Gwynn. “Vai dom, vai damisela, how may I serve you?”

  “Thank you for coming so promptly,” Gwynn said, his voice easy, as if he had nothing in mind more taxing than a conversation about the weather. “I trust you are well. Your quarters are adequate? Your duties are not onerous?”

  The lady-in-waiting glanced from Gwynn to Alayna and back again. “I could not ask for a better situation, as my lord knows.”

  “Indulge me by telling us what your responsibilities entail.”

  “Why, I provide the same assistance as I would to any mistress of the castle. I help her to select appropriate garb and take care of her clothes, I dress her hair, fetch her jewels from the locked case, and so forth. I supervise the maidservants, so that her room is always tidy, the fire laid on, meals provided in her chamber when appropriate, and hot water brought when my lady wishes it. In addition, because the young lady is unaccustomed to the ways of Scathfell Castle, I offer guidance . . .” for the first time, Dimitra hesitated.

  “Excellent. And does this
guidance extend to advice concerning suitable companions? You would encourage her to associate with those worthy of her station and discourage those beneath her?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And what sort of relationships would you feel it your duty to promote? If you learned that a man of this court desired Damisela Alayna for his wife, and he was a person of good family with the means to support her in comfort and provide for any offspring they might have, would you try to persuade her to accept him?”

  Dimitra paled. “I have done nothing except in my lady’s best interests.”

  “Indeed.”

  An uncomfortable silence filled the room. The wind was suddenly audible, and the room was colder. Dimitra was no fool; there was no point in denying what she had done, yet she made no attempt to justify or defend herself. She merely stood there, with obvious effort at dignity, waiting for what would come next.

  “You dared,” Gwynn said, “you dared to interfere in the life of a young woman in my charge without consulting me? You took it upon yourself to try to persuade her into a marriage not of my choosing?”

  Dimitra sank to her knees. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her hands twisted the fabric of her skirts. “My lord, if you would permit me to explain—”

  “Silence.” Gwynn got to his feet. “You had the insolence to usurp my prerogative as Lord of Scathfell in determining the fate of a noble young lady who would have become my kinswoman, if circumstances were otherwise.”

  In the quiet that followed, nothing was heard but Dimitra’s barely suppressed sobs.

  “You schemed to deliver her to my kinsman, that vermin Nevin, who has already buried two wives.” Gwynn pressed on. “Do not protest it was out of your love for her, meant only to secure her happiness. Such a lie will strangle you, if I do not. No, it was for your own profit. You do not deserve the title of lady-in-waiting, you who are no more than a common procurer.”