Thunderlord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “Why do you rush to defend my enemies?” Gwynn shot back, his face tight. “I expect such snake-tongued speech from those disloyal to me, but never from my future wife.”

  “I am not defending them!” Alayna threw up her hands. “I don’t know what we’re talking about, truth be told. The folk at Aldaran mean nothing to me. But I would not see you carry the burden of your father’s tragedy.”

  “That may be true, but it is not an excuse for challenging my authority.”

  This is my husband-to-be. I must not quarrel with him. “I meant no disrespect,” she murmured.

  “You want me to forget how my brother and father died,” he plunged on as if he had not heard her, “and the grief that took my mother’s life?”

  “Of course not,” Alayna said, feeling sick at having provoked him. He was a proud, stubborn man. She must take great care never to repeat her mistake. “But surely there is cause—now—for joy? For hope that our children will know peace?”

  “Would that it were that simple. You have a sweet and forgiving nature, but the world of men is cruel. I do not want to start a war, but if one is forced upon us, I will not see Scathfell defeated, ruined, again. You speak of swords, and those I have, as many as I can afford to keep. But against the sword of Aldaran, the lightning Gift, such weapons are a paltry defense. I watch Aldaran carefully, because our only hope will be to strike them hard and fast, before they can bring the battle to us.”

  He sighed, looking more careworn than she had yet seen him. “If I appear distracted, it is because I fear that Aldaran will seize upon the occasion of our nuptials to launch an attack. I know little of the current lord, only that he is the son of his father, and for that reason alone I dare not trust him.”

  Gwynn was defending his people in the best way he knew, perhaps the only way possible. How could she do anything but rally to his side?

  20

  Midwinter Day dawned clear and very cold. Alayna, still in her dressing gown as she looked out the window, decided it was so frigid, snow would warm things up. Below, the main halls were decked with greenery and the fragrance of the boughs seemed to carry even up here. This would be the last night she’d sleep in her chambers. Her belongings would be moved to the suite adjacent to Gwynn’s, and tonight she would sleep in his bed.

  At home, she would have been prepared for the consummation of the marriage by Ellimira, as her nearest married kinswoman. In her turn, should Alayna be blessed with daughters as well as sons, she would instruct them. But who would instruct her? She could not go to Dimitra. Although they were perfectly polite to one another, it was the courtesy of mistress to servant, nothing more. Yet if she went to Gwynn’s bed untutored, she would feel but half a wife.

  Tears stung her eyes. She’d felt so emotional these last few tendays, she’d cried at the falling of a snowflake. No matter how many times she told herself this marriage was the best possible future for her, it did no good when the weepies, as Kyria used to call them, struck her. Since there was nothing else to be done, she got out not one handkerchief but three, curled back in the chair, and let herself have a good cry.

  By the time her sobs had subsided into hiccoughs, she felt considerably better. In fact, an idea had come to her: you must see Domna Jerana.

  Jerana arrived promptly at Alayna’s summons. They sat companionably over cups of jaco, watching the snow that began to fall, first gently, like bits of goose down, then faster and thicker. “A good night to be abed,” Jerana said with a perfectly straight face, and Alayna laughed. As calmly as she could, Alayna explained what she wanted.

  When they had established that Alayna was not entirely ignorant of what passed between men and women, Jerana became more serious. “You must bear in mind that every husband and his wife are intimate in their own way. Oh, some things never change—”

  “—like kissing.”

  “Indeed. But there are no books stored at Arilinn that say this must be done, or at a specified time or in a prescribed order—or that is forbidden. The most important thing is that both lovers desire it. It need not give them each the same degree of pleasure, so long as neither finds it repugnant. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “That my husband may wish—may ask me to do something not entirely to my liking? That I may permit it anyway in order to please him?”

  “Not exactly. When we love someone, of course we want to make him happy. In the marriage bed, however, nothing that truly makes one party unhappy is good for the couple together. When one is less experienced than the other, she—for usually it is the wife—may not yet know what gives her the greatest delight. A certain amount of exploration is necessary. She may accede to her husband’s wishes in order to discover whether they are hers as well.”

  “I have never lain with a man, so how can I tell what I like if I do not try different things?”

  Jerana nodded. “An open mind is a good thing. Also open communication, so that you need not hesitate to tell your husband when something is distasteful to you. Women sometimes think they must put their husband’s desires above their own or that it does not matter whether they themselves find pleasure in love-making.” She paused, looking at Alayna over the rim of her mug.

  “I have never thought about the matter. I truly enjoyed the kisses we exchanged, but I always supposed that lying together was for the man’s pleasure. And for the getting of children, of course.”

  “Why should only men desire sexual union, when a little education is all that is needed for women to feel equal ardor? Some initial discomfort is common the first few times, but if it worsens or you find yourself dreading your husband’s embraces, then you must come to me. I am trained as a monitor and healer. Do not suffer needlessly when I may be able to help.”

  They chatted for a time longer, until the jaco had gone cold, and it was clear that Alayna could summon no further questions. Just then, there was a knock at the door.

  In swept Dimitra, who looked very fine in her best gown of gray wool. She was followed by Sadhi, and then Marianna and Shayla. They brought out the cream spidersilk gown, onto which they had stitched the pearls from the russet tunic. As they held it up, Alayna’s heart leapt in her throat, for the gown had been transformed from a luxurious garment into a glorious one, not the less for the love so evident in every detail.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Alayna cried. “Thank you all so very much.”

  “Just wanted to do our lady proud,” Marianna said.

  “Nothing’s too good for the mistress of Scathfell,” Sadhi added, remembering herself with a curtsy.

  After admiring the trousseau, Jerana took her leave. A moment after she departed, there came a knock at the door. It was Zefano, flanked by not two but four household guards. He carried a brass-bound casket. After placing it on the table in the sitting room, he took a key from the ring at his belt and opened it.

  “Vai damisela, who after today will be our vai domna,” he said, “I present the Scathfell jewels.”

  Arranged on a tray of midnight velvet were several antique gold necklaces set with rubies and emeralds, an assortment of rings and earrings, and a small, luminous moonstone on a silver chain.

  “My lord bids you to choose what you will for today’s ceremony. These treasures have been passed from mother to daughter since the founding of Scathfell. They are to be yours, to be held in trust for your eldest son’s wife.”

  “Oh, my lady!” Sadhi breathed.

  Dimitra scowled and the girl scurried away. Then Dimitra bent over the casket, her eyes alight. “If you would allow me to make a suggestion, Damisela Alayna, I would select—”

  As she reached for the casket, Zefano blocked her way. “The choice is for Lady Scathfell to make.” By his tone, he thought it sacrilege for a mere lady-in-waiting to lay hands upon the jewels.

  Alayna’s gaze lit upon the moonstone pendant. It came into her hand as if it w
elcomed her touch, and warmed almost immediately. “This.”

  Zefano relocked the casket and took it away, followed by the guards. Dimitra wrapped the pendant and the pair of silver earrings that Alayna had selected in a square of silk and tucked them away. Marianna and Shayla left after offering Alayna many wishes for her happiness, and Sadhi went to prepare Alayna’s bath.

  An hour before the appointed time, Alayna stood before the full-length mirror and studied her reflection. After a long, luxuriant bath, Sadhi had massaged her with scented creams that made her skin glow. Dimitra had dressed Alayna’s hair into plaits wound with white ribbons and strands of tiny silver-cloth flowers, most of them coiled low on her neck and secured with a butterfly clasp of honey-colored wood—Dimitra’s gift. A few tresses were left unbraided to flow over the shoulders. The tendrils had been arranged to display the earrings without overpowering them. The moonstone pendant nestled at the cleft between her breasts, and it seemed to Alayna that it glowed faintly with its own inner light.

  “Oh, my lady!” Sadhi exclaimed. “You are as beautiful as the dawn. As beautiful as Blessed Cassilda herself.”

  “Hush, child, do not speak such nonsense,” Dimitra said. “’Tis bad luck to praise a bride so highly.” Nonetheless, her eyes shone.

  “Marianna and Shayla—you two deserve all the praise,” Alayna said. “You did a splendid job with the gown.”

  Dimitra said in a softer voice, “You wear it well.”

  It was not yet time to go down, but Alayna was too excited to sit still. She wished again that Kyria might have lived to see this day. Grief tugged on her heart, but the pangs felt distant, less fierce, as if they were happening to someone else. She loved Kyria as much as ever, but the loss of her sister was no longer the defining experience of her life. At this time tomorrow, she would be a married woman, a great lord’s wife.

  The wait seemed interminable, with Alayna shifting from one foot to the other, and Dimitra making pleasant remarks about the weather, the roads, the guests, and the wedding gifts sent from all around. At last, however, a page tapped on the door and recited in his clear, child’s voice that all was in readiness and would the vai damisela be pleased to join Lord Scathfell in the Great Hall.

  Dimitra went down with Alayna, helping her manage the full skirts on the stairs. At the bottom, she smoothed the fabric and checked the fastening of the butterfly clasp, made sure the silver chain holding the moonstone was secure and that every curl and plait was in place. The castle guards bowed as the two women walked by. Alayna felt their gaze even after she had passed.

  And then they were outside the doubled doors of the Great Hall. She heard music within. One of the two guards at the door put a hand on the latch.

  Dimitra held up a hand. “Deep breaths now, my lady. Ready?”

  So might my own mother have spoken, had she lived and were she here. Alayna, not trusting herself to speech, nodded.

  “In we go.”

  As they entered, a hush fell on the assembly, neighboring nobles and their wives, senior officers, Zefano and his family, other folk she did not know. They parted to make way for her, and there at the far end of the room, Gwynn sat in his throne-like chair. Ruyven stood beside him, bedecked in brocade and lace. Alayna spared him only a glance. Once she saw Gwynn, she could not look away. He drew her like a lodestone, or perhaps she drew him, for he got to his feet, powerful and graceful. And the expression on his face, the astonishment writ clear as sunrise, sent a thrill all through her.

  Dimitra had told her that she must go to him, for his was the higher rank. As she did, her heart urged her to rush into his arms, but she kept herself to a stately pace. She halted a few paces in front of him, then began a curtsy. Her knees trembled as she found herself sinking deeper and deeper until her skirts flowed out around her.

  “Vai dom.” She meant the title as a whisper, but her voice rang out, sweet and clear. Perhaps it was the silence of the chamber that made it seem so.

  “Vai damisela.” As if her voice had released him from a spell, he crossed the distance between them, bowed, and extended his hand. She slipped hers into it and found herself lifted to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. He did not release her hand but bent over and carried it to his lips so that each met the other halfway.

  The next moment, people began talking and moving again, although in a more subdued manner than before. First one and then another of the guests approached, bowed, and introduced themselves. Gwynn spoke a word or two, treating some in a more familiar manner than others. She wished them all a joyous festival and thanked them for coming.

  Ruyven left his place, approaching her and Gwynn. A page brought up a box, much smaller than the casket of jewels. Ruyven drew out the paired catenas bracelets, beautifully shaped copper lined with something else—rose gold, perhaps—to prevent the copper from reacting with the skin.

  I will wear this for the rest of my life.

  The metal felt surprisingly warm as Ruyven clasped it around her wrist, then Gwynn’s around his. The bracelets were locked together, so that for this moment they too were joined.

  As if in a dream, she heard Ruyven say, “Parted in flesh, may you never be so in spirit. May you be forever one.” Then he unlocked the bracelets. The assembly burst into cheering, which fell away only when the music struck up again.

  She was married. She was his. Through the haze of astonished delight, she reminded herself that it was her place to lead him in their first dance as husband and wife. She held out her hand, and he took it. The catenas glinted. Her feet knew which way to go, when to advance and to pause, and it was a good thing, for her senses whirled in a most pleasant way. They danced one and then another set, revolving around each other and the other couples in complicated figures.

  Gwynn brought her wine, and she drank it all, not caring how strong it was. He was her husband and she wanted no barriers between them. “Let us take a break from dancing,” he said.

  “Am I flushed?” She felt quite warm.

  “You look perfectly lovely, but it is courteous to examine the wedding gifts.” Gwynn indicated a table running the length of the hall. It was heaped with ornamented boxes, baskets adorned with ribbons, bolts of fabric, even a saddle, which she thought odd but said nothing as Gwynn praised it highly. Many of the gifts were household items: a rolled-up tapestry, boxes of beeswax candles, and the like.

  “What is this?” He stopped before a long box, the sort used to transport fragile goods on horseback. The lid had been pried loose but left in place. “I thought I had seen all the gifts as they arrived.”

  “It must have just come. May I?” At Gwynn’s nod, Alayna lifted the lid and slid her hands into the curling wood shavings. The velvet wrapping was well-tied and many layers thick, but with a little juggling, the two of them were able to free what lay within.

  “A rryl?” Gwynn looked puzzled.

  The instrument had been shipped with the strings loosened to prevent breakage or undue stress on the wooden frame. It was meant to be tuned at its destination. Though unable, at the moment, to assess the quality of its sound, she could see it had been made with care and skill. The wood was a rich red-brown, the lines graceful, and delicate carven flowers twined up the sides. Even better, it was perfectly balanced and exactly the right size for her small hands.

  “It’s splendid,” she cried. “Now I can play and sing for you—oh, so beautifully on this.”

  “I look forward to hearing you.”

  “Here’s the note,” Alayna said. “‘For Lord and Lady Scathfell, that you may find delight in one another.’ It’s signed, Edric-Donal, Lord Aldaran. How lovely! And how strange.”

  “Aldaran?” Gwynn’s expression darkened. “He dared! Does he mean to insult us both?”

  “I think he meant the gift as a goodwill offering. Caryo, don’t scowl like that, not on our special day. Would it have suited you bette
r if Lord Aldaran ignored us entirely? Or sent some extravagant gift that would impose an obligation in return? This is much better, something small and beautifully made.”

  “Very well,” he said with an effort at composure, “if it pleases you, my wife, then you shall have it. But do not expect me to listen to any tunes you coax out of it.”

  “Do not expect to get out of hearing me play,” Alayna teased. “You have never once attended our singing. You do not know if I am a silvertongue or a crow.”

  “Does the gift please you?”

  “You know that it does.”

  “Then I suppose I must consider the possibility—only a possibility, mind you—that it was sent in earnest. That somehow the moons have changed places with the sun, and Aldaran genuinely wishes for better relations between us. That should not be difficult, for they could hardly be worse, short of armed conflict.”

  Alayna, her heart full of love and pride, smiled up at him. “I pray that Lord Aldaran proves worthy of your—I will not say, trust, for that must be earned. Your willingness to allow him to demonstrate that he too wishes for peace. Speaking of which,” she picked up the note again, “I don’t suppose you’ve ever met this Edric-Donal?”

  “Hardly. Why do you ask?”

  “On the journey from Rockraven, we spent the night at a traveler’s shelter. I believe we spoke of it my first night here. We shared the shelter with a young man who called himself Edric. He had no companion or servant, so he went on with us for a time until after Kyria was taken. He would not give his family name, nor did we, for Dom Ruyven said that anonymity is the rule at such shelters. At least, I think it was he who said it, and then none of us inquired. Edric is not an uncommon name, but I wonder . . . could it have been he?”