“Yes, and it was gracious of Lord Aldaran to respond so generously to our request. Perhaps this will signal the beginning of a new era of friendship. Scathfell and Aldaran are, after all, kin.”
Dimitra gave her a sharp look. Then, with a sigh: “Midwinter is indeed a time of fellowship. And changes.”
“Yes.” Alayna realized she was moving her hands in a nervous manner, practically wringing them. She clasped her fingers and forced herself to stillness. “There is something I wanted to discuss with you, speaking of changes.” There was no reason to seek Dimitra’s consent; as Lady Scathfell, she had the power to dismiss her or any of the women servants on a whim. But it mattered that Dimitra understand this was for her benefit, not a punishment.
“You have been ill for some time now. The last thing I intend is for you to exhaust yourself into another crisis. We must face the situation, which is that you cannot work as before and are not likely to.”
Dimitra nodded. The resignation on her face aroused Alayna’s pity.
“We are not savages,” Alayna said, “to cast aside those who have dedicated themselves to our service when, through no fault of their own, they can no longer perform their duties. In your illness, others have taken up the necessary tasks. I have determined that they should continue to do so and that you will continue to enjoy the comfort of this, your home, for many years.”
“I understand that I am being replaced as lady-in-waiting. I expected no less,” Dimitra said with a tone of bitterness. “But what work am I do to, then?”
“Why, none at all! You are at leisure now.”
“Like an old cart horse or a dog too stiff and blind to hunt.”
“If a warm basket by the fireplace or a pasture by the apple trees is what you mean, then yes. I meant it when I said this was your home. Evanda knows this place is big enough so that you can remain here, in your familiar quarters, without the least inconvenience to anyone. When you feel well enough, you can join the women in sewing or music. I may consult with you from time to time.” There was only one more thing to add: “Please do not consider this an act of charity. You have earned your place here. I will hear no more discussion.”
To prove her point, she stood up. Her gaze slipped across Dimitra’s astonished features. She headed for the door. “I’ll see myself out, as I saw myself in. Be easy, Dimitra. Everyone here wishes you well.”
31
The remainder of the day flew by in a flurry of last minute details. Alayna put on the gown Cassandra had given her. Perdita fastened Gwynn’s moonstone necklace around her throat, and afterward dressed Alayna’s hair, coiling it low on her neck and fastening it with the new butterfly clasp. Alayna sent Perdita to dress in her own holiday attire and waited in her sitting room, although she could not bring herself to actually sit down for fear of wrinkling the lovely gown.
She had not long to wait before Gwynn tapped on the door. He took her hands in his and gazed at her silently for a long moment. The light from the candles filled his eyes so that they seemed to glow with their own inner light.
Their heart-light, Alayna thought. As mine must surely, also.
This moment, standing here with the husband she loved—who loved her—was the best Midwinter present she could imagine.
“Shall we go down?” he asked. “We must not keep everyone waiting for their holiday feast.”
As they entered the Great Hall together, the place fell silent. Everyone who was not already standing got to their feet and, as one, bowed to Lord and Lady Scathfell. Gwynn escorted Alayna to her place beside him at the head table. When she had taken her seat, he gestured for the others to do so. Ruyven sat at his right hand, and Perdita to Alayna’s left. At the adjacent table were Zefano and Marianna, a handful of senior officers, Dimitra and Sadhi, and some of the more highly ranked female servants.
Gwynn lifted his goblet and, around the room, everyone did the same. In a loud voice, he welcomed them all to observe the turning of the year. “On this darkest of all nights, we look ahead to the return of the sun. To lengthening days and brightening hopes. To fellowship and fidelity.”
“And fertility!” a man called from the other side of the hall, to uproarious laughter.
“Aye, to that as well,” Gwynn said with clear good humor. “May our crops and herds increase, and may these strong walls and the strong arms of our men continue to protect us all.”
“To Lord Scathfell and his Lady!” another man cried.
“Lord and Lady Scathfell!” filled the hall.
“Do I need to say anything?” Alayna asked, keeping her voice low.
He sat down, smiling at her. “Did you wish to?”
“No!”
“Then you may permit them to adore you just as you are.”
At Gwynn’s signal, the musicians struck up a fanfare and servants filed in, carrying platter after platter of festive foods. The first came to the head table, where Alayna was given her choice of meats and pastries, and nut and grain mixtures molded in fanciful shapes, root vegetables carved like flowers, and sauces savory or sweetened with preserved summer fruits.
The musicians, having finished their own meal, began playing simple holiday tunes. Here and there, folk lifted their voices and joined in, even Dimitra. Alayna knew some of the songs, but others were new to her. What the singing lacked in skill or even being on key, it made up for with enthusiasm.
Dessert—flaming, fruit-studded puddings and pies with elaborately decorated upper crusts—came and went, and still people sang. Alayna suspected that the favorite songs were repeated two or three times. Her heart warmed to see these people—her people—enjoying themselves. Then, as if by prearranged signal, folk all over the hall stood up to clear the tables and move them to one side.
Gwynn took Alayna’s hand as a cadence announced a promenada. They moved through the stately paces of the dance, eyes always on each other. For a moment, Alayna lost herself in the dance, as if he and she were the only people in the entire world tonight. As if this music and these measured steps united their own prelude to lovemaking with the movement of the stars and the deep, slow movement of the earth. As if the gods danced with them and through them.
Alayna lost count of the dances, first with Gwynn and then Ruyven, who seemed in excellent spirits, and then a women’s dance between Perdita and Shayla, and then—somewhat to her surprise—a reel with Zefano, and then Gwynn again for a courting dance. Perdita was dancing with one of the stable grooms, whose gray hairs suggested he was old enough to be her father, although that did not stop him from flirting outrageously with her or her from laughing just as merrily.
Gwynn escorted Alayna back to her seat. The exertion had made her thirsty, and she took a gulp from her goblet, hoping the wine was well watered. Just then, she noticed a commotion by the doors. Gwynn motioned to one of the guards standing behind the table to check what was going on. Ruyven threw himself into his seat, fanning his reddened face.
The guard bent to Gwynn’s ear. Alayna could not make out his words over the laughter and the music and the clomping of heavy shoes on the floor, but she saw the change in her husband’s expression. Ruyven must have seen it, too, for all traces of merriment vanished from his face.
“With me,” Gwynn said to Ruyven, and strode off toward the doors.
Alayna found Gwynn, Ruyven, and the guard a little ways up the corridor, talking to a man in a rider’s heavy woolen cloak and boots. Snow frosted his shoulders, and his cheeks looked painfully red. He swayed on his feet.
Poor man, to have endured cold and wind on such a night!
“—with my own eyes, vai dom,” the rider said. “By my life, it is true.”
“What is it?” Alayna cried. “What dreadful thing has happened?”
Ruyven looked as if he might be felled with a feather.
“My dear, you should not be here,” Gwynn said.
“B
ut surely,” she stammered, “if this man brings word of some matter so urgent and so dire—does that not concern me as well, as lady of this castle?”
“Go back inside. Pretend nothing has happened.” Gwynn grabbed Alayna’s arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. She was so shocked that she allowed herself to be propelled back toward the doors.
Crossing the floor with its dancers and merry-makers, she managed to keep her head high and her smile gracious. Every few steps, someone would stop dancing long enough to sweep her a bow or curtsy, or call out, “Evanda bless you, my lady!”
She returned to the head table with her nerves in shreds and her face stiff from smiling. As she eased into her seat, Perdita, who was taking a break from dancing, leaned over. The table was empty except for the two of them.
“My lady Alayna, what distresses you?”
Whatever had happened, Gwynn was not only upset but wanted it kept secret, at least for the time being. She must not reveal what little she knew merely for her own comfort. “’Tis the excitement of the evening, nothing more,” she said in as careless a tone as she could summon. She smiled at a couple—one of the cook’s assistants and her young man, she thought—as they danced past. Perdita gave her a sharp, unbelieving look but said nothing more.
The next minutes stretched on into agony. Alayna smiled and waved, in between trying not to drink too much wine for fear it would lead her to drink even more in hopes of easing her feelings of apprehension. When Perdita accepted a request for another promenada from Zefano, Alayna was glad to be left alone. She dreaded being asked where Gwynn was.
The dancers began to thin out as the older people retired. Alayna remembered Gwynn saying that the noble family typically did the same, so the younger servants might enjoy themselves with abandon. Alayna grew more uneasy with each moment in which Gwynn remained absent. Finally he slid into place beside her. Alayna lifted her hand to touch his arm, but his posture—so rigid, as if he were clenching his entire body like a fist—rebuffed her. When he smiled, the muscles in his jaw stood out in sharp relief. She could not recall an expression as terrifying as that smile, not since Francisco had brought news of Kyria’s death.
The dance ended and still Gwynn did not even glance in her direction. Perdita returned to the table and begged leave to retire for the night. Ruyven came back in but did not take his place at Gwynn’s right hand. He bent over and murmured, “My lord, everything has been done as you commanded.”
Gwynn turned to Alayna and held out his hand to help her to rise. She slipped her fingers into his, feeling the tension in his muscles and a chill on his skin. Some of dancers paused to call out, “A good Festival Night to you, my lord!” and “Blessed Night!” while others continued on in their round.
Gwynn led Alayna from the great hall, Ruyven following close behind. “Since Damisela Perdita has already retired for the night, and you cannot go wandering about the castle unescorted on Midwinter Eve, I will take you to your chambers. Then Ruyven and I have more investigations—more business to conduct.”
“Business? Investigations? Tonight?” Alayna dug her feet in and spun around to face him. “Gwynn-Alar, stop right there and tell me what is the matter! You have been in a—a mood—ever since that rider arrived. I cannot imagine what news has upset you so. Is the valley under invasion by rabbit-horns? Or has King Allart dispatched an army to occupy the castle?”
His expression, which had lightened with her teasing, darkened. Open-mouthed, she let her arms fall.
Sweet Cassilda, have I stumbled on some terrible truth?
“Vai dom,” Ruyven said, glancing from Alayna’s face to Gwynn’s, “your lady has done nothing to cause this situation and therefore bears no responsibility for it. Painful as it must be, she has the right to know. You know I speak from love for you both.”
“Whatever it is, my husband, we will face it together,” Alayna said.
Gwynn nodded. “There speaks a loyal wife. But this is a difficult and complicated matter, one best not discussed while standing in a corridor. Let’s take this conversation to my sitting room. Ruyven, have wine sent up, and jaco if any is to be had at this hour, and then join us.”
Shortly thereafter, Alayna sat in her accustomed place beside Gwynn’s hearth. He himself stood gazing into the banked fire, his back rigid.
“My messenger returned from Aldaran,” he said, “the same one I sent with wishes for Midwinter Festival. He duly delivered the greeting, was given the same to bring back to us, and enjoyed the hospitality of that household. While there, he made contact with the man I had secretly placed some years ago, and he had the opportunity to observe certain things with his own eyes.”
Gwynn fixed his gaze upon Alayna. “My dear, you must prepare yourself for a startling revelation. Your sister is alive.”
Alayna had such mixed feelings, she hardly knew how to respond. She felt a rush of relief at no longer needing to hide the truth from him. At the same time, his tone and the furrows between his brows made her feel uneasy.
“She not only lives, she is married di catenas to Lord Edric Aldaran.” Gwynn’s voice was so tight, the words came out as growl. “And she has borne him healthy sons. Not one, but two. Twins.”
Now he was staring at her, waiting for her response. She must say something, anything. “I am so glad the report from the Sain Erach bandits was a lie. And now she has a comfortable home and a fine husband who loves her and children—what a happy ending to that adventure. I cannot imagine a better.”
“Can you not?”
“Now that you have made peace with Edric,” Alayna rushed on, her heart sinking in the growing realization that nothing she could say would change his mind, “we can invite Kyria here as soon as her babes are old enough to travel—or we can visit her there. That will bind the two families together even more strongly. Surely we have cause for celebration?”
“You don’t see it, do you? My poor, sweet Alayna. Kyria was the Rockraven daughter I bargained for. If she had been my wife, those would now be my sons.”
“You have a wife now—me. And Kyria is married to someone else. So what if it wasn’t what you planned? The bond my sister and I share can be the basis for a new closeness between Aldaran and Scathfell.”
“How can I be—” his mouth twisted, “—friends with Edric Aldaran now?”
“It will take time, but you and Edric will come to trust each other as Kyria and I do.”
Blood rushed to Gwynn’s features. The tendons of his neck stood out. “You knew,” he snarled. “You conspired with my enemies to keep this from me. And all the while, your sister was in Aldaran’s clutches.”
“I did,” Alayna admitted, with each moment even more dismayed at the change in him. “Kyria came to me in Thendara when I was so very ill. She asked me to keep her confidence. I regret having to keep anything from you, but I had given my word to my sister. I was the one who begged Edric to rescue her from Sain Erach, and so he has done. And he married her, which cannot be undone. I can assure you, she was happy with the match. If they chose not to inform you, it was with good reason, given your present reaction.”
The moment she spoke the last sentence, she regretted it. How could she be so thoughtless as to chide him for being upset when his long-nurtured plans for Scathfell’s security had been thwarted, and then to find out she had deceived him?
I cannot give him the sons he so badly wanted, but I thought we had made our peace with that. Now she wondered if he might regret marrying her.
Gwynn took a step toward her, jaw clenched, hands in tight fists. He no longer looked like the man she had come to love, but the ruthless tyrant. In her memory she saw Francisco on his knees, face pale, stumbling through the news of Kyria’s death—Dimitra in hopeless tears—
Just then, Ruyven entered, bearing several bottles of wine and three goblets, which he set down on the side table. Gwynn turned his back on Alayna, his ga
ze fixed on the fire, while Ruyven filled a goblet and placed it in his hand. Alayna refused, but Ruyven poured a small portion for himself.
Gwynn tipped his head back, downed the wine, and held the goblet out for more. Ruyven complied, his expression unreadable.
He feels cheated. Betrayed. Ruyven will help calm him down, but in the meantime, I must not provoke him further.
With as much poise as she could muster, Alayna got to her feet. “It’s very late, far too late to consider a matter of such importance,” and emotionality. “Shall we continue our discussion on the morrow—or, given the holiday—when we have had a chance to give proper thought to it?”
Still not looking at her, Gwynn picked up the opened bottle. “Do what you damned well please!”
Alayna stiffened as if he had struck her. She sent a wordless appeal to Ruyven, who had barely touched his own half-goblet of wine. He met her gaze with an expression that said, I’ll look after him.
32
There was no point in waiting up for Gwynn, since he would likely be up until the small hours of the morning, drinking with Ruyven. In the stories her brothers told, that was what men did—drink and carouse.
Alayna could not lie still. She threw off her covers, then found herself shivering and pulled them back on, over and over until the linens were in a hopeless tangle. Finally, she got up and, wrapping the outer comforter around herself, began to pace her chambers.
Let the wretched man drink himself sick, for all I care. He’ll come out of it eventually, and then he’ll see reason.
At last, chilled and so tired she kept bumping into furniture, she tumbled back into bed. She tried to fix her thoughts on the reunion with Kyria, but they kept slipping away . . .
And then she opened her eyes, and it was morning. The maids must have come in, for a fire emanated gentle warmth, a handful of sweetly aromatic incense had been added to the logs, and its aroma blended with the smell of jaco. The water in the ewer on the washstand was still warm. Alayna washed her face and hands, dabbing at her eyes. Despite the evidence that she had indeed slept, her lids burned as if she’d lain awake, weeping, all night. Perhaps the best strategy would be to avoid Gwynn until she looked more composed. She pulled off her nightgown and scrambled into her chemise and woolen stockings, then the old gray tunic and underskirt, and her low fur-lined boots.
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