Alayna was too appalled to summon a response.
“At Midwinter, when I learned how I had been betrayed and realized how dire the threat was, the weather forced me to delay taking any action,” Gwynn said. “I had to build up my strength and then wait until the weather changed, but my army used that time to good advantage, I assure you. Even now, a single file of riders can get through the snow drifts, but in a tenday, when the passes are fully open, we will be ready to march. Aldaran still believes we mean him well. He will never suspect the havoc that is about to descend upon him.”
And on Kyria—and her babes.
Acid raked the back of her throat. Her stomach heaved. She pressed both hands to her mouth, praying she would not vomit.
“My lady?” Ruyven bent toward her. “Vai dom, we must get her out of here, lest she become ill.”
“Take her away. The fate of realms are the concern of men.” Gwynn paused, one hand on the door latch. “It is always a mistake to involve the women.”
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With as much dignity as Alayna could muster, she allowed herself to be conducted back to the castle. Ruyven stayed behind with Gwynn. Her escort clearly meant to ensure that she reached her private rooms safely and without the opportunity to speak to anyone on the way.
Once the door to her chambers had closed behind her, she could not stand still. Her mind seethed, thoughts churning like grains of wheat in a boiling pot. This looming calamity was her fault. She should have seen it coming. All the signs had been there. If only she’d spoken earlier, before Gwynn’s preparations became so extensive, his aim so fixed, his resolve so implacable. Her own hopes—not to mention her inexperience with drunken husbands and long-festering resentments—had blinded her to the real danger.
A man does not keep his sword sharpened only to let it gather dust on the wall.
If only the old lords—Aldaran and Scathfell both—had resolved their differences as kinsmen should, peacefully and with honor. If only Great-Aunt Aliciane had never come to Aldaran, or that Gwynn had never thought of marrying a Rockraven daughter. If only those thrice-damned brigands had left Kyria alone. If only.
No, this would not do. If she kept on like this, blaming herself, blaming him, blaming the idiocy of the previous generation, feeding the panic even now rising in her, she would work herself into an hysterical fit. Lowering herself into her favorite chair, she forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply.
Gwynn meant what he said. He would march as soon as the passes opened, within a tenday, and it was useless to try again to reason with him. That would only deepen the rift between them, if he did not place her under guard and key to keep her silent.
She had no idea of Aldaran’s military strength. From what she knew of Edric, it probably wasn’t much. He’d spent all that time in a Tower, leaving his mother to administer lands and castle, and Alayna had never heard Lady Renata described as hawkish. Edric would have no warning, no chance to prepare a defense, and when Aldaran fell, what would happen to Kyria and her sons? Would Gwynn—and here, Alayna’s imagination refused to function. Men, even ordinarily decent men, did terrible things in war. She’d heard enough of her brothers’ stories, especially those she wasn’t supposed to hear. In the end, however, Gwynn meant to smash Aldaran, to make sure it never again posed a threat to Scathfell.
Over and over, like echoes, thoughts filled her mind:
Gwynn means to destroy them all. He will not listen to me.
I have to do something. I have to save Kyria—and her babes—and Edric.
Gwynn will destroy them.
I have to stop him. I have to save Kyria.
After a time, Perdita entered, her expression somber. Alayna jumped to her feet and, blinking back tears, took her hands. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you, my friend.”
“Please tell me what has happened.” Perdita led Alayna back to her chair and took the other, facing her.
Alayna related how she tended Ruyven’s wound and then convinced him to take her to the army fields and what she found there. Somewhat to her surprise, reciting the events drained them of their nightmarish quality. I did this and I saw this was so much more manageable than if only.
“Lord Scathfell intends to attack Aldaran?” Perdita asked. “I know of the old feud, who does not? But I thought when Lord Aldaran himself came to tend to Domna Dimitra, that all would be well. Was I mistaken?”
“If you were, then so was I. But then my husband discovered that my sister is alive and married to Lord Aldaran.”
“The one who was supposed to have married Lord Scathfell but was then presumed dead?”
“Word came the night of Midwinter Festival. Do you remember?”
“I remember how happy you and Lord Scathfell seemed, and then he left the room and when he came back, his manner was greatly altered. The two of you barely spoke a word to one another. He must have been dreadfully offended to learn how he had been deceived, if indeed there was any intention to do so. And I suppose that Lord Aldaran must have had a good reason for keeping his marriage a secret.”
A terrifying thought crossed Alayna’s mind, that Gwynn might seek her own death and then Edric’s, to clear the way for his marriage to Kyria. Fertile Kyria. She could not believe it—not Gwynn! He might be—how had Dimitra put it, paranoid?—but he was not a wife-murderer. Hadn’t he said he would not take a mistress out of respect for her? They had shared a bed, the hopes for a child; she had seen love in his eyes, felt the tenderness of his caresses, and seen how deeply moved he was when she’d sung the ballad for him. Had she been so mistaken about him?
Alayna wrenched herself back to the present, to her sweet friend and confidante. “My husband fears, rightly or mistakenly, that Aldaran means to revive the old conflict. How little he knows of Edric Aldaran. But his mind has been poisoned by having grown up with tales of devastation, murder, and unforgivable humiliation. He lost so much—a brother he adored, his father, and then his mother. I thought he was leaving those tragedies behind, but now the secrecy surrounding my sister’s rescue and marriage has confirmed his fears. Now he is determined go to war as soon as the army can move. That will be very soon now, which is why I must get to Aldaran first.”
“Aldaran? Isn’t that the worst place to be on the eve of an attack, in the stronghold of the enemy?” Perdita twined her fingers in Alayna’s as if to physically restrain her. “No, no, you must not risk yourself—and for what purpose?”
“Why, to warn them. If this attack is a misguided disaster, then how much worse will it be if it succeeds?”
“You wish Scathfell to fail?”
“I wish there to be no war at all,” Alayna replied, pulling her hands away. “But as I cannot achieve that, the next best thing is for our army to find the gates barred to them, the walls secured. For that to happen, Lord Aldaran must have time to prepare a defense. Then it will not be within my husband’s power to harm him or anyone. Gwynn will not be happy about that at all. Dear gods, he will not! Eventually, I hope he will accept the futility of his campaign. He must, though he be reduced to eating stones for bread. He and his men will come home, and that will be the end of it.”
“Home, where you will not be,” Perdita pointed out, “unless you can sneak past a siege and outpace the returning Scathfell army. Think what you are proposing to do, my lady. Can you not send someone else?”
Alayna shook her head. “I cannot be certain anyone else would be believed, and if Gwynn ever found out . . . it would be better if I were not here.”
“Is this scheme worth the loss of your home?” Perdita said. “Will Lord Scathfell ever forgive your betrayal?”
“I don’t know, but that must not stop me from acting in the best interest of us all. As to how I will return to Scathfell, I have no idea. It would grieve me to be parted from my husband, but even more so to see what he will surely become, should he succeed in this dreadful
scheme. That is, if he is still alive when it is over.”
Perdita gazed at her for a long moment, so long that Alayna began to fear that she had made a mistake in trusting her. She had to admit to having sounded quite demented. But at last, Perdita nodded. “I see that you are determined, and I will help you in any way I can. With your permission, I propose to enlist the advice of Domna Dimitra. She may have knowledge of people and ways, not to mention travel preparations, that goes beyond my own.”
Alayna agreed, thinking that surely three heads were better than one.
Perdita returned a short time later, accompanied by Dimitra. “Damisela Perdita has told me of the impending military action and your scheme to counter it,” Dimitra said as the three of them settled themselves. “My lady, if anyone else had concocted such a plan, I would presume them mad.”
“Not mad, only desperate,” Alayna said. “If you can think of any other way, I would gladly hear it.”
Dimitra shook her head. “I fear there is none. I have seen and heard more of Lord Scathfell’s behavior than you. Servants talk, and I listen. Alas, I do not think you exaggerate the danger. But Perdita asked me to help you, and I intend to do just that. Have you thought how will you reach Aldaran? The snow is not so thick this past tenday, but the passes will be difficult to negotiate, especially for a fine lady.”
“I know you will be astonished to hear me admit this, but I am not a fine lady,” Alayna said, catching Perdita’s grin out of the corner of her vision. “I grew up in a mountainous area, not unlike this one, and I have traveled through worse weather than this. It is spring, after all, and a single rider, or a small party, can venture where an army cannot.”
Perdita’s fair brows drew together. “Surely you were not alone then? When you endured such hardship on the road?”
“No, that was when Kyria and I left our home to come here,” Alayna replied. “Dom Ruyven escorted us, and there were guards, of course, to protect us and set up camp. Tend to the animals, cook meals. Guide us to a travel shelter during the snowstorm.” She tried not to remember how very cold and miserable she had been, and most likely would be again, only this time she would have neither Francisco nor Edric nor even Ruyven to comfort her.
“Guide . . .” Dimitra repeated. “Of course, you had a guide who knew how to arrange winter travel and was familiar with these mountains. And so you need one now.”
Alayna shook her head. “I do not know any of the men in the castle well enough to trust. I dare not risk Lord Scathfell discovering my plan.”
“Then you must look elsewhere,” Perdita said. “The village, perhaps?”
“The village indeed,” Dimitra said. “But you must not approach anyone you do not know, especially not a man who may have much to gain by betraying you to Lord Scathfell.”
“I don’t know anyone in the village.”
“But you do, vai domna. Tarva, the midwife. Did you not say she tended me before Lord Aldaran arrived? I was very ill at the time, so I do not remember much, and I have been told that my malady was beyond her skill. Nevertheless, once I was able, I sent a gift of grain and cloth to her. If I am not mistaken, she is the headman’s grandmother and is therefore the real power in the village.”
Alayna felt a little ashamed at having forgotten the old woman. So much had happened since then, she might justify the lapse, but the lady of the castle ought to know the inhabitants of the surrounding lands. “Can I trust her?”
“Such women are accustomed to keeping their own counsel, so yes, I believe you can, or there is no faithfulness anywhere.”
Listening to Dimitra’s confident words, Alayna was filled with gratitude. She had not thought how she might bring warning to Aldaran, only that she must. Now at least she had a first step. With any luck, Tarva would pass her on to others who could help her. For a moment, she reconsidered whether she might ask someone in the village to carry the message for her.
It has to be me, although Gwynn may never take me back. But then at least I will be with Kyria.
“Finding a guide will be only the beginning,” Perdita said. “You will need warm clothing—fur, if possible, or good, thick wool—and boots with two pairs of socks, and a sturdy horse accustomed to cold weather.”
She ticked off items on her fingers with such assuredness that Alayna wondered how many escapades she had been party to.
“Food, of course,” Dimitra added. “A little money. And we will need to keep your absence hidden for as long as possible.”
“Goodness, you two have thought of everything. At least, far more than I have,” Alayna exclaimed. “Perdita, I had no idea that someone so accustomed to court life in a city, would know about such things.”
“Last winter’s musical entertainments were all about desperate elopements,” Perdita explained.
Alayna laughed outright and Dimitra hid a smile.
“Five different versions, if you can believe,” Perdita went on, “all but one of them ending with the lovers dying tragically, frozen in each other’s arms. Singing at the top of their lungs, of course.”
“Well, that isn’t going to happen to me,” Alayna said. “The singing. Or the freezing.”
“No, indeed,” Perdita said. “But in one of these entertainments, in the one I liked best, the lady’s breda dons her clothing and takes her place, so the elopement is not discovered until it is too late.”
“An excellent idea,” Dimitra said.
Alayna studied her friend. They were close enough in size, although Perdita’s hair was darker, though it could be hidden underneath a scarf or cowl.
“Perdita, you must also say that Lady Scathfell is unwell and not to be disturbed,” Dimitra said, “and I will mention now and again that I have seen you, but you are keeping to your bed. We must hope that Lord Scathfell would not impose on an indisposed wife.”
“He will surely be too preoccupied with his army to sit down for a chat with me,” Alayna said with a trace of sorrow. “In any case, he’s avoided me thus far, and there’s no reason to think he wouldn’t continue to do so.”
The three women spent the better part of an hour, working out more details of their plan. Dimitra was practical, while Perdita made the whole affair sound both exciting and romantic. Alayna herself had a much better idea what was in store for her. If she was very lucky, the skies would continue to be clear and the winds quiet, but she must prepare herself for worse.
On the appointed day, when everything had been made ready, Alayna rose well before dawn. Perdita helped her to dress in the warmest clothing they could find: wool trousers tucked into fur-lined boots under a divided skirt, topped by a snug-fitting jacket. Plus thick-knitted cap, scarf, and gloves. The outfit was too warm to wear comfortably while still inside, but because it might mean the difference between freezing and survival, she had to bear it. Dimitra had prepared a satchel stuffed with travel food, several changes of socks and undergarments, necessities such as a small sewing kit, and a purse of small denomination coins.
After kissing her friends goodbye, Alayna slipped passed the guards and down to the gates. At that hour, with the faint intimation of dawn lightening the eastern sky, the grooms would already be about their work, feeding their charges and mucking out the stalls. She wished she could have taken her own horse, but the bay would be missed immediately.
As she expected, she was stopped at the gates. She pulled the hood of her cloak forward over her face—not that the guard there would recognize Lady Scathfell on sight—and tried to sound like Sadhi as she explained that she’d come from the village to fill in working in the kitchen and was on her way home. He let her pass without demanding her name.
Hardly daring to believe her stroke of good luck, Alayna proceeded along the road. At first she had to go slowly because of the near darkness, but by the time the village was in sight, she could see quite clearly. Lights shone from every house, and women as wel
l as men and boys were visibly at work. Some of them led or herded livestock: a cow or two, chervines, some sort of round-bodied clucking birds, and a mule. Their voices blended with the sounds of the animals, reminding her of winter mornings at Rockraven.
She settled the satchel over her shoulder and headed for what looked like the center of the village. The first person she encountered was a half-grown boy, who was trying to lead a half dozen chervines away from the livestock pens. His clothes were ragged and covered with patches, and his cheeks looked pinched, his eyes too large in his skull. Bony wrists stuck out from too-short sleeves. When she asked him where Tarva the healer woman lived, he looked at her with an expression of consternation. She watched him hurry away, unable to decide if her accent, her appearance, or the simple fact of her being a stranger was what rendered him speechless.
The next person she saw was a woman, swathed in layers of shawls, a cowl covering her head and shoulders. Her skirts swayed as she balanced two buckets in a yoke over her shoulders. She was not as thin as the boy, but her skin was roughened and dark circles marked her eyes.
“Fair day to you,” Alayna said, in the way common folk at Rockraven greeted one another.
“Aye, that it is,” the woman replied, slowing to take a closer look at Alayna.
“I’m new here,” Alayna hastened to say. “I’m looking for the healer. Tarva.”
“Ah, the headman’s grandmam,” the woman replied with genuine warmth. “That house there, the one at the end of the lane. She’s a good ’un, for all she keeps to herself. Birthed many a babe here, and many a babe and mam are still alive for her skill. An’ she can stitch up a cut or soothe a fever as well as any I’ve heard.”
This was high praise. These plain folk had no leronis to heal them or to see the women safely through childbirth, but they managed nonetheless. “You are very fortunate to have her, then.”
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