by Karen Miller
A score of pounding strides and he’d caught them.
“Lindara!”
She’d slowed her pace, was riding conspicuously last. And since she never let herself fall behind she must want him to join her. As he reached her side she nodded, but there was no smile, no laughter. The Lindara he loved always laughed during a hunt.
Feeling sick, churned with fright, he matched his horse’s pace to hers.
Ahead of them the hounds’ baying changed pitch, yelped higher and more lustily. Woodcocks and silver pigeons burst from their leafy hiding, escaping into the forest-fretted sky. Vidar stood awkwardly in his stirrups, stared over the heads of the riders in front of him at the creature being hunted. Another boar in panicked flight, Harald’s hounds snarling and snapping at its bristled rump. It swerved leftwards, desperate, and the hounds swerved after it. A fallen tree, slanting, crushed spring-green undergrowth, blocking their path. The boar blundered under it but the hounds leapt it freely, as though they had wings, and the following horses leapt it too. Side by side with Lindara, Vidar felt his horse gather itself beneath him, felt its quarters drop, its shoulders lift. Her horse was a mirror. They cleared the fallen tree as one.
And still she didn’t laugh.
A cry of triumph from the leading riders as they burst into a clearing. The hounds yelped their excitement. The boar let out a grunting squeal.
“We have it! We have it!” And that was Gerbod, who never let a man or woman ride by him. “Go to, dogs, go to!”
More yelping, snapping, snarling. A hound shrieked, then was silent. Milling confusion, steaming sweat, stamping hooves, excited voices, as the hunting pack of nobles surrounded the stricken boar.
“Vidar, with me! Quickly!”
Startled again, Vidar spurred his horse after Lindara. At a swift trot, neatly ducking under branches and skirting Bingham’s great oaks, she guided him away from the sounds of slaughter in the clearing. When the shouting and barking were dulled to a whisper, she stopped. Took a moment to be certain they were alone, then swung her horse around to face him.
“I was told not to tell you this, but I don’t care,” she said, reckless. “Vidar, I’m to wed Roric.”
The breath left his body as though he were a boar, run through his pounding heart with a spear.
“Wed Roric?” he croaked. “You can’t.”
She spurred her horse forward until they were close enough to touch. But his beloved didn’t touch him. Her gloved fingers were tight on the reins, and her eyes glittered in her bloodless face. “I must. Humbert has given me to him, and there’s no taking me back. Make your peace with it, Vidar, as I have.”
The jangle of steel bridle work, as his horse rubbed a sweaty cheek on its knee. In his head, a dreadful roaring. In his body, so much pain.
“Peace?” He choked down the rising bile. “You wanton bitch! You bawdy strumpet! You never loved me, did you? All along you’ve wanted Roric. You want the power he can give you. I was only ever—”
“You know me better!” she cried, her voice catching as tears spilled. “On my knees, on my belly, I begged Humbert to spare me. I told him I had one love in this life, you, and that if he loved me he’d not force me into Roric’s bed. He wouldn’t listen. With my brothers dead he wants immortality through my children. He said my first duty as his daughter was to him and to Clemen and that in marrying Roric I’d serve both, and do him honour.”
“Honour.” Sweating, freezing, Vidar pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, praying he’d not vomit. Breathed hard for a moment, then let his hand fall. “What would Humbert know of honour, when he whores out his daughter for the sake of a ducal crown?”
“I’m no whore,” she said, chin lifting. “I’m no bitch or bawdy strumpet. If you love me, guard your tongue.”
“If I love you? Lindara—”
“You know I can’t refuse my father,” she said, as though he hadn’t spoken. “I wed Roric or die a prisoner in Larkspur castle. Please—” Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Don’t say you’d rather I died.”
As if he would! “Does Roric know you love me?”
“I’d be a fool to tell him, wouldn’t I? He might send you away–and Humbert would beat me till my bones break.”
“And what of Roric? Does he love you?”
“No.”
“Does he know I love you?”
“I don’t know. But even if Humbert told him, it’s made no difference.”
He lost sight of her then, his eye blurred with stinging tears. “I’ll kill him,” he said thickly, feeling his hand move to his dagger. “I’ll kill them both.”
“And kill yourself? Don’t you be a fool.”
“You’d have me do nothing?” he demanded, smearing his face dry. “Stand by as Roric fucks you without love, and do nothing?”
“No,” she said, her voice like ice. “I’d have you fuck me and put your son on his precious Falcon Throne.”
Stunned to silence, he stared at her. “You’re mad,” he said at last.
Now she was smiling, not with joy, but wintry hate. “I’m not.”
“Lindara, it isn’t possible. You can’t—”
“But I can,” she said, still smiling. “And believe me, I will. I can turn Roric’s seed to salt and he’ll never know, or even suspect.”
He breathed out, slowly. “How?”
“Babies and birthing are women’s business. There are potions, and certain charms.”
“Sorcery?”
Her cold smile widened, baring her teeth. “That’s what men call it. Women call it something else.”
“Whatever you call it, if you’re discovered it means death!”
She shrugged. “I won’t be discovered.”
“You don’t know that! Lindara—”
“Poor Vidar. Are you frightened?”
He’d never heard her so cruelly mocking. “My love—”
“Don’t call me that!” she spat. “If I was your love you’d have claimed me from Humbert weeks ago and this wouldn’t be happening!”
She blamed him? “Lindara—”
“What’s it to be, Vidar? You mean nothing to Roric and Humbert. I mean nothing. Will you fight them with me? For I must fight. If I do nothing to avenge myself then I deserve—”
Raised voices, approaching. Laughter. A rhythmic drumming of hooves.
Lindara spurred her horse back a pace. “We mustn’t be seen. Go. I’ll find you later, for your answer.”
As she urged her horse into a canter, abandoning him, Vidar kicked his feet free of his stirrups and slid to the damp, leafy ground. Scooped a handful of sticky mud and dirtied his face, his russet doublet, the side of his hunting leathers and his horse’s knees. A moment later Roric appeared between the trees, flanked by Humbert and Aistan. Seeing him, they slowed their horses to a halt.
“Vidar!” said Roric. “We wondered where you were. Never say you were unseated!”
What was his pride, next to Lindara’s safety? He winced, not needing to pretend any physical discomfort. Hunting was a torment. “Alas.” A slap on his horse’s neck. “The beast stumbled.”
“Are you much hurt?”
Oh, so now the bastard would feel his pain? “Not to speak of.”
“You missed two fine kills,” said Humbert, jubilant. Dried blood smeared his sleeve, flecked his beard. “The court will eat well tonight.”
Aistan, also blood-flecked, frowned. “Vidar, can you ride?”
To answer, and to hide the sudden burn of fury, Vidar re-mounted. Never mind that he was clumsy, that because of his hip he had to hop and clutch and haul. Settled into his saddle, with a blank stare he dared them to say a word.
“My lords,” said Roric, “I’d speak privately with Vidar. Ride ahead to the hunting lodge and make sure those boar are dealt with as they should be.”
Humbert cleared his throat. “If it’s all the same to you, Roric, I’d like to find my daughter. Aistan knows what he’s about when it comes to boar. Don’t y
ou, Aistan?”
“Fine,” said Roric. “I’ll see you both at the lodge.”
“Is something wrong, my lord?” Vidar asked, all friendly deference, once they were alone. It was vital that Roric never suspect his seething hatred. “That shite Ercole’s not raising a riot, is he?”
Roric shook his head. “He knows better. Vidar, I’ve news for you. I doubt you’ll like it.”
“Tell me,” he said, as the late morning’s filtering sunlight turned to snow on his skin. “Is it Harcia? Do Aimery’s Marcher lords cause trouble on the eve of your acclamation?”
“I could almost wish they did,” Roric murmured. “Vidar, I’m wedding Lindara.”
Even though he knew already, even though he’d braced himself to hear the familiar words, it was like being spear-skewered a second time.
“I’m sorry,” Roric added. “Humbert tells me you’re fond of her.”
“Fond?” He laughed, feeling sick. “My lord–Roric–I love her.”
A stricken look in Roric’s eyes. “Oh.”
“Can you say the same?”
“Lindara is dear to me.”
“So you can’t,” he said, hearing his voice crack. “Roric—”
Roric nudged his horse closer. “It’s a matter of state, Vidar. Of what’s best for our duchy.”
He could easily smash Roric’s earnest face to blood and bony splinters. “Why Lindara? Clemen is full of women. Fuck, the world is full of women.” Another strangled laugh. “For you, at least. For a duke. For me there’s only one. Choose someone else.”
“Vidar…” Roric rubbed a gloved hand across his face. The gesture left a smear of boar’s blood in its wake. “I would, if I could. But my choices are more limited than you want to believe and I must put Clemen’s welfare first. So for our duchy’s sake you’ll let Lindara go… and I’ll wed her.”
He wanted to shout You arrogant shit, she doesn’t love you! She loves me! But he couldn’t. The truth would put Lindara in danger. His only choice was deceit. To play the obedient courtier and let Roric think he’d won. But he didn’t dare surrender without any fight.
“Is this why you haven’t restored what’s mine?” he said, hearing his voice grate. “Have you kept me noble in name only so Humbert would never take my suit seriously?”
Roric flinched. “No! Vidar, I promised you’d have all you’re owed, and you will. You’ll have more. I’ll grant you your choice of a ducal estate, and a seat on the council. Your name will be a byword for courage and honour far beyond Clemen’s borders.”
In other words the bastard thought he was a whore, to be bought. “I risked my life to sit your arse on Harald’s throne.”
“And I’m in your debt for that,” said Roric. “But would you truly ask me to put you before all of Clemen?”
Silence, save for the natural sounds of Bingham forest and the quiet clinking of their horses’ bits. His breathing unsteady, Vidar let Roric see the depth of his pain. “You know how I must answer.”
“Then what else is there to say?”
“You can tell me one thing. When you asked Lindara to marry you… did you know my feelings?”
“No.”
“And if you had known?”
“I truly am sorry, Vidar.” Roric smiled, sadly. As though his sorrow mattered. Then he held out his hand. “I hope one day you can forgive me. And I hope you’ll take that seat on the council. I need all the good men around me I can find.”
Vidar stared at the drying bloodstains on Roric’s gold-embroidered leather glove. More than anything he wanted to slap the offered hand aside, reject Roric’s insulting bribe. But a seat on the council would keep him in Eaglerock, near Lindara. Which was imperative if he was to fall in with her mad plan.
A plan that now tempted him like a sweet sugar plum.
Slowly he let himself be clasped wrist-to-wrist. “All right. I’ll take that council seat, Your Grace. As for a ducal estate… Coldspring leaps to mind.”
“Coldspring,” said Roric, not quite hiding the wince. “You have excellent taste, Vidar.”
“In all things.”
Roric’s grasp tightened. “And what of forgiveness?”
“Treat Lindara well. Make her happy. I’ll not forgive her tears.”
“Thank you, Vidar,” said Roric, releasing him. “I won’t forget this.”
Shaking, he watched Harald’s bastard cousin ride away.
“And nor will I forget it,” he whispered. “For you’re all the same, you great men of power. You see the rest of us as puppets and play with us as you will.”
Harald had called him a traitor. And in Harald’s eyes, he was. But nothing he’d done had been a betrayal of Clemen. Ridding the duchy of Harald had been an act of loyal love. But to cuckold Roric, trick him into naming another man’s son as his heir…
Then he would be a traitor.
But how could he forsake Lindara? So wounded. So used. Her father’s pawn. Roric’s convenience. No one to think of her, protect her, love her, but him. And what was he? A disinherited, landless fool who’d put off making his declaration until it was too late, leaving the woman he loved vulnerable. A fool who’d risked everything for Roric, who’d arranged the murder of an infant, only to be kicked aside like a cur dog, his feelings counting for naught. For that he was owed his own revenge.
If I am traitor, what of it? He betrayed me first.
Eaglerock castle contained the finest library in the duchy. Late that night, Vidar ran Aistan to ground there, amidst the leather-bound books and hand-painted manuscripts and industrious silence. Aistan looked deeply weary, his lean face pale in the library’s generous lamplight. Scattered books lay open before him, and on a sheet of ink-smudged paper much untidy writing.
“Vidar,” he said, looking up, “did you want something?”
“A little of your time, if you can spare it.”
“I can.” Aistan set down his quill. “Join me.”
Vidar pulled out one of the heavy oak chairs on his side of the long, broad library table and sat. “Thank you, my lord.”
A glimmer in Aistan’s dark, deepset eyes. “As a rule such formality isn’t held between fellow councillors.”
“Ah. So you know.”
“Roric announced your appointment this afternoon.”
And here was a chance to nip speculation in the bud. “He made me the offer this morning, after the hunt. That’s why he sent you and Humbert ahead. Do you mislike it?”
“You’ve earned the honour.” Aistan tapped his calloused fingertips to the table. “He also announced his plan to wed with Humbert’s daughter.”
He feigned surprise. “Lindara?”
“The same.”
“And do you mislike that?”
Aistan shrugged. “’Tis a better notion than he marry with Berardine of Ardenn’s heir.”
No need for feigning this time. “What? Whose brain-rotted idea was that?”
“It was the widow’s doing. She came here in secret and threw her brat at Roric’s feet. Fortunately, he rejected them both.”
“Fortunate for Clemen but not for him. Lindara would still be his, had Roric agreed. Curse the bastard for loyalty.”
“Mind you,” said Aistan, after a moment. “If you’d have the truth I suspect he was tempted. Tell me, Vidar. D’you like our new duke?”
An odd question, without warning. Vidar felt instinct stir. “I like him well enough,” he said, meeting Aistan’s hooded stare. “We’re too different to be close, but there’s much to admire in him.”
“There is. Though he’s young and still unseasoned when it comes to murky political waters.”
“He has Humbert to guide him.”
A muscle twitched in Aistan’s cheek. “Humbert’s not infallible.”
Something was brewing here. Not regret, nothing so dire. But a seasoned caution that might well be useful, in time. With Roric now his enemy he needed Aistan’s good will… and more.
“Does something concern you?”
he prompted. “I’m not a babble-monger, Aistan. We speak in confidence.”
Silence, as Aistan weighed him. Then the deepest lines carved into his careworn face eased. “Berardine of Ardenn is a proud woman, and stubborn. If she has ambitions in Clemen one rebuff won’t kill them. She’ll seek another way to pluck the plums from our pie.”
“And you fear Roric won’t see her for what she is till it’s too late?”
“I fear he looks for the good in people and is swift to give them the benefit of the doubt,” said Aistan, heavily. “Long after such benefits should be exhausted. You remember how much persuasion he needed to stand against Harald.”
Indeed he did. “I agree he’s unseasoned and sometimes too trusting. But what can we do, my lord? Roric is our duke.”
“And we are his councillors. Whose first duty must lie with Clemen. It’s why we threw down Harald.” Aistan’s fingers tapped again, restless. “I’m doing what I can to keep Berardine constrained, but should the widow prove wily, Vidar, will I have your support to stand more fiercely against her?”
“Against her or anyone who threatens Clemen’s peace,” he said promptly. “I’ll risk Roric’s anger before our duchy’s future.”
Aistan smiled. “It heartens me to know I wasn’t mistaken in you, Vidar.”
And here was the opening he’d sought, the chance to pursue his reason for seeking Aistan out so late.
“You weren’t. My lord, if I might touch upon a personal matter? You’ll recall the offer you made me in Heartsong. Your daughter’s hand? I’ve kept silent till now because my position remained uncertain. But with all doubt removed, I wanted to—”
“I’m sorry,” said Aistan. “But it seems I spoke too soon. Kennise…” His eyes glittered. “She’s not well.”
“She rejects marriage?”
“She fears it.” Aistan sighed. “And after Harald’s cruelty, how can I rage? You know there’s talk of the Exarch wishing to establish one of those women’s contemplative houses in Clemen?”
“I’d heard mention.”
“What do you think?”
