Corin paused there, and looked up from his work so his eyes might meet mine. Once again I felt that strange shiver move through my body, even though the room was warm enough.
“Yes, about that,” I said, taking care to keep my tone light. “I must confess I find it rather odd that you would act on such an offer when you had no fixed home, and when you had not even laid eyes on the lady in question.”
“No, I had not seen you,” he admitted. “Not precisely, at any rate. But your father showed me your portrait where it hung in the hall, and so I knew you were comely enough.”
Comely enough? I thought, a stab of irritation piercing me. When the Earl of Ellesmere’s son once said my beauty was enough to light up the heavens?
At the time I had been flattered by those words, although in the end I had turned down his suit — mostly because I thought that having to spend the next fifty or so years listening to those sorts of fulsome compliments would slowly drive me mad.
Because I could not trust myself to reply, I remained silent, and after a moment, Corin continued with his story.
“Besides, I had been thinking for some time that I should find a place to settle, marry, have a family. I will be eight and twenty in a few months, far past the usual time when a man does such things. But I also wondered how I would find a wife, since my existence has been so unsettled of late.” With gentle fingers, he put my foot back in the warm water, and set the cloth he had been using off to one side. I tried not to pay much attention to the rusty-colored stains that now marred the white surface of the linen. “So when your father made his offer to me, I thought it must be a sign from the gods, that here was the chance I had been looking for. Mad as it seemed, I could not help but accept.”
How could I argue with such an argument? I supposed there were some who might question such unthinking acceptance of fate, but better that than agreeing to take me off my father’s hands simply because fifty gold crowns was inducement enough for a man in Corin’s position. I also reflected that I could have done far worse. At least the man who was now my husband was handsome and gentle and kind. He had carried me in his arms so I might take no further hurt, had washed my feet as tenderly and carefully as Sendra herself might have.
“But,” he went on briskly, “we will have to see about purchasing you some real shoes tomorrow, and some thicker stockings, or you will be no better off than you were today.”
While I could not question the wisdom of such purchases, I also couldn’t help quailing at the thought of walking on feet that hadn’t had a chance to heal properly. “Perhaps — perhaps we should stay here for a few days, make sure I am fit to travel before we worry about such things.”
A line etched itself between his brows as he frowned. “No, I cannot afford that delay. Already I have lost time because of being sent in the wrong direction, and I dare not lose any more days. Otherwise, we risk appearing at Marric’s Rest, only to find the bulk of the harvest done, and no work to be had. I will also buy some fresh linen to make bandages, and we will wrap your feet so you will suffer no further hurt.”
How could I argue with him? I knew he spoke only the simple truth; although I had no intimate knowledge of the grape harvest, I knew enough about farming in general to understand that all crops had their days when they would be at their peak, and therefore best for harvesting. If I asked Corin to stay here, we ran the very real risk of not earning enough to get us through the winter.
“I suppose that should be all right,” I said. My tone sounded grudging even to me, however, and I quickly added, “I am quite sure that a good night’s rest will make me right as rain.”
He smiled, although I thought I noted something strained about his expression. Almost as though against his will, his gaze flickered toward the sturdy bedstead set up against the opposite wall.
Oh, dear. I had nearly forgotten about that. Because I did not want to betray my own anxiety, I sought to change the subject. “My feet are feeling ever much better. Perhaps I should take them from the water now?”
“Yes, I think that will be fine.” Corin waited as I pulled my feet from the basin — to be fair, the water within was now no more than lukewarm, and therefore not providing much of a service any longer — and then blotted them with the cloth. “I would let them dry in the air before putting on a fresh pair of stockings, though.”
“Of course.”
He stood, then said, not quite looking at me, “I will go downstairs and check to find out when we can expect our dinner. And I think I will ask for a bottle of wine. We should have something to celebrate our wedding.”
I could only nod, thinking once again how different this reality was from what I had imagined for my wedding day. And then, once Corin had gone downstairs to speak with the innkeeper, I allowed a relieved breath to escape my lips. I needed a moment to myself, to collect my thoughts. Yes, I still had very little idea of what being married actually entailed, but I knew it must have something to do with the bed, which now seemed to loom larger and larger, like some frightening monster out of legend.
Unfortunately, there seemed to be little I could do to avoid my fate.
CHAPTER 4
“Not the most illustrious of vintages, I fear,” Corin said as he poured some wine into my pewter goblet. “But somewhat more festive than mere cider.”
“I am sure it will be fine.” We sat at the table by the window, with the purple hour of dusk sending its soft, mysterious light into the chamber. Candles flickered in the sconces on the wall, and a squat specimen sat in a tin plate on the tabletop between us. Its light awoke new shadows and planes and contours in Corin’s face, accenting the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the dark glitter of his eyes.
Although this was the same man who had brought me here earlier today, he seemed different in that light, even more of an unknown. I told myself not to be overly dramatic, for in truth, his demeanor was friendly, almost casual, as if we were two friends meeting for a long-delayed meal, rather than a pair of newlyweds sharing their first supper.
He raised his cup. “To the most beautiful woman in the province.”
Warm blood rushed to my cheeks. “Good sir, you need not be extravagant in your praise simply because I am now your wife.”
“Oh, I do not think I am being extravagant.” His head tilted to one side as he surveyed me, while I did my best not to flush even more than I already had. “No, you are exceedingly beautiful, Marenna Sedren.”
“Marenna Blackstone,” I corrected him gently.
“Ah, yes.” He was silent for a moment before going on, “I do not think there is even a woman at court who could hold a candle to you. It is a pity that those fine ladies will not have a chance to be properly outshone.”
His words puzzled me, for certainly he had not described to me a life where he had been anywhere near court. “Have you seen the court ladies?” I asked. “I did not think you had been to Iselfex.”
At once he seemed to go still, and then he shrugged slightly. “Oh, I have traveled many places, my lady wife. So yes, I have been to Iselfex, and had the honor of seeing his Majesty and his court ride out from the palace to take their sport in the countryside.”
Oh, what a wonder that must have been. Right then, I could not quite hold back a flicker of resentment toward my father, who had never had much use for court, much preferring quiet life in the country. Indeed, after a trip to the capital when I was barely six, we had never returned. Our town house there retained a skeleton staff to make sure all was in order, just in case his lordship ever took the notion to visit Iselfex, but I knew my father would not do such a thing. And since one’s presence at court was not a prerequisite for retaining one’s title, I doubted he ever would.
“I have heard Her Majesty is very beautiful,” I said. That was no more than the truth, for even in Silverhold we had heard the tales of our young Empress, how her hair flamed like fire — a rarity here in Sirlende, where almost everyone had dark eyes and hair — and how she had come from nothing
to become the highest lady in the land.
“Yes, I suppose she is,” Corin remarked, but his tone was so offhand that I could not feel any jealousy over such a comment. “But I still think you might surpass her.”
“And the Crown Princess,” I persisted. “I have also heard her beauty was such that lords and princes from all over the continent vied for her hand.”
A strange, shuttered expression overtook Corin’s features. He took a sip from the wine in his cup, and I followed suit, realizing that we had never properly finished our toast. After he sipped again, he said, “Well, of course her Highness would be in demand, for she was the sister of the Emperor. I very much doubt her beauty had a great deal to do with it. At any rate, despite what the stories might have said, there were not that many available to ‘vie for her hand,’ since most of those princes and lords had been promised from birth to someone else.”
His tone was far harsher than I had yet heard it, and I wondered at his vitriol. But then I recalled how the Crown Princess had thrown over Lord Sorthannic to marry the Hierarch of Keshiaar, and wondered whether my new husband was experiencing some misplaced anger on behalf of the man he hoped would soon give him employment and a place to live. While I could not completely understand Corin’s anger, I did think it would probably be better to make sure I did not mention Princess Lyarris after we reached Marric’s Rest.
“Ah, I had not thought of it that way,” I said, and set down my goblet so I might take up my spoon and get a bite of chicken stew, now that it had had a chance to cool down a bit.
For a moment, Corin did not speak. Then his expression grew gentle, and he asked, “Why were you not promised from birth, Marenna? As the daughter of a baron, should you not have had a betrothed?”
I was not empty-headed enough that I couldn’t recognize a change of subject when I saw one. However, I was glad of the chance to speak of something else. “Yes, but my mother begged my father on her deathbed that I might be allowed to choose my own husband. Of course my father could not refuse such a request, and so I was left free.” Not that her pleas had the desired effect, I thought, for I still have ended up married to a man my father chose for me.
It seemed that Corin was thinking much the same thing, for he said quietly, “I am sorry that choice was taken away from you. I had no idea.”
All I could do was offer him a sad smile. “Oh, do not trouble yourself too much, Corin. I had been searching for a husband for the past year, and with little luck. Unfortunately, what my mother forgot to consider was that all the truly eligible young men would have been betrothed themselves. So perhaps you have the right of it in your belief that it was the gods who brought us together.”
He put down his goblet and reached across the table so he could lay his hand on mine. Oh, how strong and warm his fingers were, how strangely reassuring! Once again I felt a tremor go through me, a need awakened by his touch, even one so gentle and friendly, with nothing of passion in it. “If that is the case, then I must make sure that I am a very good husband to you, for you deserve no less.”
I was not so sure about that. While I was willing to concede that perhaps the gods had intervened when they brought Corin Blackstone to my father’s estate, I wasn’t sure they had done so by way of giving me any kind of a reward. I had been foolish and impulsive, and, if I allowed myself to pause and look back over my career as the daughter of the castle, I could only think of the many times when I had considered my own comfort and my own needs above those of anyone else. Some might say that was merely my due, as a consequence of my station and my birth…but now I did not know if I could agree with such sentiments.
“You have already been a good husband to me,” I said lightly. “For you have carried me here, and tended to my feet. There are many who would have left me to my own devices or, at most, have asked the innkeeper to take care of me.”
The corners of his mouth turned down, and his fingers rested on the handle of his spoon as he seemed to consider my words. “I would like to argue with you on that point,” he replied. “Unfortunately, while travel can broaden the mind, it can also expose a person to some of the world’s less desirable behavior. But I will continue to endeavor to do my best.”
These words only made me smile at him, even as I found myself wondering at their elegance. While I had not spent much time around the laborers on our estate, or the people who worked the mines, I had seen and heard enough to know that they generally did not speak like someone I might have met in my father’s audience hall. But then, the growing of grapes and the production of wine was a somewhat more exalted endeavor than growing barley or herding cows, and so most likely Corin must have spent a good deal of time around those with the means to engage in that sort of activity, and perhaps had absorbed something of their manner of speech. For all I knew, he had also learnt to read and write at the estate where he had grown to manhood. I thought it best not to ask, though, just in case he might not have been given those advantages, and was embarrassed by the lack.
“Marenna,” he began, then paused, as though he was not quite certain of the words he planned to say next. His fingers tapped at the base of his goblet before he went on, “I think it best if we do not speak of your origins. They would only give rise to questions that I doubt either of us would wish to answer. Do you understand?”
What could I do but nod? For of course I had no desire to tell anyone of how I had been handed off to Corin. That would require an explanation for my father’s behavior, and the revelation of how badly I had behaved to Lord Sorthannic. Besides, we would be living among humble folk, and I feared they would never accept me as one of their own if they knew that I was the daughter of a baron. “Of course, Corin,” I said. “If asked, I will think of something that doesn’t reveal anything of my true family or background.”
The relief in his expression was clear. “Thank you, Marenna.”
We were silent then, each of us eating the quite excellent chicken stew, thick with wine and mushrooms, and taking small sips from our goblets. It was not an awkward silence, though, and I thought that perhaps my father’s rashness in sending me away with Corin Blackstone might have a happy ending after all. We would need time to get to know one another, to learn of each other’s faults and strengths, and yet I thought in time we could become a true married couple.
And love? Well, it was early to cast a judgment on such a weighty topic, and yet, as I lifted my eyes from my bowl of stew so I might gaze on Corin’s face, might study his features a little more closely, so that perhaps one day they would be as familiar as my own, I thought I might come to love him…if he would let me.
We finished our meals, and he took up the empty bowls and goblets and placed them on the tray the innkeeper’s daughter had used to bring them to us. As I watched, he went to the door and opened it, and set the tray on the floor outside. Once the door had been closed and latched again, he offered me an uncertain smile.
“This must have been a long, strange day for you,” he said. “It is probably best if you get some sleep.”
All through dinner I had done my best not to look over at the bed, but now I had little choice. I glanced at it, then down to where my valise sat, still on the floor by the table. Sendra had packed several nightgowns for me, and so that was not the problem. No, it was simply that our room was only that — a single room, with no separate dressing room or bath where I might take off my linen dress and change into a nightgown. As easy as I had begun to feel with Corin, I did not think I was quite ready to do something so bold in front of him.
He spoke again, clearly noting my hesitation. “I will turn my back while you change out of your gown. There is no need for you to worry.”
I thought that there was in fact a great deal to worry about, but I did not want to contradict him, especially since he had already turned his face toward the wall, his back to me. In a murmur, I said, “Thank you, Corin.” And though it did hurt to get up from my chair and walk to the bed so I might retrieve my nightgown
from the valise I had set there, I worked quickly, pulling out the garment in question, fingers fumbling with the fastenings of my gown. Thank the gods that this one had been constructed with side lacings, rather than lacing up the back, or I feared I might not have been able to get out of it at all, used as I was to having Sendra help me with such things.
At last, though, I was in my nightgown, and had folded my dress and chemise and put them away. Padding carefully on my sore feet, I went to the bed and pulled the covers back, then climbed in. Hoping my voice didn’t waver too much, I said, “I am ready.”
Corin turned back toward me, face impassive. His gaze flickered briefly to the open neckline of my nightgown, and I could feel myself flush. In truth, the linen garment did not expose anything more than the gown I had worn that day, and yet it felt so much more intimate, illicit somehow. I had no idea what emotions my face betrayed in that moment, but it seemed he did not much like what he saw. Mouth tightening somewhat, he told me, “I shall sleep on the floor.”
“But you cannot do that!” I protested, even while a flood of relief went over me. Until Corin had spoken, I hadn’t realized how much I dreaded the notion of him lying down next to me. Yes, that was part of being husband and wife, I supposed, but it also would have made this whole situation real in a way I hadn’t quite yet grasped. It was one thing to walk down the road together, or to share a meal — or even to have him wash my feet or carry me when I could no longer walk. But to share a bed with him….
“I think it is for the best,” he said. “We are both very new to one another, after all. Besides, you forget that I have traveled all over the continent, in far rougher conditions than this. Yes, the floor might be hard, but I am indoors and warm, and not sleeping in someone’s haystack out under the stars.”
I hadn’t considered such a thing. Perhaps this was no real hardship for him, and yet I found myself reluctant. Surely it would be very selfish of me to expect my new husband to lie on the floor while I had all the comfort of this feather bed to myself. I took in a breath, then said, “No, Corin. I cannot let you do that. This bed is very large, with room for both of us. We have a long way to walk tomorrow. Would you be able to do that, with an ache in your back from sleeping on the floor?”
The Song of the Thrush Page 5
