"Let's get inside, out of the wind," Nico said, looking less fierce now. Dyan
Ardais was still standing there, looking uneasy and embarrassed, as if he did
not know quite what to do next. Marguerida remembered their first meeting, years
before, when he had come into her bedroom while she was recovering from her
first episode of threshold sickness. His mother had sent him there to suggest
that he might be a suitable spouse for her, and he had been awkward and
miserable. In retrospect, it was still a funny experience, but Dyan had never
been entirely at ease with women of his own class, and preferred the company of
farmers' daughters to those of the Comyn. He must have a dozen children up in
the Kilghards by now, acknowledged only by generous gifts to the mothers. She
suspected that the only reason he was embarrassed now was because Nico had found
out about another one. And what would this girl think of the whole thing, when
it was explained to her?
"That sounds like a good idea-you must be cold without your cloak, son."
"Not really. Come along, Mother. Evan MacHaworth has a meal waiting, and I am
sure you must be hungry after your ride." He glanced over Marguerida's shoulder
and grinned. "I guess Domna Katherine is not going to kill Herm after all."
Marguerida turned and looked behind her. Hermes Aldaran stood and lifted his
hands to help Kate down from the saddle. When she did not move, he put his hands
around her slender waist and swung her down beside him. The man's face was pale
in the watery sunlight, and there was a ruddyness in Katherine's cheeks which
might be anger or some tenderer emotion. "Gisela said I should box your ears,"
she heard Katherine tell him in a strangled voice.
"That is the least I deserve," her husband answered, sounding not at all
contrite. "You are the most beautiful sight I have seen in days."
"Save your charm for someone who wants it, Hermes-Gabriel Aldaran. I am not
ready to forgive you yet."
"I did not expect you to be, but I had hoped my letter . . ."
"Your letter does not get you off the hook."
Apparently unaware of the interested gazes of several people, Herm considered
his next words. Then, in Terran, he said, " 'Fie, fie, unknit that threatening
unkind brow.' "
"Hermes, that is my line, not yours," Katherine answered in the same language,
torn between amusement and despair in dealing with her unrepentant spouse.
"True-then, 'Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.' "
"Oh, you are impossible!" Then, in front of the bemused view of the Comyn, only
a few of whom had understood what they had said, she grabbed his ears, pulled
him toward her, and gave him a firm buss on the mouth. Kate drew away, looking a
little breathless and pink with pleasure. "Now, be good, and I might forgive you
in a few years."
This was too much for several in the crowd, and there was muffled laughter,
which made both Herm and Kate look around and realize they were being watched.
The woman turned quite red, but Herm just made a deep bow to the audience. Then
Robert Aldaran stepped out of the throng and clasped his brother strongly.
"You haven't changed much, bredu, except you have lost your hair and your
waistline." Herm chortled and thumped Robert across the shoulders.
Marguerida turned away from this reunion and told her son, "Food sounds very
inviting. Where is Rafaella?"
"She is doing a bit of spying-I wanted to go with her, but Uncle Hermes said I
could not." Nico paused, then shrugged. "Actually, what he said was that if I
was not here to meet you, Katherine would not have to murder him because you
probably would instead. And since I am very fond of him . . ."
Marguerida had to laugh at this. "He was right. I have been extremely anxious to
see you, and to know with my own eyes that you had not come to harm. The slow
pace of the funeral train has nearly driven me mad." She put one hand on Nico's
shoulder and the other on the girl's and started toward the door of the inn.
Dyan Ardais trailed along beside her, watching the girl with an unreadable
expression on his face.
She seems like a very nice mother, and not at all like the stories about her.
But she is probably just pretending. I wonder what it is like to have a real
mother? She likely makes Nico go to bed early, and wash behind has ears. I hope
she doesn't bewitch me, as she did to her husband.
Marguerida caught these quiet musings unwillingly, and raised her eyebrows at
the last. Was that what the common folk said about her? It had not occurred to
her that she might be a subject of gossip until now, and she found it extremely
unpleasant. If only they had not immured themselves in Comyn Castle for all
these years, letting the imaginations of the populace run wild with who knows
what! Well, they would just have to remedy that another day! She forced the
problem out of her mind, away from the future and back into the present.
Mikhail was coming toward them, with Donal close behind him. He grinned broadly
at the sight of his son and Domenic slipped from her grasp and stepped forward
to meet his father. She watched as her husband's blond head bent a little
downward and Nico's dark one looked up. "I am so glad to see you safe, Domenic."
"Herm made sure I came to no harm, Father." Something more passed between them,
some unspoken words, and Marguerida saw her son's rather serious face brighten.
Glancing over her shoulder, Marguerida watched Herm and Katherine again,
wondering what was passing between them. It would have been easy to snoop, but
she held her curiosity in check. She saw Kate shake a gloved forefinger in her
husband's face, and Hermes bow his head a little, so his bare scalp gleamed in
the soft light. He looked so much like a naughty boy being scolded that she had
to turn away quickly to hide the laughter that bubbled up involuntarily.
They entered the warm inn, and the smell of food swept around them. A smiling
man came bustling from the rear of the building, wiping his hands on a white
apron. He bowed and greeted them like old friends, not strangers, and turned to
lead them into the dining room. The tables were laid with what were clearly the
best linens, and the scene was so ordinary that she could hardly believe that
after this meal, they were going to ride deliberately into an ambush.
She was going to worry herself into a fit if she didn't stop thinking about it,
Marguerida told herself firmly as she took off her cloak. She hung it on a peg,
and the girl, Illona, did the same. She wondered why the girl was wearing her
son's cloak and frowned over the small mystery. Then she found herself thinking
like an interferring mother, like Lady Javanne, concerned that her son had
fallen in love with this scrawny girl who could not, no matter who her father
was, be a proper consort for the future ruler of Darkover. She was stunned at
herself for a second. When had she turned into such a snob?
Illona seemed to sense something of her thoughts, and turned very red, making
the freckles on her pert nose stand out. ."All my things were burned up in the
wagon, and Domenic lent me his cloak, domna, and one of MacHaworth's daughters
/>
let me wear some of her things," she said, trying to sound calm and not
succeeding very well.
"Burned up? When was this?" Marguerida was suddenly furious, her pleasure of a
moment before gone. She realized that her father and husband, with the very best
intentions in the world, had not told her everything that had happened in
Carcosa. She glanced at Mikhail, and he had the grace to look uncomfortable.
Forgive me, caria-you had a great many other things to worry about, and I could
not bear to add to it.
Dammit, Mik!
The girl flinched, catching the edge of her anger and mistaking its direction.
She began to shiver all over. "Three nights ago, when we did this play that made
. . . it was terrible. The people got upset, and they attacked our wagons, and
my aunt Loret was killed, and . . . don't be angry with me!" Tears began to
course down Illona's face, as if she had been holding back for days, and could
no longer control herself.
Marguerida did not respond at once. She was aware that there had been some sort
of ruckus, and she now understood the marks on the cobblestones and the slight
smell of ash outside. She even knew that several people had died and others had
been injured. She had not really cared, because all that had mattered to her was
that her son was safe. Until that moment, the whole thing had been rather
abstract and distant. Now she felt the full force of the event, and saw the
human face of the tragedy. Her heart ached for this child who had lost the only
family she had ever known. Dyan Ardais, if he was Illona's father, as seemed
very likely, would not be able to step into the void left by the death of Loret.
He had never taken the least interest in any of his numerous offspring, and she
did not think he was going to start now.
Marguerida reached out and took Illona into her arms, and let the girl sob into
her chest. "No one is angry at you, dear child." She stroked the coarse hair
gently. All the emotions the girl had held in check flooded through her, a
bundle of terrors and experiences that shocked her. It was a great muddle of
memory and feeling, all held together by the fear of what would happen to her
now.
After several minutes, Illona's weeping began to subside, and she hiccupped a
few times. Marguerida dug into her beltpouch and produced a serviceable
handkerchief. The girl took it, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose fiercely. She
started to hand back the soiled cloth, then turned red. "I really messed up your
nice hanky," she muttered, hunching her shoulders and trying to make herself
very small.
"That is what they are for," Marguerida answered calmly. "It will get washed and
be as good as new." She reached out, without really thinking, and patted the wan
face, as she would have done with her daughter or Alanna Alar. Illona flinched.
"I am not going to hurt you, child."
"They say your hands are . . ."
"Oh, that. Only one hand," she answered, lifting the left one, "and only when I
will it to be dangerous. You are perfectly safe, I promise."
When she had held Illona, she had felt the fear coursing beneath the natural
grief. The girl was like a half-wild animal, unlike anyone Marguerida had ever
encountered before, and her laran seemed very powerful, if completely untrained.
She knew, from that contact, that the young woman was terrified of going into a
Tower, that she believed the leroni did unspeakable things there. She looked
into the sharp face, rather grubby from weeping, and wondered what she was going
to do with her. Then she chided herself for assuming she was going to do
anything whatever-it was not her responsibility at all.
Let Dyan see to her. A quick glance at the Ardais man made her realize
immediately what a stupid notion that was. And somehow she could not imagine
Lady Marilla being able to handle this particular girl. Marguerida sighed. She
really did not need another foster-child, but she knew, almost as if she had
experienced the Aldaran Gift once more, that she was probably going to have one.
"Nico told me you were nice," the girl said gruffly, "but I just thought he was
speaking as a son. I didn't really believe him. But, maybe you are, and you
won't seal me up in a room and make me . . ."
Marguerida waited for her to complete her sentence, and then realized that the
girl could not bring herself to say the words that rested in her mind. "No one
is going to shut you up anywhere."
Oddly, this seemed to satisfy Illona, for her taut shoulders relaxed slightly,
and she sniffed into the hanky again. Then her vivid green glance darted around
the room, until it found Domenic, now standing between his father and Herm
Aldaran in front of the fireplace, and something of a smile began to play across
her generous lips. Kate was standing behind Herm, her face relaxed at last, and
Robert Aldaran and Donal were just a step away from the group, the paxman
vigilant and the man reflective.
Marguerida followed her look, and studied the tableau. After a moment she
realized there was something strained in the set of Mikhail's shoulders, and
knew that something was disturbing him.
Mik, what's the matter?
I am having a bout of envy, caria. Look at Nico! See how he looks at Herm, and
tell me I have nothing to feel jealous of.
Yes, dearest. I see it now. He left us a boy, and now he is really a man, and he
regards Herm with the sort of intimacy you have never had with him. You would
have to be inhuman not to feel wretched.
That is it, I suppose. I feel I just missed something very important in my son's
life something I should have been present for.
And how many of your important passages did Dom Gabriel miss because of Regis?
There is that, damn you. Don't you understand that you are not supposed to point
out unpleasant things to me when I am upset? There was an undertone of humor in
the thought.
Yes, I do, but as your mother so often points out, I am not a suitable wife.
Well, she can't witness this event, and for that I am very grateful. And he is
safe and strong, and filled with a confidence I doubted I would ever find in
him, so I guess I should be pleased. Later perhaps.
Marguerida held back a laugh at her husband's expense. She felt, for a moment,
lighthearted. She had her firstborn back, and he seemed none the worse for
whatever adventures he had had. If only they were not riding into the jaws of an
ambush in a few hours, she would have been entirely content. But they were, and
her momentary pleasure left her, and all the worries flooded back again.
She sat down on a long bench beside one of the tables and gestured to Illona to
sit beside her. The girl did, just as Dom Gabriel, who had been riding, to his
fury, in one of the carriages, stamped into the room. His leg no longer allowed
him to ride on horseback for any length of time, and he resented the infirmity
enormously. Marguerida saw him take in the group before the fireplace in a quick
glance, and then he came and sat down next to her. There was something very
solid and comforting in his presence these days, and she was glad that the old
man was on her side, as well as that he was so long reconciled with Mikhail.
"Stop your fretting, Marguerida. It won't do a drop of good, and will just tire
you out," Dom Gabriel told her sternly. Then he smiled, his eyes almost
disappearing in the wrinkles of his face. "Now, introduce me to this young
woman, will you."
Marguerida had almost forgotten about Illona for a moment, and realized that the
girl was a little overwhelmed by so many noble strangers. "Certainly-Illona,
this is my father-in-law, Dom Gabriel Lanart. Dom Gabriel, this is Illona Rider,
a friend of Nico's."
"Illona-that's a pretty name. Here, come sit beside me, girl. I am a little deaf
these days, and I want you to tell me all about yourself." The older man smiled
genially, and to Marguerida's surprise, the young woman grinned back at him.
She could sense Illona's fear start to recede, as if she found Dom Gabriel
unthreatening. Well, he was very good with Yllana and with Rafael's daughter.
She slid off the bench, circled around, and sat down on his other side, still
clutching the soiled handkerchief in her hands. It took her a moment to realize
that the girl was relieved to put a little distance between herself and
Marguerida. She sighed. Her life had been so much simpler when she was just Ivor
Davidson's faithful assistant, and she spent an indulgent moment thinking of
that part of her past.
Then serving boys started to bring out platters of food, and she found her mouth
watering. She had worked up quite an appetite, in spite of her worries, and Dom
Gabriel was right. Marguerida swung her long legs over the bench, reached for a
tankard of ale, and grinned fiercely. There was nothing she could do about the
future except meet it-but not just yet.
24
Lew Alton paced back and forth in the entry hall of Comyn Castle, his boots
ringing on the stonework. For the first time in many years, he wished he had a
large glass of firewine, or were already drunk. He still occasionally drank
wine, but he had not experienced such a strong desire for it in a long time. He
was annoyed at his body for betraying his weakness to him, but pleased with
himself for recognizing the signals of his own unease. Later, when it was over,
perhaps he would indulge himself. He knew better than to try to work in a circle