She leaned back against the chair and felt the warmth of the fire on her face. Sometimes she wished she could go home, for there everything was exactly as it was supposed to be. She knew who were her friends and who were her enemies. She had grown up knowing that she was to hate the Howards, yet her mind was cluttered with a thousand images. She remembered Tearle in black armor knocking all challengers from their horses. She remembered his laughing and teasing her. She thought of his reading to her and smiling at her across the light of a single candle.
She put her hand to her head. Was he the enemy or her friend? He was a Howard, so he could not be her friend, and yet…
In the last two weeks they had been together almost constantly, and she had talked to him as she'd never talked to anyone before. In her family, all talk that did not concern war with the Howards was considered a waste of time, but Tearle did not seem to think that any talk was a waste of time.
They talked about things that had happened to them as children, what they liked and disliked, what they hoped would happen in the future. They always managed to avoid talking about the hatred that was between their brothers. In fact, they managed to avoid that issue so well that it was almost as though they weren't sworn enemies.
Tearle had shown her plans he'd had drawn for renovating the dwellings around his mother's house. He took her to meet some of his tenants. At her brothers' house the tenants were not known by their names. Her brothers considered men who could fight to be the only men of importance. But during the many visits Tearle and his mother had made to her home in England Tearle had gotten to know the people who farmed his acres, and he asked about their children, and when there was sickness he saw that the people were cared for.
How could she hate a man who was so kind and who laughed so often? At first she thought that he was pretending to be a man who thought of other people, but the men and women who worked for him were unafraid of him. And the children ran to him, expecting the sweets that he carried in his pockets.
Zared began to ask him more questions about his life, about what he did when he'd returned with his mother to England. "Did you see your brothers when you returned?"
"No," Tearle had answered softly. "My mother felt that she had done her duty and given her husband sons that he could kill in his battle with the Peregrines, so she owed him no more sons and no more of her time. I was the youngest, and she took me with her to France. I lived with her and rarely saw my father or my older brothers."
It took Zared a while to realize that he had not been raised to participate in the feud, that the hatred between the Howards and the Peregrines meant nothing to him.
The more she thought, the more confused she became. If he wasn't interested in the hatred, why had he married her? He had suggested an annulment readily enough when she'd said that she didn't want him to touch her, but he seemed to like her well enough.
She got out of her chair and walked to the fire. Like her, did he? She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to think about going back to her brothers' house to live. She would have to return to a place where no one laughed or made jokes, where everything was of the utmost seriousness.
She thought of her oldest brother Rogan and the way his wife had to fight him for every bit of freedom she had. Rogan loved his wife, but it wasn't a love that allowed her to say and do what she pleased. And then there was Severn, who was married to the beautiful Lady Anne. Zared wondered if Lady Anne's temper had caused her brother to kill the woman yet.
She moved back to the chair and sat down hard, her head in her hands. God help her, but she didn't want to go back to her brothers. She wanted to stay with this man, this man who was her enemy, the man her family hated. The blood that ran through him had killed her older brothers, had stolen everything that belonged to them. He was a man she should hate, yet she didn't.
On the table beside her was the ribbon knot that he had won for her. She remembered how proud she had been when she had seen him wrestling that man, how much prouder she had been when he had won. She put the ribbon to her cheek.
What was she going to do? Was there any way that she could have both her family and the man?
She went to bed, but she had a restless night, and in the morning she found herself snapping at people. She was already at the table when Tearle came downstairs. Unlike her, he had no circles under his eyes from lack of sleep.
He greeted her cheerfully, smiling and happy.
Zared looked at him over her mug of watered ale and said, "When will you hear from the king?"
Tearle sat down at the head of the table and cut a large piece of cheese to put on his bread. "You are anxious to have the marriage ended?"
She looked up at him, and for a moment her heart was in her eyes, but she looked away. "It would be best to have it over with."
Tearle was quiet for a moment, so she looked at him. His face showed no expression. When had he grown so handsome? she wondered. When had he changed from being a frog of a man to being the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life? If their marriage must end, it was better that it should end sooner than later. She could not allow herself to grow any fonder of him than she already was.
At last Tearle shrugged. "Who can say what the king will do? I am sure that he will take his own time." He looked at her over his mug. "Perhaps he will deny my petition."
"Deny it?" She held her breath. "W-why would he do that?"
"All in all I would say that ours is a good marriage. We unite two warring families. Perhaps he will not allow us to separate."
Zared's first reaction was to smile. Maybe they could stay in the house forever. Maybe she could have an herb garden. Maybe she could have some new gowns made. Maybe they could breed a few children.
She caught herself and gave a good imitation of a frown. "My brothers will not like my being married to a Howard. Perhaps I should go back to my brothers' house. Perhaps the king will more likely sign the petition if I am home again."
She looked at him and realized that she wanted him to say that he wanted her to stay with him forever, that he wanted her never to leave him. She wanted him to beg her to stay with him.
"As you wish," he said. "Shall I have my men guide you to your home?"
She felt like throwing her food in his face. "If my brothers were to see me riding under the Howard banner, they would attack before questions could be answered."
"Ah, then," he said slowly, "perhaps you should remain here for as long as it takes the king to reply."
It took her a moment to understand him, but then she smiled. "Perhaps that would be best."
They went riding that day, traveling far into the countryside and leaving the men behind them. Tearle took her to see a circle of enormous standing stones that had been built by the ancients. He told her a scary story about human sacrifices being made on the stones, then he lunged at her, pretending that he was about to sacrifice her. She squealed and giggled, but then stopped when he paused with her on the stone, his big body hanging over hers.
He will kiss me now, she thought. He will forget about this talk of annulment and hold me.
But he didn't. He turned away from her and walked to another stone, and when she got down from the stone where he had placed her he didn't look at her. She walked to him, but he kept his face averted, and only after some moments had passed did he look at her.
"It grows dark," he said softly. "We should return."
It was after that day that he began to stay away from her. In such a short time she had become so used to spending time with him that she found that she missed him. She saw him in the courtyard training with his men, so she borrowed some clothes from the cook's boy, dressed in them, and went to join him.
She smiled at him, but he did not return her smile. "You are my wife. You are not to display yourself before my men that way," he said, looking down at her legs, which were covered with no more than thin knit hose.
"What am I supposed to do all day?" she spit at him. "And I am not your wife!
"
She meant that she was his wife in name only, but he took what she said the wrong way. "You will be free soon enough," he said, and his voice was hard.
Zared turned away from him and from the men around them, who were watching with a great deal of interest in their eyes, and she went upstairs to her room. Her single, lonely room. She had been alone most of her life, and she was alone again, but why did it seem so much worse? It was as though she'd found a friend and lost him.
She flung herself on the bed, wanting to cry but not able to do so. She should be glad that he was staying away from her, she thought. Who wanted the company of a Howard anyway? She was a Peregrine, and she hated all Howards.
Didn't she?
She thought of what her brother Rogan was going to say when he found out that his little sister was married to a Howard. Rogan would go to the king himself and demand that an annulment be given. Rogan never trusted anyone—he'd probably demand that a midwife examine Zared to be sure that she was a virgin and that the Howard man had never touched her.
"I'm still a virgin," she whispered. "As clean and as untouched as the day I was born." And after Rogan had the annulment papers in his hand he'd no doubt hate the Howards more. He'd probably think that his sister had been rejected by a Howard.
"There must be something that I can do," she thought. "There has to be something that can be done to prevent more hatred."
"My lord," Margaret said softly to Tearle. He was at the well scrubbing off the sweat he had raised while training with his men.
"Yes?" Tearle turned to her. He hadn't been in the best of spirits in the last few days. Night and day his thoughts plagued him. He was falling in love with the brat who was his wife. Maybe he had been in love with her since he had first seen her struggling with his brother's men, men who didn't have sense enough to know that she was a female. But his feelings for the girl were not returned, for she still talked of returning to her brothers' house and of the annulment. He thought that someday soon he should consider sending a message asking the king to annul their marriage.
He looked at Margaret. "What is it?"
"Lady Zared has gone into the village."
He frowned. "She is not a prisoner. Did you send an escort with her?"
"Yes, but she eluded them."
Tearle was immediately alarmed. Had she run back to her brothers?
Before he could move Margaret put her hand on his arm. "She has been found. One of the men saw her going into Hebe's place."
"Why would she want to see that old woman?"
"It is said that she is a witch." Margaret's voice lowered. Like all servants, she knew much more about what was going on between the master and his mistress than they would have liked.
"Why would she go to a witch?"
Margaret hesitated. "Hebe rids women of unwanted children."
At that Tearle's face lost its color. "Tell John to saddle my horse."
An hour later it was an enraged man who burst into the old woman's dark, dirty hut. Tearle's first instinct was to kill the woman, and after that he was going to kill the woman he'd married. He had no doubt that it was Colbrand's child she was carrying. No wonder Zared had wanted to go back to her brothers'. There she could pass the child off as belonging to a Howard and perhaps use it to try to gain the Howard lands. He cursed her and himself and all women and marriage and everything else that had to do with men and women.
"My wife was here," he said to the terrified old woman. "Did you rid her of her child?"
"Nay, my lord," she said, her voice quivering. "She carried no child."
"Do not lie to me. I will burn you if you lie to me."
The woman was thin with age, and she cowered back against a wall covered with drying batches of herbs. "I do not lie. Please, my lord, I do not yet want to die."
Suddenly Tearle's rage left him, and he sat down on the only stool in the hut, his body deflated. It was not the old woman's fault that his wife had wanted to get rid of her child. Perhaps Tearle should be glad that Zared wanted to do away with the child rather than keep it. Considering how she felt about Colbrand, it was a wonder that she did not want to put the child on the throne of England.
"What did my wife want?" Tearle asked sadly.
"A love potion."
Tearle's head came up. "A what?"
"Your lady wife asked for a love potion. A potion to drive a man insane with lust."
"Who?" was the only word he could get out. He had thought that he had given her little time in the last weeks to form an attachment to another man. But perhaps she planned to see Colbrand later, and—
"You, my lord. She wanted the potion for her husband."
Tearle blinked a few times, not understanding.
The old woman saw the way Tearle relaxed, and she began to gain some courage. She stood up straighter, not slouching against the wall. "The Lady Zared asked me to make her a potion that she could give to her husband so that when he drank it he would be so overcome with lust that he could not resist her."
Tearle stared at the old woman for some minutes. "You are sure of this?" he asked softly. "She said it was for her husband?"
The woman managed a bit of a smile. "I did not get this old by being a fool. I was not going to give a potion to the wife of a powerful man who planned to use it on a man other than her husband. Were she a farmer's wife I might have done so, but not her. I told her that, should she lie to me and use the potion on a man other than her husband, she would suffer ill luck all the rest of her life. She said…"
"Yes, out with it. What did she say?"
"She said that her husband—you, my lord— looked upon her as a child, and a boyish one at that. She wanted to give you something to drink that would make you see her as a woman."
Tearle got off the stool and took two steps so that he was standing at the far side of the hut. His head grazed the underside of the thatched roof. With his back to the woman he allowed himself a smile. She thought he did not desire her, did she? And all the while he had thought she was pining for that fool Colbrand. She had certainly changed her affections easily, hadn't she? But he wasn't going to quibble about that. If he could get her to go to bed with him willingly, that was the first step toward making her return the love he bore for her.
He looked back at the woman. "What did you give her?"
The woman could see that Tearle was amused. She had seen him since he was a boy and suspected he was not a violent man. She straightened. "My potions are a secret known only to me." When Tearle frowned she continued. "I told her to invite you to supper in her room. There was to be a fire and candles, and she was to boil water with sweet-scented herbs in it, and she was to wear her lowest-cut gown. She was to put the herbs in her husband's ale, and when he drank it he would be unable to control himself."
Tearle could no longer repress his smile. "It is to strike me as a bolt of lightning?"
The woman was offended by his tone. "I do not cheat my customers. The potion will work."
"I can guarantee that," Tearle said with good humor. "I shall be the most thunderstruck of lovers." He reached under his tunic and withdrew a small bag of coins. He started to open it and give the old woman a coin or two, but on second thought he gave her the whole bag. It was doubtless more money than she had earned in all her lifetime together.
The old woman was speechless as she held out a trembling hand and took the bag.
When Tearle left the hut he was whistling.
Zared had had some trouble getting Margaret to do what she wanted her to do. For the first time since she arrived the woman seemed to be snubbing her. She answered all Zared's questions curtly and supplied little or no information beyond what she had to.
Zared wanted a special gown, and she had to ask repeatedly where Tearle's mother's gowns were kept. Margaret evaded her as best she could until Zared was ready to take a knife to the woman's throat. At last Zared was taken to a storeroom, and there, amid bolts of fabric that were waiting to be cut and sewn, was a
large wooden box. Reluctantly, with a look of great distaste on her long face, Margaret opened the box to reveal a dress that, even in the dark room, glowed. It was made of cloth of gold.
Zared had never seen such fabric. She took the gown, still in its box, to the doorway and held it to the light. "What is it?" she whispered.
Reluctantly Margaret told her that the fabric had come from Italy. Solid gold was drawn out into extremely thin wires, then wrapped about a strong fiber of silk. A loom was then warped with silk, and the gold thread was woven into it. Margaret also informed her that the fabric cost over thirty-eight pounds a yard.
Gingerly Zared lifted the gown from its box. There was much cloth in the gown. She had no idea how to add, but she knew that the gown cost almost as much as her brothers' castle was worth.
Zared took a deep breath and tried to look as though she wasn't frightened as she lifted the gown from its box. She was doing it to save her family from going to war, she told herself. Perhaps her husband had been right and they could create a child together, and that child would inherit the lands that the Howards held. It wouldn't be right, of course, because the lands should go to her oldest brother, but at least there would be Peregrine blood in the owner of the estate.
"I will wear it," Zared said. The gown was very heavy, and it was stiff. She smiled as she draped it over her arms. Men thought women were weak. Her brothers said that no woman could ever wear a suit of armor, but the stiff, heavy gown was another type of armor. Zared smiled, for she was, in a way, waging a war, a war that she meant to win, and the golden dress was the armor she needed.
She turned to Margaret. "Shall we suit me?" she asked, and she saw a hint of humor in Margaret's eyes, as though she understood what Zared meant.
An hour later Zared had her room prepared just as the old witch-woman had said it should be. It glowed with candlelight, and it was fragrant with herbs boiling in a pot. There was a table with succulent food waiting. It hadn't been easy to arrange, since Margaret had questioned everything that Zared wanted. She had also asked her young mistress repeatedly if she felt well, if she was ill in the mornings.