“What would the Lord of Aldaran be doing, journeying alone through the Hellers? I never heard he was foolhardy or lacking in wits.”
“The Edric we traveled with was neither.” Edric-of-the-trail had not carried himself like a man of low station. He tried to rescue Kyria, but he failed. The rryl might very well have come from him, not only as a gesture of friendship but of apology.
“Come, my wife,” Gwynn said, holding out his arm for her. “The night is still young, and the musicians have started up again. Let us set an example for the others and lead them in dance.”
She placed her fingertips on his arm and allowed him to guide her to the center of the room. They took their positions for the next dance, a lively reel.
“You must not overtire yourself,” he murmured, for only her to hear. “Later this evening, a dance of only two people awaits you.”
Alayna blushed, but there was no time to formulate a reply. The music swept her up, whirling and skipping, always with glances at her new husband. The figures of the dance brought her to circle Dom Ruyven. His face was red and beaded with sweat, but he smiled at her, a courteous, distant smile. Alayna felt a twinge of gratitude that she had not needed to contrive a marriage to him. He probably would have declined, anyway, so what did she care if he looked at Gwynn with adoration? This evening, it was enough that Gwynn had eyes only for her.
The dancing went on forever and yet was soon ended. The musicians put up their instruments, and full goblets were passed around.
Dom Ruyven proposed the first toast. “To the best lord and master any of us could wish for, may his happiness increase!”
“May his bride increase!” one of the men added after everyone had taken a sip. From the way he slurred his words, he was already drunk.
“With many sons!” one of the women called—Marianna, Alayna thought.
Gwynn held his own cup to Alayna’s lips. She had to steady it with her hands, but she managed without spilling any on her gown. Everyone laughed uproariously, although it took her a moment or two to understand the symbolism. He’d given her . . . liquid. And she’d accepted.
“Come away with us!” A covey of women—Dimitra and Sadhi, Marianna and Shayla, the leronis Jerana, and a few others Alayna did not know well, guests and officers’ wives—surrounded her, cooing as they bustled her away from Gwynn.
“You’ll never get a baby wearing so many clothes!”
“We’ll have to make her presentable for her husband!”
“And only for him!”
They rushed her up the stairs before she had a chance to draw breath.
“Who brought the radish?”
“Radish?” Alayna exclaimed, giggling. “I’m not hungry. For vegetables, at any rate.”
“Ay, she’s a sharp one.”
“She’ll soon find out what’s pointy and what’s not.”
They arrived at Gwynn’s chambers. Alayna had never been inside, but the women hurried her through the door, past the outer sitting room, and into the bedroom. The bed was enormous and ornate, its posters thick as pillars. The top of the comforter-laden mattress was so high, Alayna feared she’d need a ladder to reach it.
“I can’t possibly sleep in that.”
“Poor thing, she does not know what takes place on a maid’s wedding night!”
“Oh, sweetling, you aren’t going to sleep.”
With that, they surrounded her, unlacing her bodice, lifting the gown over her head, releasing the butterfly clasp so that her hair tumbled down her back. She stood there, clad only in her shift, and that too was soon gone. The gauze nightgown went over her head, but it was little better than nothing at all. Alayna, glancing down, could see every curve of her own body.
“Into bed with you,” Dimitra said, flipping back one comforter and then another. “It won’t do to catch your death of cold.”
“No worries on that account,” one of the other women responded. “She’ll soon be warm enough.”
Alayna slipped between the sheets, thinking that if she tried to speak, her teeth would surely chatter. Perhaps that was the point of being half-naked in a chilly room—she’d be so glad of her husband to warm the sheets that she would not care what happened next.
“Do you want aphrosone, my lady?” That was Jerana, speaking low. “It will make tonight more pleasurable, although you will not remember in the morning.”
Alayna shook her head. She might be cold, but she was not afraid. If she should conceive—and she prayed to the four gods and any others that might be listening that she did—she wanted to remember this first night together.
When at last they left her, the worst of the shivers had subsided. Her mind drifted, too excited to sleep, but she must have drowsed, for she jerked awake at the sound of men’s voices outside the door—raucous, some raised in song. Not the outer door, either, but only the length of the room from her. Gathering the covers around her, she sat bolt upright. The single candle added its light to that of the fire.
“Are we going to stand here all night talking, or have I your leave to go in to my wife?” Gwynn’s voice sounded as if he’d had even more to drink than earlier. A few moments later, he came in, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, eyes closed. His entire body seemed to be saying, Thank gods, that’s over with.
“There you are,” he said as, with a smile, he made his way to the bed. He stood over her, hands on his hips. “Whatever is that they’ve dolled you up in?”
She fought down a giggle. “I believe it’s a bridal nightgown.”
He sat down beside her, the mattress giving under his weight. With his back to the fireplace, his features were cast into shadow. “Then we’ll have to do away with it.”
Alayna slid down under the covers. “I’m cold enough already!”
“In that case, my dear wife, I shall have to warm you up.”
Alayna watched as he pulled off his shirt. He caught her glance and grinned, his teeth gleaming in the subdued light. Then a few quick movements, and he lifted the comforters to slide in. Only then did Alayna realize how nervous she was. Would it hurt? Would she enjoy it? Would her own ignorance dismay him? “I don’t—”
“Shhh.” He placed a finger across her lips, following a moment later with his lips.
He had kissed her before, and she had done her best to kiss him back, not many times but enough to enjoy it. This kiss did not end. It went on and on, getting deeper than deep. Shivers ran through her, hot shivers that yearned for more. Gwynn shifted, resting on one elbow as he continued to kiss her and stroke her with his free hand—shoulder, back, sliding down the side of her waist and up the front of her ribs to brush her nipples through the gossamer fabric of her nightgown, which sent another spasm of shivers through her. Then down over the curve of her hip, her thighs, and up again, with each circuit lingering longer on her breasts and moving closer to her inner thighs, then up . . . Everywhere he touched made her ache and burn all at once.
“Shall we remove the nightgown now?” His breath tickled her ear. Now he was kissing her neck, working his way to the cleft between her collarbones.
She sat up, pulled the gown over her head, and threw it halfway across the room.
When she lay down, he lowered himself on top of her, supporting his weight on his arms. He kissed her again and again, then down her neck and—oh, gods, how could it feel any more arousing?—her breasts. Why had no one ever told her that a man’s mouth on her nipples would make her delirious? She drank it all in, drowning in every kiss, every heartbeat, the pressure of his thighs between hers, the way he reached down to stroke her . . .
The last thing she remembered, before all sense left her, was his whispered plea, “Make me a son tonight.”
21
Alayna woke to the disconcerting sensation of someone nibbling on her earlobe. She was lying on her side, looking toward the watery light
of a winter dawn, slanting through a nearby window. Her bare shoulder was cold, although not the rest of her, buried under mountains of comforters. Her back was especially warm, pressed against a very warm, muscled body. Her first coherent thought was alarm that she seemed to be wearing nothing at all, but almost immediately she remembered that she was in bed with her husband. His lips moved down the curve of her neck and one hand ran in long, sensuous strokes from shoulder to breast to hip, evoking with a blush, sensations she remembered from the night before. Did he mean to—? Blessed Cassilda, by the shape and hardness of his body, he did.
She woke again to a brighter room and a fire filling the air with sweetness—cedar, she thought drowsily. Part of her wanted to drift back to sleep, but she was hungry, and it was long past time she should have been stirring. Her inner parts were sore and sticky, and the sheet under her felt damp. Jerana had warned her what to expect.
The door cracked open, and Sadhi peeked inside. “Good morning, my lady, or rather, good afternoon, for it’s well past midday. Domna Dimitra instructed me that you might care to bathe.”
A few moments after that, she led the way through the little door and into a sumptuously appointed bathroom. Alayna sank into the steaming water while Sadhi soaped her shoulders. From the bustle on the other side of the door, maids were at work, changing the sheets and tidying the room.
After a time, Jerana came in. Sadhi curtsied and left them. “How fare you, vai domna?” Jerana asked.
“I’m well, thank you. Just a bit tender. I suppose that’s to be expected. My husband was most enthusiastic. But I did not find it distasteful.”
“You must judge for yourself whether the discomfort is tolerable. I have the means to alleviate it.”
Alayna considered for a moment before deciding she rather liked the reminders of her wedding night. They talked for a few minutes more, and then Jerana left.
Sadhi and another maid appeared to dry her, dress her, and lead her past her own bedroom to a parlor that was clearly the private domain of a fine lady. Two chairs and a table with a laden tray had been drawn up near the hearth. Alayna ate all of it, the pile of toast, jam, soft-boiled eggs in their shells, spiced Midwinter buns, and soft cheese. Her stomach felt tight.
After Sadhi, removed the tray, Alayna was left alone in her parlor. The two bedrooms adjoined one another, but the sitting room led into the hallway. Presumably, this was where she would spend her time when she wasn’t with her husband or her ladies. What a boring life! Of course, before long she would have babies and then children to look after.
But there beside the divan sat the rryl. Alayna cradled it on her lap and began to tune it. She played a ballad or two so that her hands would learn the ways of the instrument, but there was no need. Before long, one song after another flowed from the strings. It sang as she sang. As the last notes of the song fell away, Alayna felt a lightness of heart that she had not known since she’d come to Scathfell. Since Kyria died.
A faint sound from the bedroom door broke her reverie. Turning, she saw Gwynn leaning on the doorpost. He looked more at ease than she had ever seen him, and his eyes smiled as well as his lips.
“You are well, my lady wife?”
She did not know what answer to give. Did he mean, had she taken physical hurt from their intimacy? Was she as pleased now with their marriage as she had hoped to be? One thing was certain, she had not anticipated how her heart would open to him along with her body, or the overwhelming, almost delirious sensation of lying in his arms with no barrier between them.
“My lord husband, I am.”
“Don’t stop, please,” he said. “I had no idea you sang like an angel. There has not been such music in Scathfell since I was a child. Not since my mother died. You have already brought such joy to my life.”
Perhaps this gift may help to heal the grief, and the old feud as well.
“This was a thoughtful gift,” she said, setting the rryl aside, “one that surely deserves acknowledgment.”
“Perhaps. When the roads are open in the spring, I will consider sending a message. Now, if you have finished attempting to persuade me of Aldaran’s benign intentions, there is a matter I came here to discuss with you.”
Instantly contrite, Alayna sprang to her feet and went to him. “How thoughtless of me. What is it?”
“Oh, nothing dire, my serious little wife,” he responded with a chuckle. “It is customary in this part of the Hellers for husbands and wives to exchange gifts at this season. I thought to offer you a horse from my stables so that you may go riding in the spring and summer, with a suitable escort, of course, and assuming Aldaran has not launched an attack. I know that you can ride but not whether you take pleasure in it.”
“A horse for my own use—I would like that very much.” To escape the confines of stone walls, to ride out in the open air.
“That’s settled, then.”
“I have no gift for you,” she said.
“But you will. Perhaps you already have.” Gwynn put one hand on her shoulder, the other cupping her belly. He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, which sent shivers through her.
Alayna pushed him away before his kisses could get any more urgent. “Gwynn, please . . . I’m still sore from last night . . . and this morning.”
“Oh, my dearest, I’m so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
He looked so contrite that Alayna hastened to reassure him that she was not injured, just tender, and that she would shortly be well.
Within a few days, the newlyweds had settled into a routine. Gwynn rose early and went about the business of running the castle, tending to his lands, training his soldiers, and whatever else he did, given that it was winter and much of the mountainous area would be snowbound for months. Alayna spent her days at needlework or playing the rryl, much to the delight of her women companions. Without telling Gwynn, she set up daily meetings with Zefano, learning the ways of the castle, with the aim of gradually assuming the duties of a lord’s wife.
Storms came sweeping down from the mountainous heights. Sometimes Alayna imagined the stone walls trembling in the force of the gales. Drifts piled high, and only the inner courtyard was passable, sometimes needing to be swept clear every hour. She supposed the roads must be tended as well, for Gwynn showed no sign of relinquishing his military readiness.
After two months, however, the worst of winter seemed to be passing. Snow still fell every night, as it did at this season and altitude, but not with the thickness of before. A day here and there turned bright, the courtyard stones gleamed with melting ice, and Zefano began talking about preparations for warmer weather. These mostly involved cleaning accumulated grime from the winter.
One evening, when Alayna had indulged herself with a hot bath, she noticed that her breasts were fuller than usual and mildly sore. She ran her hands over her body. Except for the slight changes, she could detect no other sign that she might be pregnant. Her belly had never been completely flat and seemed no bigger now. When had her last women’s cycle come? She could not remember. Before the wedding? She’d never got into the habit of keeping track. And she had shared Gwynn’s bed every night since they were joined.
I must tell him. He will be so pleased. She almost leapt from the bath in excitement.
Then caution took over. She might be in error and did not want to raise his hopes. Jerana might be able to use her laran to tell.
If it’s a girl, I’ll name her Kyria. A boy—Pietro for my father? Or shall I let Gwynn choose? He’s so sure it will be a son.
Alayna woke in the early hours. Beside her, Gwynn snored softly, rhythmically. For a moment, she could not think what had roused her from sleep. Then she became aware of the wetness between her thighs. The fire had died down to a few embers, not enough to see by, and she dared not pull back the covers for fear of waking him. She bunched the skirt of her nightgown between her legs, tr
ying to think what to do. Then indecision gave way to panic, and she bolted for her own bedroom, pausing only for a candle.
Alone in her quarters, Alayna felt another trickle, and then a cramping low in her belly, so sudden and sharp it took her breath away. She bent over with it. The spasm faded a moment later, although not entirely. Not trusting to the steadiness of her hands, she set the candlestick on the stone hearth. A small spot of blood marked the front of her nightgown, but when she twisted the back around, she saw that it was drenched.
A knock at the outer door and Dimitra’s voice called, “My lady?”
“Go away,” Alayna gasped.
The door slowly eased open. “Vai domna, I am sorry to disobey you, but Sadhi heard a noise and reported it to me—Blessed Cassilda.”
The next moment, Dimitra grasped Alayna’s shoulders as another cramp seized her, worse than before. Then everything happened at once—Dimitra shouted for Sadhi. Hands lifted the sodden nightgown, lowered her to a bed spread thickly with towels, washed her with warm water, tucked layers of padding between her legs, pulled a new gown over her shoulders, eased comforters up to her shoulders.
Racked with yet another wave of pain, Alayna curled into a ball. I want to die, I want to die. What is happening to me? But she knew.
She roused at the sound of Jerana’s voice, a cool touch on her brow and a few murmured words, too indistinct to understand.
Help me. Help my babe.
Blue light glowed within Jerana’s cupped hands. Although Alayna struggled to make out the source, something brighter-than-bright twisted deep within the brilliance. Her stomach clenched. She gagged, trying not to retch.
“Do not look at the starstone,” Jerana said. “It is not keyed to your mind and can be dangerous.”
“Can—can you save—?” Alayna forced out the words, but could not bring herself to voice her fear.
“I do not know,” Jerana replied. “That is what I am trying to find out. No, do not try to sit up. Close your eyes and let me do my work. Breathe slowly, that’s it.”