Two To Conquer ELF

  Of course what she had said about not wanting to marry at all—that was girlish nonsense, he didn’t believe a word of it. No doubt she was cherishing some girl’s passion for some man, someone not really worthy of her, to whom her parents would not give her; and now that she was handfasted, and old enough to dance with men who were not her kinsmen, she could seek him out. Bard knew that if he found Carlina with another man, he would tear the man limb from limb, and Carlina herself he would—would he hurt her? No. He would simply demand of her what she had given the other man, make her so much his that she would never think of any other man alive. He scanned the ranks of guardsmen jealously, but Carlina seemed to pay no more attention to any one than another, dancing courteously with all comers but never accepting a second dance with any.

  But no, she was dancing again with Geremy Hastur, a little closer to him than she had been to any other, she was laughing with him, his head was bent over her dark one. Was she sharing confidences, had she told him that she did not want to marry Bard? Was it Geremy, perhaps, she wished to marry? After all, Geremy was of the Hastur kin, descended from the legendary sons and daughters of Cassilda, Robardin’s daughter… kin to the very gods, or so they said. Damn all the Hasturs, the di Asturiens were an ancient and noble lineage too, why should she prefer Geremy? Rage and jealousy surging in him, he crossed the floor toward them; he still had enough awareness of good manners to refrain from interrupting their dance, but as the music halted and they stepped apart, laughing, he moved toward them so purposefully that he shoved another couple, without apology.

  “It is time again to dance with your promised husband, my lady,” he said.

  Geremy chuckled. “How impatient you are, Bard, considering that you will have the rest of your lives together,” he said, resting an affectionate hand on Bard’s elbow. “Well, Carlie, at least you know your promised husband is eager!”

  Bard felt the twist of malice in the taunt and said angrily, “My promised wife—” he put heavy emphasis on the words, “is Lady Carlina to you, not Carlie!”

  Geremy stared up at him, still not believing he was not making a joke. “It is for my foster sister to tell me when I am no longer welcome to call her by the name I called her when her hair was too short to braid,” he said genially. “What has come over you, Bard?”

  “The Lady Carlina is pledged as my wife,” Bard said stiffly. “You will conduct yourself toward her as is seemly for a married woman.”

  Carlina opened her mouth in amazement, and shut it again. “Bard,” she said with careful patience, “perhaps when we are truly man and wife and not merely a handfasted couple I shall allow you to tell me how I am to conduct myself toward my foster brothers; and perhaps not. At the moment, I shall continue to do exactly as I please in that respect! Apologize to Geremy, or don’t presume to show your face again to me tonight!”

  Bard stared at her in dismay and anger. Did she intend to make him crawl before this sandal wearer, this laranzu wizard? Was she willing to insult her promised husband in public over Geremy Hastur? Was it really Geremy she cared for then?

  Geremy stared, too, hardly believing what he was hearing, but King Ardrin was looking in their direction, and there was enough trouble in this household tonight—he sensed it—so that a quarrel would not be wise. Besides, he didn’t want to quarrel with his friend and foster brother. Bard was alone here, with no father to stand beside him, and no doubt he was feeling touchy because his closest kin could not be troubled to make half a day’s ride to see him honored as the king’s champion, and married to the king’s daughter, So he tried to ease it over.

  “I don’t need any apologies from Bard, foster sister,” he said. “If I offended him, I’ll willingly beg his pardon instead. And there is Ginevra waiting for me. Bard, my good friend, be the first to wish us well; I have asked her for leave to write my father to make arrangements for a handfasting in that quarter, and she has not refused me, only said that she must ask leave of her father to accept my offer. So, if all the old folk are agreeable, I may stand, a year or so from now, where you stand tonight! Or even, if the gods are kind, in the hills of my own country—”

  Carlina touched Geremy’s arm. “Are you homesick, Geremy?” she asked gently.

  “Homesick? Not really, I suppose. I was sent from Carcosa before it could truly be my home,” he said. “But sometimes—at sunset—my heart sickens for the lake, and for the towers of Carcosa, rising against the setting sun, and for the frogs that cry there after the sun goes down, the sound that was my first lullaby.”

  Carlina said gently, “I have never been far from home; but it must be sadness beyond all other sadness. I am a woman and I was brought up to know that whatever happened, I must leave my home someday…”

  “And now,” said Geremy touching her hand, “the gods have been kind, for your father has given you to a member of his household and you need never leave your home.”

  She smiled up at him, forgetting Bard, and said, “If one thing could reconcile me to this marriage, I think it would be that.”

  The words were like salt in a raw wound to Bard, where he stood listening. He broke in sharply, “Go, then, and join Ginevra,” and put his hand, not gently, on Carlina’s, drawing her away. When they were out of earshot he spun her around roughly to face him.

  “So—did you tell Geremy, then, that you did not want to marry me? Have you been babbling this tale to every man you dance with, making a game of me behind my back?”

  “Why, no,” she said, looking up at him in surprise. “Why should I? I spoke my heart to Geremy because he is my foster brother and Beltran’s sworn brother, and I think of him as I would of my own blood kin, born of my father and my mother!”

  “And are you sure it is so innocent with him? He comes from the mountain country,” Bard said, “where a brother may lie with his sister; and the way he touched you—”

  “Bard, that is too ridiculous for words,” Carlina said, impatiently. “Even if we were wedded and bedded, such jealousy would be unseemly! Are you going to call challenge, when we are wedded, on every man to whom I speak civilly? Must I be afraid to say a pleasant word to my own foster brothers? Will you be jealous next of Beltran, or of Dom Cormel?” He was the veteran of fifty years service with her father and grandfather.

  Before her wrathful gaze he lowered his eyes. “I can’t help it, Carlina. I am frantic with fear that I would lose you,” he said. “It was cruel of your father not to give you to me now, since he had decided on the wedding. I cannot help but think he is making game of me, and that later, before we are bedded, he will give you to someone else he likes better, or who will pay a bigger bride-price, or whose station would make him a more powerful alliance! Why should he give you to his brother’s bastard son?”

  Before the dismay in his eyes Carlina was flooded with pity. Behind the arrogance of his words, was he so insecure? She reached out to take his hand. “No, Bard, you must not think that. My father loves you well, my promised husband, he has promoted you over the head of my own brother Beltran, he has made you his banner bearer and given you the red cord; how can you think he would play you false that way? But he would have cause to be angry if you made a silly quarrel with Geremy Hastur at our festival! Now promise me you will not be so silly and jealous again, Bard, or I will quarrel with you too!”

  “If we were truly wedded and bedded,” he said, “I should have no cause for jealousy, for I would know you were mine beyond recall. Carlina,” he begged, suddenly, taking up both her hands and covering them with kisses, “the law recognizes that we are man and wife; the law allows us to consummate our marriage whenever we will. Let me have you tonight and I will know that you are mine, and be certain of you!”

  She couldn’t help herself; she shrank away in mortal terror. She had won a respite, and now he made this demand of her, as the price of ending his jealous scenes. She knew that her shrinking was hurting him, but she lowered her eyes and said, “No, Bard. I do not seek to—to pluck fruit from the
blossoming tree, nor should you. All things come in their proper time.” She felt stupid, prim, as she mouthed the old proverb. “It is unseemly to ask me this at our handfasting!”

  “You said you hoped you might come to love me—”

  “At the proper time,” she said, and knew her voice was shrill.

  He retorted, “This is the proper time, and you know it! Unless you know something I do not, that your father plans to play me false and give to another, meanwhile binding me to him!”

  Carlina swallowed, knowing that he really believed this, and really sorry for him.

  He saw her hesitation, sensing her pity, and put his arm around her, but she drew back with such distress that he let her go. He said bitterly, “It’s true, then. You do not love me.”

  “Bard,” she begged, “give me time. I promise you, when the time has come, I will not shrink from you then. But I was not… not told of this, I was told I should have a year… perhaps when I am older—”

  “Will it take a year to resign yourself to the horrible fate of sharing my bed?” he asked, with such bitterness that she wished she did not feel this dreadful reluctance.

  “Perhaps,” she said, faltering, “when I am older, I will not feel this way—my mother says I am too young for wedding or for bedding, so perhaps when I am old enough—”

  “That is folly,” he said scornfully. “Younger maidens than you are wedded every day, and bedded too. That is a ruse to reconcile me to waiting and then to losing you altogether; but if we have lain down together, my sweetheart, then no living person can separate us, not your father nor your mother… I give you my word you are not too young, Carlina! Let me prove that to you!” He took her in his arms, kissing her, crushing her mouth under his; she struggled silently, in such dismay that he let her go.

  She said bitterly, “And if I refuse you, will you put compulsion on me, as you did on Lisarda, who was also too young for such things? Will you put enchantment on me, so that I cannot refuse you whatever you want from me, so that I must do your will whether it is my own desire or no?”

  Bard bent his head, his lips pressed bitterly together, a thin angry line. “So that is it,” he said. “So that little whore went wailing to you and filled your mind with evil lies against me?”

  “She did not lie, Bard, for I read her thoughts.”

  “Whatever she says to you, she was not unwilling,” Bard said, and Carlina said in real anger now, “No; that is what is worse; that you forced her will so that she did not want to resist you!”

  “You would find as much pleasure in it as she did,” Bard said hotly, and she replied with equal anger, “And you could accept that—that I would not be Carlina, but only some wish of yours forced on my real self? No doubt I would do your will, and even do it willingly, if you put that compulsion on me—just as Lisarda did! And just as she does, I should hate you for every moment of the rest of my life!”

  “I think not,” Bard said. “I think, perhaps, when you were rid of your silly fears, you would come to love me and know that I had done what was best for us both!”

  “No,” she said, shaking. “No, Bard… I beg you… Bard, I am your wife.” A guileful thought touched her; she was ashamed of herself for trying to manipulate him this way, but she was frightened and desperate. “Would you use me as if I were no better than one of my maids?”

  He let her go, shocked. He said, “All gods forbid that I should show you dishonor, Carlie!”

  “Then,” she said, pressing her advantage swiftly, “you will wait until the appointed time.” She drew quickly out of reach. “I promise you,” she said, “I will be faithful to you. There is no need for you to fear you will lose me; but all things come in their proper time.” She touched his hand lightly and went away.

  Bard, watching her as she went out of sight, thought to himself that she had made a fool of him. No, she was right; it was a matter of honor, that she, his wife, should come to him of her own free will and without compulsion. Yet he was excited, anger contributing to the uproar in his mind and body.

  No woman had ever complained of his advances! How did that damned wench Lisarda have the presumption to complain of him? She hadn’t minded, the little slut, he had only given her a chance to do what she wanted to do anyway! He remembered her; yes, she had been frightened at first, but before he was done he had made her moan with pleasure, what right had she to change her mind afterward and go and bewail her precious virginity to Carlina, as if it had any particular value? She wasn’t an heiress who must keep it for honor and dowry!

  And now Carlina had roused him, and left him in a state of need! Anger and resentment mingled in him; did the girl think he was going to await her convenience as patiently as a maiden?

  Suddenly he knew what he should do to have proper revenge on them both, both damned women who had made a fool of him! Women were all alike, starting with the unknown mother who had been willing to give him up to his father’s wealth and position. And Lady Jerana who had poisoned his father’s mind and had him sent from his home. And that wretched little slut Lisarda with her whimpering and her tales to Carlina. And even Carlina herself was not free of the general damnableness of women!

  In a rage he went out toward the galleries where the upper servants were watching the festivities. He saw Lisarda among them, a slender childish-looking girl with soft brown hair, her slight body just barely rounding into womanhood; Bard’s own body tightened with excitement, remembering.

  She had been untouched, even ignorant, and frightened, but she had soon enough lost her reluctance. And yet she had the presumption to go complaining to Carlina, as if she had minded! Damned girl, he would show her better this time!

  He waited until she was looking in his direction, then caught her eye. He saw her shiver and try to look away, but he reached out, as he had learned how to do, into her mind, touching something deep down in her, below the conscious will, the response of body to body. What did it matter what she thought she wanted? This was there and it was real too, and all her arrogant notions about her pridefully held innocence meant nothing in the face of this reality. He held her until he felt her senses stirring, watched with a detached, malicious amusement as she made her way toward him. Staying out of sight, he drew her behind a pillar, kissed her expertly, felt her response flooding them both.

  Far away, in a detached corner of her mind, he could sense, could see in her eyes, the panic of the conscious mind, now in abeyance, her dread and horror that this thing was happening to her again in spite of what she wanted, that her body was responding to him when her will did not. Bard laughed soundlessly and whispered to her; watched her go, like a sleepwalker, up the stairs to his room, where, he knew, she would be waiting for him, naked and eager, whenever he chose to come.

  He’d keep her waiting awhile. That would prove to her what she really wanted, make her wait for him; her tears and cries would remind her that she had really wanted it all along. That would teach her to go complaining to Carlina as if he had mishandled her, or taken her unwilling!

  And if Carlina did somehow come to hear of it, well, that was her fault too. She was his wife, in law and in fact, and if she did not recognize that as a responsibility, she had no right to complain if he went elsewhere.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  « ^ »

  The year was well advanced, and early hay harvest had begun, when Bard di Asturien sought out King Ardrin in his presence-chamber.

  “Uncle,” he said, for he had this privilege, the king being his foster father, “will we ride to war before apple harvest?”

  King Ardrin raised his eyebrows. He was a tall, imposing man, fair-haired like most of the di Asturiens, and had once been powerful, but he had taken a wound in the arm some years ago and it had left the arm paralyzed. He bore other scars too, the marks of a man who has had to keep his realm by force of arms for most of his life. He said, “Why, I had hoped not, foster son. But you know more than I of what is doing on the borders, since you
have been there with the guardsmen these past forty days; what news?”

  “No news of the border,” Bard said, “for all is quiet; after Snow Glens there is no question of rebellion in that area again. But this gossip I heard as I rode homeward; did you know that Dom Eiric Ridenow, the younger, has married his sister to the Duke of Hammerfell?”

  King Ardrin looked thoughtful, but all he said was, “Go on.”

  “One of my guardsmen has a brother-in-law who is a mercenary soldier to the Duke,” Bard said. “He slew a man by misadventure, and went into exile for three years, so he took service in Hammerfell, and he has been released from his service oath. My guardsman said that when his brother-in-law took service at Hammerfell he made it a condition that he should not ride against Asturias; and I find it interesting that he should be released from his oath now, instead of at midwinter, which is customary.”

  “Then you think—”

  “I think the Duke of Hammerfell is cementing his new kin tie to Ridenow of Serrais”, Bard said, “by gathering his army against Asturias. We might have expected that in the spring.

  If he strikes at us before the winter snow, he will hope to find us unprepared. Also, Beltran has a laranzu with his men, whose gift is for rapport with sentry bird; he said that although there were no armies on the road, men were gathering in the market town of Tarquil, which lies not all that far from Hammerfell. True, it is hiring fair there; but the laranzu said there were too few men with pitchforks and milking pails, and too many on horseback. It would seem that mercenaries are gathering there. And there was a train of pack beasts riding from Dalereuth Tower, and you know as well as I do what is made in Dalereuth. What does the Duke of Hammerfell want with clingfire, if not to ride against us with the Ridenow of Serrais?”

  King Ardrin nodded, slowly. He said, “I am sure you are right. Well, Bard, you who have seen this campaign coming against us, what would you do if the command was yours?”