The Maiden

  Cilean was waiting for her and she was very, very angry. “You plan to win for yourself, don’t you?” Cilean said with controlled fury. “He kissed me, but he thought I was you. Behind my back you have wooed him and lied to me. You have never been my friend. Our friendship is nothing but lies.”

  Cilean slammed from the room, leaving Jura alone and trembling. He had done this. Since he had come to Lanconia, everything in her life had changed: Thal hated her, Cilean hated her, Daire was suspicious of her.

  The only way to prove to them all that she was not deceitful was to make sure that Cilean won tomorrow. Cilean would win and Jura would be free of Rowan. She could marry Daire and he would keep her nights so busy that she would think of no other man. Her attraction to Rowan was only physical, and it was no wonder since she was a virginal eighteen-year-old woman. What she needed was a strong, healthy man in bed beside her and she could forget this soft Englishman.

  Soft, she thought. If he were soft, she wouldn’t have had the trouble she had now.

  As she undressed for bed, she resolved to fight to the death if need be in order to win for Cilean. She and Cilean would be pitted together with the poles and the moment Cilean so much as lifted her pole, Jura would fall down, vanquished, the loser.

  This time tomorrow Cilean would again be her friend and Daire would be her husband. This time tomorrow she would no longer be a maiden.

  Chapter Six

  IN THE MORNING Cilean looked tired and refused to speak to Jura. Jura tried to reassure her friend but Cilean turned away.

  The women marched to the field and Jura could feel her blood pumping with anger. Her arms would be torn from their sockets before she lost an event.

  The lots were drawn and to her horror Cilean drew Mealla in the wrestling match. The other contestants were visibly relieved, especially because Mealla didn’t seem to realize that the matches were games. She played to win.

  Jura tried to whisper encouragement to Cilean, but Cilean glared at her. “This should please you. Now you will be queen. Do you mean to poison Rowan and give the throne to your brother? Or is it Rowan himself that you want?”

  Jura straightened her spine. “If you cannot beat a Zerna, you do not deserve to be queen.” She moved away from a scowling Cilean.

  On this last day she had to win only three times and the last game would be against Cilean—if Cilean won the wrestle. If Cilean lost, then Jura would have to fight Mealla, and Jura knew that, win or lose, she would not like the outcome of that match. She would become Rowan’s wife or Mealla would become queen.

  Cilean had to win.

  Jura won the first three games easily. She outran one of the Irial trainees then placed six arrows in the dead center of the target to beat a Fearen girl who had surprisingly made it to the finals. The third game was harder: she had to leap a pole set high above the ground. She made it but just barely. She nearly wept with relief when the heavier Zerna woman knocked the pole down and so lost the match.

  Now all that remained was Cilean’s match with Mealla and Jura had to fight the winner.

  Cilean’s match with Mealla had already begun and the crowd recognized this as the most serious contest. From the look of the two women, it was like an eagle fighting a hummingbird. Mealla outweighed Cilean by at least fifty pounds and Cilean’s main defenses were intelligence, speed, and agility—none of which meant much when an oak tree was wrapping its limbs around you and crushing.

  Jura joined the line of contestants along the palisades wall and watched the match. She did not shout like the others, but quite calmly prayed with all her being.

  Mealla wrapped her big arms around Cilean’s ribs and squeezed.

  “Gouge!” Jura whispered. “Go for her weak points. Don’t let her beat you.” She willed her words to reach her friend and Cilean seemed to hear them as she pushed her thumbs into Mealla’s neck and the pain caused the bigger woman to release.

  Jura’s breath released as the two contestants circled each other. Involuntarily, she looked up into the stands to see Rowan looking down at her. His expression was one of concern. Behind him Daire was also watching Jura. She looked back at the match.

  Mealla threw Cilean to the ground then started to jump, but Cilean was too fast as she rolled away and Mealla fell onto empty, hard ground. Instantly, Cilean was on her, twisting her arm behind her back.

  Mealla’s lack of agility played against her as she could not reach Cilean to push her off. She was trapped.

  Cilean held Mealla down for a long while, until the crowd began to scream, “Forfeit! Forfeit!” After a long time of agony for Cilean, Mealla did forfeit the match.

  Cilean stood, but her face was not triumphant. It was gray and ashen with pain and exhaustion and she raised only one arm in victory, keeping her other arm to her side.

  Jura knew her friend was hurt and ran to her side to see how much damage was done. “Quiet!” Jura commanded when Cilean started to protest. “Lean on me but do not let the crowd see you leaning. How bad are you hurt?”

  “At least three ribs are broken,” Cilean said quietly, her voice catching. “Should I forfeit to you?”

  “No, we will start our match immediately. I will lose it within moments. If you rest, you will not be able to stand. Now turn and smile and wave at the crowd. It will be over very soon.”

  Jura’s heart was pounding wildly as she took up her pole in preparation for her “fight” with Cilean. She had no intention of trying to make the fight look good. All she wanted was to get it over with, to have her friend declared the winner, then at last she would be able to escape the Englishman’s hold on her.

  She and Cilean marched to the center of the field side by side.

  “When the match begins, lift your pole and hit my head,” Jura whispered. “I will fall and you will be the winner. Do it quickly. Do not risk a rib through your lung. Understand me?”

  Cilean nodded. There was almost no color in her face.

  The two women faced each other in the center of the field. The crowd was silent now, for this was the deciding match.

  Trumpets were raised and blown and the match began.

  Jura moved to her left. “Hit me,” she whispered.

  Cilean just stood there, her eyes glazed with pain. Bruises were turning purple under her skin.

  “Hit me!” Jura said, beginning to circle. “Think of your precious Rowan. To get him all you have to do is hit me once. Or do you want me to have him? You want me in his bed, touching him, caressing him?”

  Cilean raised the right side of her pole to strike, and Jura, out of instinct and years of practice, lifted her pole to defend herself. The reverberations of the clashing poles shook Cilean and her hand dropped as Jura’s pole lightly clipped her on the temple. It was too much for Cilean’s broken body. She fainted, her body crumpling at Jura’s feet.

  For a moment all was silence as Jura and the crowd stared stupidly at Cilean’s inert body. Then Jura fell to her knees just as the crowd began to chant, “Jura, Jura, Jura.”

  “Cilean!” Jura screamed over the noise. “Wake up! You must win.” She began to slap her friend’s cheeks but Cilean was dead to the world. “Cilean!” Jura screamed over and over again in desperation.

  The crowd reached them and hands began to pull Jura away from Cilean.

  “No, no,” Jura yelled. “She has only fainted. There was no match. Cilean did not forfeit. I did not win. Cilean is the winner. Cilean, wake up and tell them.”

  No one heard her as she was lifted onto men’s shoulders. Irial trainees ran to Cilean to protect her from trampling feet and watch Jura being carried away. They were jubilant that an Irial had won.

  Jura kept screaming and pleading, trying her best to get away from the men carrying her, but she was treated like a bag of grain and paid as much heed. The noise of rejoicing was too loud for her to be heard.

  By the time they reached the city walls she was frantic. She couldn’t make anyone understand. Cilean had won, not her. Cilean was to b
e queen.

  Sitting on horses just inside the gates were Daire and Thal’s daughter Lora. Both of them were scowling at her.

  “I didn’t win,” she shouted toward Daire, but she couldn’t hear her own words over the noise. She tried to get down and run to Daire, but the hands on her body held her fast.

  By the time they reached the inner wall and Thal’s old stone castle, she was stunned into silence. This really wasn’t happening to her. This was a nightmare.

  Thal stood in the doorway, supported by Xante. He lifted one thin hand and gradually the crowd quieted. “Welcome, daughter,” he said. “Your bridegroom waits inside.”

  “No!” Jura yelled into the quiet. ‘Cilean won, I—”

  Thal’s face showed growing anger but it was Xante who interrupted her. His voice boomed out. “Humility and loyalty are good qualities in a queen.”

  The crowd cheered at his words and carried Jura inside the castle, where a priest and Prince Rowan awaited her.

  The Englishman stood beaming at her as if he were an idiot while Jura tried to protect herself from the hands fumbling at her body while they lowered her. She was given no time to bathe or change but merely dropped to stand beside the English usurper, and the priest began the wedding ceremony. She wanted to say no to him, wanted to tell him that he had no right to be in her country, but then she looked at the crowd around her. Their blood was up. They had been drinking for three days now and they wanted to see a proper end to their festivities.

  The priest was looking at Jura and, slowly, every other eye turned toward her and she swallowed. Now was the moment of decision. If she turned and walked out now, the consequences could be great. The different tribes could say the contest was a farce—and if this man Rowan was to lead them, he could never do so if a woman refused him at the altar. They would laugh at him. She had competed and she had taken a chance of winning.

  “Jura,” Rowan said softly from beside her. “Do you want me or not?”

  She turned to look at him, and those eyes of his, deep, fathomless blue, seemed to see inside her.

  She turned back to the priest. “I will take the man,” she whispered through dry lips.

  A deafening cheer went up and Jura heard no more of what the priest said. Rowan turned to her and pulled her into his arms. He whispered something to her but she couldn’t hear him, and when he tried to kiss her, she turned her head away.

  Her movement seemed to please the crowd.

  “You’ll have to win her, prince or no,” someone called.

  Jura used the moment to push away from the man who was now her husband and make her way through the crowd to a side door. The crowd was laughing at her but she didn’t care. She had to get away and find Daire and Cilean and talk to them.

  “You’re a fool, Rowan,” Lora shouted at her brother. “There is still time, you can repudiate her. Set her aside now before you go to bed with her.”

  Rowan was eating, as he had been doing for the last hour. For the past three days he had watched the games too intently to be able to eat. His one concern had been that Jura win, and he had not been able to eat for worrying that she wouldn’t. “Jura is what I want,” he said, his mouth full.

  “Yes, but does she want you? Where is she now? Why did she run away from you? Why aren’t you with your new wife?”

  Rowan took a deep drink of ale. “She has to do women’s things, I don’t know what they are. Maybe she wanted to bathe and put on a pretty gown. What do most brides do on their wedding day?”

  Lora put her fists to her temples in anguish. Outside they could hear the noise of the revelers. “Rowan,” she said as calmly as she could, “you have always been a sensible man. You have studied hard to learn about Lanconia. You have told me how great your responsibility is toward this country, but now you risk everything and I don’t understand why. You have always been most sensible about women. When that beautiful Lady Jane Whitton visited us last year, every other man could see no farther than her pretty face, but you said she was a viper and you turned out to be right. So why has this Jura bewitched you? She is not as pretty as Lady Jane.”

  “Jura is more beautiful than a thousand Lady Janes.” He was looking over a plate of fruit tarts.

  “She is not!” Lora shouted. “She is the sister of a man who would like to see you dead. You are taking an enemy into your bed. She could slit your throat at night.”

  “Lora, please calm yourself. Here, have a cherry tart.” He looked up at his sister and saw that she was very serious in her anger. “All right,” he said, pushing his chair back. “Perhaps I was a bit hasty, but sometimes a person knows when he is right. I knew from the moment I saw her that she was mine.”

  Lora sat down across from him. “What do you know of her? Besides kisses, besides her beauty, what do you know of her?”

  “All that I need to know.”

  Lora sighed. “Let me tell you of this Jura because I have made it my business to find out about her. She is the loyal, loving sister of a man who wants your throne—and the way to get that is through your death. She had no intention of winning the Honorium today. It was common knowledge among the guardswomen that Jura meant to help Cilean win. If you had looked with open eyes at the match between Jura and Cilean, you would have seen that Cilean was not hit, she fainted. Now she lies in the Women’s Barracks with four broken ribs, and a sprained shoulder. It’s a wonder she was able to stand on her own feet after the wrestling match.”

  Rowan was looking at her with a faraway expression and Lora knew she was making no impact on him.

  “And then there is her lover,” Lora said softly.

  Rowan’s eyelids lowered a bit. “Brita’s son.”

  “Yes, Brita’s son, Daire.”

  “Daire?” Rowan asked. “But Daire is—”

  “Your friend? You thought he was your friend. Have you been telling him of your love for Jura? Has he said nothing of the fact that they have been betrothed for years?”

  Rowan frowned and Lora hoped he was at last listening to her.

  “Jura is your enemy,” she said. “She wants you out of Lanconia. She meant for Cilean to marry you, but I think she said yes to the priest because she realized she could get close to you if she were your wife. Oh, Rowan, I beg you to listen to me. I fear for your life. A wife is so close to a man. She could poison you, or stab you and blame someone else. And you are so blinded by her that she could make you do things you ordinarily would not. Look at how you have already called the Honorium in order to get her. Poor, sweet, dear Cilean now lies broken because of your wanting of this woman. Who else will shed blood because of your passion for her? She doesn’t like Phillip or me. What will you do if she orders us to leave you?”

  “Cease!” Rowan ordered. He stood and began to pace the floor. There was so much truth in what Lora was saying. He knew Jura had power over him, but he had not considered how she might use that power.

  “I cannot believe she wants my death,” he said softly. “She feels for me as I do for her.” Doubt, he thought, doubt seemed to plague his life. But about Jura he had no doubts. Jura’s love for him and his for her was the only sure thing he’d encountered since he rode across Lanconia’s border.

  Lora grimaced. “Rowan, I am a woman and I know how easy men are to trick. Each man believes himself to be the best at all things, believes himself to be the only one a woman loves. But this Jura loves Daire and her brother, and she married you for them. She will remove you from their path, and once you are dead she will marry her beloved Daire and Geralt will rule.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Rowan said fiercely. “The woman…cares for me.”

  “Then where is she?” Lora shouted. “Why is she not here with you? She is with her lover, I tell you, making plans for what to do with you.”

  Rowan stared at his sister for a moment, and some of the fog began to clear from his brain. If what Lora said were true…“Where is she?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t know,” Lora answered. ?
??I sent Montgomery out to look for her, but he didn’t see her. Daire rode out of the city walls after Jura was carried inside. Perhaps she went after him.”

  Rowan remembered the cool, quiet glade where he had first seen Jura. Perhaps she had gone there. He turned toward the door.

  “Where do you go?” Lora asked, anxious.

  Rowan’s eyes were cool when they looked at her. “I am going to find my wife.”

  “And if she is with Daire?” Lora whispered.

  “She will not be,” he said coolly, and left the room.

  Lora stood where she was for a moment, then she thought of what could happen if Rowan found the woman he loved in the arms of another man. She ran from the room to search for Xante. Xante would know what to do.

  “Meddling fool,” Xante said when Lora told him some of what she had said to Rowan. He was saddling his horse. “Jura is no murderer and she is a maiden. She does not lie with Daire. You should not have told Rowan these things and made him doubt.”

  “He is my brother and I must protect him.”

  “As Geralt is Jura’s brother, but she would no more poison Rowan than you would poison Geralt.”

  “You don’t know women as I do,” Lora said stiffly.

  “No, but I know Jura.” He stopped and looked at Lora, standing there biting her lip with worry. He adjusted his saddle. “Did you love the man you married as much as you love Rowan?”

  She was startled. “Yes,” she answered.

  Xante didn’t reply as he mounted his horse. “I have an idea where Jura went. The women hunt there sometimes.” He looked down at her. “Go inside. I will protect your brother from himself.”

  Rowan’s head swam with the images Lora had planted there. Since that first meeting with Jura he had known he loved her. No other woman had affected him as she had, so of course it was love. But had she felt the same way? He had assumed she had, but had she said so? As he tried to recall their three quick, tempestuous meetings, he couldn’t remember her saying much of anything—at least not in words.