Marguerida wondered what could be more important than the happiness of her son, but she realized that was an impossibly romantic notion. On Darkover, duty to one’s family, the responsibilities of rank, and the welfare of the greater Domain, all took precedence.
“The marriage would not only reconcile Mikhail and Francisco but would ensure the future of Hastur and the Regency,” Lew said. “The Council would argue, among other things, that Domenic is of an age to marry and produce sons to rule after him. They would be right. When Regis was his age, he had already fathered a number of nedestro children—”
“Are you suggesting that Domenic do the same?” Marguerida asked, appalled. Sometimes the loose morals of the Comyn were more than she could tolerate. It was one thing for someone like Kennard-Dyan to scatter his seed everywhere, with more illegitimate children than he could count, and quite another for her own, properly brought up son. She glared at Mikhail. “You did not behave that way!”
“I suspect Domenic is like me in this respect,” he answered with a gentle smile. “Few telepaths are capable of intimacy with someone we do not love, someone we cannot touch mind to mind and share our deepest feelings with.”
As we have, my dearest one, he added.
She melted inside, as she always did in the warmth of his tenderness.
“You are telling me that whether I like it or not, Domenic will be under pressure to marry,” she said, gathering her wits once more, “if not from Francisco, then from the Council.”
“Admit it, love, you would adore seeing him happily settled and producing grandchildren for you to spoil,” Mikhail teased.
“Yes, but I did not expect it to come about in such a callous, calculating manner! Seriously, Mik, I cannot agree to any arrangement for Domenic without his consent. He may not care for Sibelle Ridenow. She is beautiful, to be sure, but can she make him happy?”
“I have met the young lady,” Lew said. “I suspect she has led a sheltered life and is ready to fall in love with any man who fulfills her romantic notions.”
“Hmmm.” Marguerida frowned, not at all sure that was what Domenic needed in a wife. “We have not asked Nico’s opinion of this scheme. He may consider the whole idea preposterous. For all I know, he may already be in love with someone else!”
“Is he?” Mikhail raised one eyebrow expressively.
“No, of course not! I only said that to make a point. Oh, he’s fond of Alanna in the way of childhood playfellows, but he’s never shown any serious interest in a young woman.”
“We must put the matter before him and hear what he has to say,” Lew put in. “He may surprise us in his understanding of what is at stake here.”
Marguerida sat back in her chair. “I could live with that.” I think. “As long as you promise me, Mik, that if he says no, we will not pressure him.”
“That goes without saying, but if it will reassure you, I promise,” Mikhail said. “It will make for an awkward situation with Francisco, but we can deal with that.”
“I do not think we should rush into an agreement even if Domenic falls head over heels with this girl,” Marguerida said. “She may be innocent, but I still do not trust Francisco.”
“We must use care,” Lew said. “The situation, and Francisco’s sense of honor, are volatile. An outright rejection will be taken as an affront. Francisco may be looking for an excuse to take offense.”
Marguerida shook her head. For all the years she had lived on Darkover, the intricate, downright Byzantine convolutions of honor still left her baffled. Why couldn’t these people just come out and say what they meant?
“That is certainly true,” said Mikhail. “As Marja has pointed out, even if the young people take to one another, this marriage would be a complex diplomatic affair.”
Marguerida bit her lip. Much as she disliked the idea of Domenic having anything to do with Francisco Ridenow, she could not refuse without creating a crisis where none existed. Difficult as it was, she must trust her husband and her father, who had far more experience in Comyn politics than she did, to act cautiously. After all, they too loved Domenic and would not place him at risk.
“Let us proceed, but slowly,” Mikhail said. “Lew, if you are willing to deliver a reply on our behalf to Francisco, perhaps we can tread a middle path, without committing ourselves until we know more. Let him know how honored we are by his proposal and how deeply we appreciate the spirit in which it was made. Remind him of the complexity of arranging marriages in this day. Tell him that regardless of the outcome, we consider this as only the first of many steps together. Times change, Darkover changes, and we invite his participation in building the future together. Or something like that, in properly diplomatic phrasing.”
“I will do what I can,” Lew said with a weary smile. “It’s strangely fitting that the skills I learned in the Terran Senate should be so useful now.”
“Marja, will you discuss the matter with Domenic?” Mikhail asked. “I think he will take it better coming from you, and I cannot delay this morning’s Council session any longer. You need not attend, as I know how boring you find trade negotiations.”
“No, indeed!” she exclaimed with a little laugh. “I am happy for an excuse not to hear one more long-winded speech about nothing in particular. This would be an excellent time for a quiet word with Domenic.”
Mikhail and Lew took their leave of Marguerida. She would have preferred to see her father rest, but she knew from the set of his jaw how useless it would be to suggest such a thing.
If I am not careful, I will let my own anxieties come out in mothering everyone around me!
After one of the servants had gone to ask Domenic to join her, Marguerida tried to quiet her thoughts. She found, to her surprise, that although she greatly disliked the notion of Francisco Ridenow as an in-law, she had more than a little of the matchmaker in herself. More than once, she had wondered where she was going to find a suitable wife for Domenic or, for that matter, for her wild, reckless Rory.
Why can’t things be simple? Why can’t Nico marry someone he loves and have some happiness, as I have had with Mikhail?
At the same time, Mikhail’s question still stung. For all her fine words about giving Domenic a free choice, how would she feel if he chose someone she disapproved of?
Someone like Alanna?
Marguerida continued in her ruthless self-examination. Alanna was of good family, she certainly possessed laran, and was in many ways a suitable choice; yet the very idea stirred a feeling of desperate horror in Marguerida. From before Alanna’s birth, Marguerida’s Aldaran Gift had warned her of disaster. While Marguerida had done everything she could to temper that fate, she could never allow Domenic to be drawn into it.
Domenic deserves more from a wife than constant heartache.
There was no question in her mind that Alanna would bring sorrow. What if Domenic had set his heart on her, after all? Marguerida’s head ached, threatening worse pain to come. Absently, she rubbed her temples.
Perhaps Francisco’s offer was a hidden opportunity, a chance to direct Nico’s attention away from Alanna. He had been too much in the girl’s company, and Marguerida respected the power of hormonal attraction. If not Sibelle, then there might be any one of a number of suitable partners, young women with the spirit and intelligence to make him happy. One of them would surely please him. All it would take was a little encouragement and the right setting.
Marguerida called Domenic into her office, where she could be sure they would not be overheard. She closed the doors, knowing that the servants had been well trained never to interrupt her work. Earlier, she had added a handful of balsam chips to the fire, so that the fragrance filled the cozy room. The flames reflected off the paneled walls and brightened the colors of her favorite rug.
She remembered sitting at this very desk, composing her first opera or studying Darkovan history while cradling a baby to her breast. Now that baby was grown, a man. Where had the years gone?
Dome
nic listened quietly as Marguerida explained Francisco’s proposal. She could not read his reaction, for he kept his thoughts carefully shielded. Much as she tried to present the situation objectively, her own doubts kept creeping in. She could not see any good solution between playing into Francisco’s schemes or leaving Domenic vulnerable to Alanna.
“I expected as much,” he said when she had finished.
“You did?”
He grimaced. “You saw how the old biddies of both sexes on the Council looked at me on opening day. Even with the telepathic dampers on, I could hear them planning a Hastur wedding.”
“Oh, Nico! How well I know the feeling that the entire Council has nothing better to do than plan out your entire life! Everyone expects the Heir to a Domain to marry early, and, like it or not, there are reasons for that. Someday Darkover may have a democratic government, but for now, the old feudal system is too deeply entrenched.” She was babbling, she knew, but nervousness did that to her. Any moment now, she would make a bad joke.
“I’m sorry, Nico.” She forced herself to slow down and take a deep breath. “I have been rattling on, haven’t I? This isn’t any easier for me than it is for you.”
Domenic shrugged, feigning carelessness. “I can’t expect to remain unmarried indefinitely. If anything happened to me, Rory would be the next in line, and—” with an impish grin “—if I weren’t already dead, he’d come after me and do the job.”
“I suppose he would,” Marguerida replied with a chuckle. “I can’t see him happily sitting through all those Council meetings.”
“I also know,” Domenic said in a more somber tone, “that the Council will have a say in who I marry. They still must give their consent, since I am the Heir to a Domain.”
He sounded so bleak, Marguerida’s heart ached for him. She wished she could wave a magic wand out of her childhood fairy tales and make all his troubles disappear.
She tried to sound encouraging. “Surely, the Council’s approval is only a formality? After all, didn’t your father and I marry for love? Didn’t Miralys Elhalyn and Dani Hastur? Believe me, all the families involved had very strong opinions, and yet love prevailed in the end. Don’t give up hope. I am sure the same will be true for you.”
“To tell the truth, Mother, I don’t know if I will ever find someone who suits me as well as you and Father do one another.”
“I hope you will—I know you will! Meanwhile, won’t you give Sibelle Ridenow a chance? If you don’t like her, there are others,” Marguerida hastened to add, not wanting to encourage him too much in that direction. “Francisco can hardly object if your affections are engaged elsewhere. Some very nice, eligible young ladies will be in town for the season. If you spend enough time with them, one may catch your fancy. I would be surprised if several of them did not fall in love with you.”
Domenic looked away, his jaw set. Marguerida recognized that stubborn expression, for she had seen it enough times in her own mirror.
She sighed. “I do not want to see you unhappy or married to someone you cannot respect. It would have broken my heart if Mikhail and I had not found a way to be together. But your situation is different. You do not have to part with someone you already love. What I am suggesting,” she put special weight upon the word, “is that you keep an open mind. Your father and I would dearly love to see you settled.”
Domenic would not meet her eyes. She wished she could touch his mind with hers as she had so many times in the past, but his laran shields were closed tight. He was unhappy and hiding something, she could see that in his expression, in every taut line of his posture.
“You are quite right, Mother,” Domenic said at last. “There are larger considerations at stake here than my own preferences. I will endeavor to fulfill my duty to the best of my ability.”
Marguerida smiled as she rose, a signal the meeting was over. Once she was alone again, the smile faded. Tears rose to her eyes. Beyond words, she hoped to see him as happy in marriage as she had been, and she hoped that one day there would be no more secrets between them.
8
Domenic stood at the window of the second-story tavern room, watching the street below, seeing his own inner state reflected in its shifting turbulence: riders weaving their way between wagons and carts and pedestrians, liveried servants trotting along with sedan chairs, shawled women laden with baskets, nursemaids herding small children, men in ordinary working garb, street vendors hawking ribbons and hair trinkets, a couple of beggars on the corner, ragged street urchins darting in and out of the crowd, a City Guard or two standing watch.
Since Domenic had first spoken with Danilo Syrtis, the older man had become his informal mentor. The conversation had been so encouraging that Domenic had confided his jumble of conflicting emotions on the subject of his marriage. Danilo had listened gravely, sympathetically, perhaps remembering the time when Regis Hastur had been pressured to produce heirs. Eventually, Regis had married Linnea Storn. How the three of them—Regis, his wife, and his lifelong lover—had worked out the inevitable jealousies, Domenic could not imagine. What he did know was that his mother would not be happy about his relationship with Alanna, nor would Alanna accept his paying attention to Sibelle Ridenow or any other woman, and he had no idea how to broach the subject with either of them.
Even though he had no intention of going through with an arranged political marriage, he resolved to make an effort to be courteous to Dom Francisco’s daughter. Every instinct told him that Alanna would not like that at all. With her temper, there was no telling what she might do. In order to sweeten her mood, Domenic had brought Alanna with him to this morning’s meeting.
Domenic had begun accompanying Danilo through the city and on several occasions had been introduced to some trader or minor lord, shopkeeper or traveling tinker. Often these meetings occurred in private, hired rooms like this, for men spoke more freely away from Comyn Castle. Danilo knew a surprising number of people in the city. Every time, Domenic had learned something new.
Domenic and Alanna had walked here with her hand tucked in his elbow, a public display of affection quite improper for an unmarried couple. Perhaps he unconsciously wanted to be caught and have their secret out in the open. He’d started dreaming of her, of the two of them in bed together. Such thoughts were dangerous. One of these times, they might become so tempting that he might not be able to stop himself.
As for Alanna, the outing was a special treat, for she had rarely been allowed to wander the city, even with an escort. She had pointed excitedly to goods displayed at the various shops and trading booths, bolts of spidersilk and linex, leather belts, boots of supple suede, and silver filigree jewelry. Even the scuffle outside the bakery, quickly broken up by City Guards, had aroused her curiosity rather than fear.
She had wrinkled her nose at the tavern room, with its low ceiling, unadorned walls, and table of scrubbed, unvarnished pine, the straight-backed chairs lacking even a single thin cushion between them, the steamy smells of boiled oat porridge and poor quality jaco emanating from the kitchen below. For Domenic, the place held a spartan appeal, clean and simple and, most of all, free from the ostentation of courtly venues.
Now Alanna moved to Domenic’s side at the window. He slipped his hand around her waist.
“We have so little time alone,” he said. “Let us not waste it.”
Alanna snuggled into his embrace. Her lips met his, warm and pliant. Her body pressed against him. Domenic could not keep his hands off her. Through the layers of her tartan shawl and gown, he felt the softness of her breasts. His pulse danced in his ears.
Domenic bent to kiss her neck, following the smooth curve to the edge of her jacket collar. As he drew in a breath, the natural scent of her skin filled him. For the moment, nothing else mattered.
At a knock, the moment shattered. They sprang apart. The door swung open. Danilo Syrtis entered, wearing a hooded cloak that hid his features. At his heels came three other men. By the cut of their boots and fur-trimm
ed vests, Domenic guessed that two of them were small farmers from the Kilghard Hills; the straw-pale hair of the third suggested Dry Towns ancestry. The third man’s clothing, although of good quality wool, warm and well made, revealed only that he was neither poor nor rich and said nothing in particular about his business.
Danilo threw back his hood. The morning chill had brought a flush of color to his cheeks, giving him the appearance of a much younger man. “Dom Domenic Lewis-Gabriel Alton-Hastur,” he said formally, “allow me to present Zared and Ennis from your own Alton lands, and this is Cyrillon, who trades in furs and gold from Carthon.”
“Z’par servu, vai dom.” The two Alton men bowed to Domenic and also to Alanna, although neither would look directly at her, as was proper. Domenic inquired how long they had been in Thendara and made small comments to put them at their ease.
The Alton men, who turned out to be kinsmen from the Mariposa Lake area, had come to Thendara hoping for an audience with Gabriel, as Head of the Alton Domain, during the Council season. However, commoners had no standing in Comyn Council, and their efforts to speak with Gabriel—or anyone else in the Castle—had been soundly rebuffed.
Their great-uncle had died without any surviving heirs, for his sons had all perished in one way or another, some of the lung fever that had struck the area after the crop failures of the World Wreckers. One had fallen to bandit raids, and yet another had died in the period of upheaval following the Battle of Old North Road. This left the question of inheritance in doubt, and the caretaker steward who had been left in charge of Mariposa had been unable to resolve it. The various claimants had already come to blows.
Domenic listened to their story with a growing sense of unease. Traditionally, each major estate in the Alton Domain was ruled by a different branch of the family. Grandfather Gabriel lived at Edelweiss, unlikely ever to leave. The younger Gabriel had taken over the management of Armida. Rafael had married Gisela Aldaran and divided his time between her home in the far Hellers and Comyn Castle.