“I do not mean to distress you, Lady Marilla. Try to understand that I am a trained scholar, and that asking questions is my occupation.”
“Yes, of course. And I am sure your curiosity is very unsatisfied.” Lady Marilla was becoming her usual calm self again, as if she sensed the danger was past. “But you will have to wait a little longer for answers. Perhaps when you go to Armida, Lord Damon will explain matters to you.” And it cannot be too soon! I have never been so uncomfortable with a guest in all my life!
Two more days passed, each one seeming a little longer than the one before. Margaret ate and slept and regained some of the weight she had lost. She took short walks in the garden with Rafaella, visited the horses in the stables, and went with Lady Marilla to the porcelain manufactory she had established. She still became tired easily, but her sleep was peaceful, and she did not have any recurrences of the threshold illness.
The third night, young Dyan returned from wherever he had gone, and the meal was quite festive, as if he had been absent for a month, not three days. Clearly, Lady Marilla doted on him. After the meal was done, her hostess asked if Margaret would sing. Her throat was no longer a mass of raw tissue, so she agreed, glad to have something she could do to repay their hospitality.
As they retired to the great hall, Margaret mentally sorted through the music she knew. She chose one of the ballads she had heard Jerana do—she had been listening to the recording of it that afternoon, so it was fresh in her mind. Dyan brought out a wonderful guitar, which had belonged to Kyril-Valentine Ardais, his grandfather, and she began to tune it warily, remembering the ryll. But the instrument was not haunted, just a good guitar that needed some playing. Rafaella went upstairs and got her own guitar, and accompanied Margaret very well. When the Renunciate was asked to sing, she did so in a good, clear mezzo, untrained but strong. Dyan then performed a rather naughty song, much to his mother’s chagrin, and finally, Julian Monterey, the coridom, sang a dirgelike piece in a rumbling basso profundo. It passed the evening, but Margaret found she missed Mikhail, for she was sure he would have joined in the music.
The following morning she declared herself fit to travel, and, indeed, she felt very much like her old self Rafaella sighed in relief. “We have about worn out our welcome here, Marguerida, though Lady Marilla would bite her tongue before she would confess it.”
“We did that days ago. She will be glad to see the back of us, won’t she? And, truthfully, while I am grateful for her hospitality, I think I would rather sleep under the stars, or even the clouds, than in that room again. I find rose a depressing color.”
Rafaella went off to see to the baggage and the horses while Margaret sought out Lady Marilla and informed her of her decision. It was accepted with only slightly disguised relief and the offer of aid in packing. Margaret thanked her, but said there was not that much to gather, and got into her now very clean traveling clothes with more delight than she would have imagined possible.
As Margaret started down the great staircase for the last time, she saw Mikhail coming into the entryway. His tunic was soiled and rumpled, even from that distance, and he looked as if he had not slept in several days. When she reached him, the smell of beer wafted from his clothes and skin, and she wrinkled her nose.
“Whew! What have you been up to?”
“What. Oh, yes, I must be pretty ripe. I had to get away, before I did something unforgiveable to the Old Man, and I just lost track of time.”
“Where have you been?” Margaret wanted to scold him, but decided she had no business doing it.
“Oh, there is an inn a morning’s ride away. I went there.”
“Do they have any beer left for their regulars?”
Mikhail grinned, and her heart did irregular things. “Not much, nor wine either. Dyan tells me the Old Man charmed you into going to Armida.” He brushed a tumble of golden curls off his brow in a gesture that would have looked casual, if he were not so clearly agitated.
They glared at one another for a second. “Dom Gabriel didn’t charm me into anything,” Margaret said severely. “Something else entirely made me decide to go.”
“It hardly matters,” he pouted. “You will end up doing what he wants. He always wins.”
“Nonsense! No one wins all the time.” She was angry at him for running away and getting drunk, for it reminded her too much of her father. At the same time she could barely stand to see him so despondent.
“You don’t know him as I do!”
“For that I am extremely grateful, Mikhail, for I cannot imagine we will ever be in the same room without making each other furious in about ten seconds. I may, in time, come to respect your father, but I will never like him.”
This remark seemed to perk the man up a bit. “He really is impossible, isn’t he?”
“I think parents are always impossible, even the best of them.”
“I warn you, if he doesn’t bend you to his will, my mother will. She gets her way, too.”
“You still think they will marry me off to one of your brothers?”
“It is my mother’s chief joy in life, after spoiling Ariel’s brood. She says often that she is very happy to be married to my father, though you might not believe it when they shout at each other.”
“I take it that you do not normally try to drink all the beer in town?”
“No, I don’t. I am, actually, quite abstemious. You may not believe it, but this is the first real drunk of my life.”
“I am relieved to hear it. Now, before I depart, tell me a little about your mother, will you?”
“She is a force to be reckoned with.” He looked at his scuffed boots for a moment. “If my father does not persuade you, she will, for she never allows her will to be thwarted. She is very managing, and it is a wonder that Ariel alone, of all my siblings, is the only one wedded and bedded.”
“What are they like, your sisters?”
“I can hardly say, for I do not know them very well any longer. She matched Ariel up as soon as she let her skirts down, and when Ari complained she could not marry a man she did not know, Mother just said ‘you will get to know him soon enough.’ I suppose she really did know what she was doing because Ari is so happy with Piedro, you would have thought she had chosen him herself.” He gave a small sigh, and Margaret could feel that he was extremely fond of his sister Ariel, in spite of his pretence of not knowing her. “But Ariel is rather nervous and prefers to have others make decisions for her. She doesn’t have more than a scrap of laran, even less than Gabe, which is saying a good deal.”
“And Liriel?”
“Ah, yes, Liri! She is like my mother in many ways. I would play the occasional prank on Ariel, but I never dared with Liri. Mother tried to marry her off, too, but she is quite willful, and insisted on going off to Tramontana Tower instead. She is, I think, more like you, though I hadn’t thought about it before. But, trust me, Javanne will have you arm-shackled before . . .”
Margaret shook her head. “If she tries to make a match for me, I will be happy to inform her I am of no mind to marry. I am an adult, not fifteen. I imagine she would have a hard time finding anyone on Darkover who would want to marry a woman so ancient.” She did not really believe what she said, but she wanted to cheer him up. She wanted to see him smile again.
Mikliail gave her a wan grin, and Margaret felt rewarded for her feeble efforts at playfulness. “Oh, I don’t know. I can think of a couple. And with Armida as your dowry, there are many who would be willing to overlook your age and the way you look directly at people.” Her eyes are like an eagle’s, and they go straight to my heart!
“I know! I don’t mean to be rude, but it is a hard habit to break.” Margaret tried to ignore his thoughts, but it was very difficult.
“I don’t mind. It is rather refreshing, after all those girls of good family who droop over their laps whenever we meet. But lots of people will find it uncomfortable, you know. So be careful. They will think you are trying to read them, ev
en if you are quite innocent.”
“I will try to behave better,” Margaret answered, restraining a sudden impulse to laugh. She couldn’t understand it, but every time she was with Mikhail, a bubble of laughter came into her throat.
“If I am not mistaken, they intend you for my brother Gabriel.” A little frown creased his brow.
“From what you told me in the library, I don’t think we would suit at all!”
“True but irrelevant, cousin. Suitability doesn’t enter into it at all. But if you really want Armida—”
Margaret said quickly, “But I don’t! I wouldn’t have it with all of the Kilghard Hills thrown in for good measure. And why do you assume that your parents will want me to marry one of your brothers? What about you?”
“I do not like that kind of joke.”
He was so serious, so determinedly glum, that she could not help but tease him. “Why should I be joking?”
Mikhail stiffened. “I am not in consideration, domna. I cannot be.” She could feel his emotions, and they were very intense and confused. “If it is Armida you want . . .” he began.
“Why can’t you get it into your thick head that I don’t want Armida?” The man was being purposely obtuse, and she could not understand it.
“You’d best pick old Damon, “ Mikhail continued as if she had not spoken. “He never remarried after Elorie died, but he isn’t too old to father a few children. That would really infuriate the Old Man,” he added with a sort of savage satisfaction. “He gave up his claim to the Domain, but I think that could probably be reinstated.”
“That might be, but it doesn’t sound as if be wants a wife. You call him ‘old’—so how old is he?”
“Old enough to be your father, no—your grandfather!” Mikhail said angrily. It’s obscene to even think about! But not as obscene as Rafael or Gabe!
Margaret couldn’t understand his fury, but sensed this was an area which was taboo to discuss. She had enough experience to know that local customs rarely made sense to people who had not grown up with them. “Why are you in such a hurry to get me married?”
“You have to marry someone! You won’t have any choice.”
She could barely endure the powerful emotions he was experiencing. “Mikhail,” she said, “I haven’t even set eyes on old Jeff—or Damon or whoever else you imagine. I assure you I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last unmarried man in the civilized universe. Even if he is rich as Croesus, or whatever expression they may have on Darkover for the richest man around.”
“We say ‘Rich as the lord of Carthon,’ ” he answered. “If you won’t have Jeff, then you had better resign yourself to one of my brothers.”
“I am not resigning myself to anything!”
A small gleam of something like hope shone in his blue eyes. “Promise me, then, that you won’t let my father—or my mother—marry you off.”
“Nothing is easier. I am visiting Armida for my own reasons, and I am not thinking of marriage at all.”
“I don’t care what you are thinking of,” Mikhail said with a queer, precise literalness. Just don’t do it.
17
After four days of steady but gentle riding, Margaret and Rafaella came into the lands of the Alton Domain. Margaret did not realize they had crossed some unseen boundary, for it looked very much like the lands they had ridden through the previous days. There were small villages where the children ran out to stare at the strangers until their mothers shooed them into the houses. There were larger communities, with inns for the occasional traveler, or isolated farmhouses where chickens scratched in the yards and chervines grazed. But when Rafaella informed her that they were now in Alton lands, she looked around with renewed interest.
It was hilly country, but there were plenty of growing things, shrubs and plants. Now it was green, but Rafaella told her it would be tinder-dry in the height of the summer season. There were fields, well cultivated, and stands of trees that did not look wild, but planted with some purpose. Ignorant as she was of rural life, Margaret could see that the trees had the lower branches trimmed and the ground cleared of brush. Her uncle Gabriel might be a stuffed tunic—she laughed at this to herself—but he appeared to be a good landlord. She had been on worlds with social systems not too different from Darkover’s, but where the land owners had not husbanded the resources, had taxed the peasantry or left undone the things which preserved the land, and she was quietly happy to see the family estate in good order. She could not think of it as her own no matter who insisted that it was.
“Look! There is Armida,” Rafaella announced, abruptly rising in her saddle and pointing into the distance.
Margaret squinted against the bright sunlight and looked. She saw a large structure of gray fieldstone and wood, lying in a fold of the Kilghard Hills like an egg in a nest. It was much smaller than Castle Ardais, smaller and plainer and lacking in any pretensions. Rail fences bounded it, containing grassy fields full of horses. She counted about twenty, mares with some foals, and several older animals, clearly out to pasture or waiting to be ridden. They rode up the broad dirt path that ran between the fences and watched the younger horses run about and kick their heels.
It was very beautiful, and at first she felt nothing besides curiosity and general interest. She had never been here before, as far as she knew, and no memories disturbed her. But the shape of the house seemed very familiar, and she guessed that perhaps she had picked up impressions of it from her father, when she was still very small and before she had been blocked. He loved this place, and some of his ancient emotion stirred her. A slight prickling in her eyes told her she was more moved than she knew, and she looked away from the house, not feeling able to cope with strong emotions yet.
Instead, she looked at the horses that were capering about in the field on one side of the road. One steed, a large gray animal whose muzzle was white with years, thrust its wedge-shaped head across the fence and looked at the women. Margaret looked back, and the horse nickered at her. She leaned out a little and held her hand out, and the horse snorted at her. Then it turned away and raced across the field in a manner which gave the lie to its age. “I guess I must smell wrong or something,” she told Rafaella.
The Renunciate chuckled. “No, Marguerida. I think you smell right. I think that old gelding was glad to see you. Just look at him!” Rafaella had stopped using any titles now, and they were on extremely friendly terms. Margaret was glad of that, because being “Domna Alton” still made her feel extremely odd.
But Margaret was distracted. At the far end of the enclosure she saw a graceful mare the color of pewter, with mane and tail as black as night. She was not a large horse, like the gelding, but medium-sized and very dainty. Her hooves almost danced across the pasture as she ran, and she came to the fence and pricked her ears toward Margaret. Stamping her feet impatiently, the mare stared at her and blew its heavy lips. She had never seen an animal quite so beautiful, and wondered who she belonged to. Margaret wanted to ride her, weary as she was. She knew that the little mare would run like the wind, that her hooves would hardly brush the ground. How foolish. Surely she was too old to have horse lust.
Suddenly, Margaret realized that if she were the heiress of the Alton Domain, the horse would be hers. For only a moment she actually considered accepting the Domain just to get the horse, and then she laughed merrily at herself. It was not a thing that anyone could understand, she supposed. Besides, horses were even worse space travelers than Altons, which was why they had been transported to very few planets in the Federation. And she wasn’t going to stay, was she?
“What is so funny,” Rafaella wondered.
“I have just fallen in love with that horse. Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Margaret gestured at the dark gray animal, and it whinnied. “Sorry, dear, I am fresh out of carrots,” she informed the mare.
Rafaella nodded. “Everyone covets the Alton horses, domna. They are the best in the Domains, except perhaps those of the Serrais.”
&nbs
p; Margaret looked at her companion affectionately. Serrais? Istvana had mentioned that—it was the place where the Ridenows had their Domain. There was so much she did not know yet. “What’s that? I thought we had agreed you were going to call me Marguerida.”
The Renunciate made a little face. “I do not think that Lady Javanne would like to hear me . . .”
“Rafaella, I will observe Darkovan customs as much as I am able, but if you start kowtowing to me, I will be very hurt. Frankly, I don’t really care what Javanne thinks, or anyone else, just now. She sounds like a very interfering person, and I don’t like interfering people! I mind my own business, and I expect other people to behave with equal courtesy.”
Rafaella smiled. “I know. But you had better prepare yourself to be annoyed because I think everyone in that house will try to mind your business, whether you like it or not. They think it is their right.”
“I am afraid you are correct, but I don’t have to like it, do I?”
“No, you don’t.” Poor Marguerida. She has no idea how to be a great lady, and they will expect that of her!
They arrived at the forecourt of the house and dismounted. Two young boys dashed out to take the horses and help unload the baggage from the mule, grinning as they worked. Margaret took another look at the house where her father had been born and lived during his youth. Now that she was closer to it, she could see that some of the stones from which it was built were translucent, a wonderful clear color that was nearly silver.
Just as the lads were taking the animals away, a sturdy man descended the front steps. He had dark hair, but otherwise was a younger version of Gabriel Lanart. Margaret judged him to be in his mid-thirties, and guessed he was one of her cousins, the brother of Mikhail and one of the Lanart Angels. If he was an angel, he was a dark one, and she assumed that Mikhail had gotten his fair coloring from his mother. He appeared a very sober and serious fellow as he strode toward her.