“You have not yet voiced this news, my lord.”
His fingers kneaded into her flesh as if seeking to find and crush the bones hidden there.
“To be sure I have not! Yet it is news as will set any maid’s heart to pounding in her. Wedding and bedding, my girl, wedding and bedding!”
Purposely Loyse chose, but with a fear she had not known before, to misunderstand him.
“You take a lady for Verlaine, my lord? Fortune grant you a fair face for such an occurrence.”
His grip on her did not loosen, and now he shook her, with the outward appearance of one playfully admonishing, but with a force which brought pain.
“You may be a wry-faced nothing of a woman, but you are not stupid of wit, no matter how you may think to befool others. You should be properly a female at your age. At least you will now have a lord to make trial of that. And I’d advise you not to play your tricks with him. By all accounts he likes his bedfellows biddable!”
What she had long feared most had come upon her and it brought with it a betrayal of feeling she could not bite back in time.
“A wedding needs free consent—” She stopped then, knowing shame for her momentary breaking.
He was laughing, relishing having torn that protest out of her. His hand moved across her shoulder to vise upon the back of her neck in a pinch which brought an involuntary gasp out of her. Then, as one moves a lifeless puppet, he whirled her about, pushing her face toward the mirror shield, holding her helpless there while he pelted her with words he believed would hurt worse than any beating his hands could inflict.
“Look upon that curdled mass of nothing you call a face! Do you think any man could set his lips to it without closing his eyes and wishing himself elsewhere? Be glad, wench, that you have something besides your face and that bone of a body to lure a suitor. You’ll consent freely to anyone who’ll take you. And be glad you have a father who can make a bargain as good as I have for you. Yes, girl, you’d better crawl on those stiff knees of yours and thank any gods you have that Fulk looks after his own.”
His words were a mutter of thunder; she saw no reflection in the mirror, save certain misty horrors of her own imagining. Which one of the brutes who rode in Fulk’s train would she be thrown to—for some advantage for his lord?
“Karsten himself—” There was a sort of wonder underlying Fulk’s rising exultation. “Karsten, mind you, and this lump of unbaked dough squeaks of consent! You are lacking in wits!” He released her with a sudden push which sent her flying against the shield and the metal rang against the wall. She fought for her balance, kept her feet, and turned to face him.
“The Duke!” That she could not believe. Why should the ruler of the duchy ask for the daughter of a shore baron, old and proud as her maternal lineage might be?
“Yes, the Duke!” Fulk seated himself on the end of the bed, swinging his booted feet. “Talk of fortune! Some good providence winked at your birth, my girl. Karsten’s herald rode in this morning with an offer of ax marriage for you.”
“Why?”
Fulk’s feet stopped moving. He did not scowl, but his face was sober.
“There are a bristle of reasons like darts at his back!” He held up his hands and began to tell off the fingers of one with the forefinger of the other.
“Item: The Duke, for all his might, was a rider of mercenaries before he set his seal on Karsten, and I doubt if he can rightly name his dam, let alone his sire.
“He crushed those of the lords who tried to face him down. But that was a good half-score of years ago and he no longer wants to ride in mail and smoke rebels out of their castles. Having won his duchy he wishes now some easy years in which to enjoy it. A wife taken from the ranks of those he opposed is a gift offering for peace. And while Verlaine may not be the richest hold in Karsten, yet the blood of its lords is very high—was not that often made very plain to me when I came a-wooing? And I was no blank shield, but the younger son ofFarthom in the northern hills.” His lips twisted as if he remembered certain slights out of the past.
“And since you are the heiress of Verlaine you are very suitable.”
Loyse laughed. “It cannot be true, lord, that I am the only marriageable maid of gentle birth in all Karsten.”
“How right. And he could do very well elsewhere. But as I have said, my dearest of daughters, you have certain other advantages. Verlaine is a coast holding with age-old rights, and the Duke has ambitions which run in more peaceful lines now than sword conquest. What say you, Loyse, if there was to be a port here to attract the northern trade?”
“And what would Sulcarkeep be doing while such a port came into being? Those who swear by Sul are jealous of their holdings.”
“Those who swear by Sul may soon be able to swear by nothing at all,” he returned with a calm certainty which carried a note of conviction. “They have troublesome neighbors who are growing more troublesome yet. And Estcarp, where they might look for aid, is a hollow shell eaten out by its preoccupation with witchery. One push and the whole land will fall into the filthy dust which should have buried it long ago.”
“So, for my blood and a plan for a port, Lord Yvian offers marriage,” she persisted, unable yet to believe that this was true. “Yet is the mighty lord free to send his ax hither for a wedding? I am a maid close kept in a hold far from Kars, yet have I heard of a certain Aldis who issues orders, to have them promptly obeyed by all who wear the Duke’s sign.”
“Yvian will have Aldis, and, yes, half a hundred of her ilk, and it is no concern of yours, girl. Give him a son—if your thin blood can form a man, the which I doubt! Give him a son and hold up your head at the high table, but trouble him not with any mewling calls upon him for more than company courtesy. Be glad for your honors and if you are wise you’ll speak Aldis and the others fair in their time. Yvian is not said to be a patient or easily forgiving man.” He slid down the slope of the bed and stood up, ready to be gone. But before he went he detached a small key from the chain at his belt and tossed it to her.
“For all your ghost face, girl, you’ll not go to your wedding without your due or gauds. I’ll send Bettris to you; she has an eye for pretties and can help you pull out enough for robes. And veils for your face, you’ll need them! And keep an eye to Bettris, don’t let her take more than she can carry in her two hands for herself.”
Loyse caught up the key so eagerly that he laughed. “So that much of you is female—you want gauds as much as any wench. Give us another storm or two and we can make up what you drag out of the storehouse anyway.”
He strode out, leaving the door wide open. As Loyse followed him to shut it once again, she treasured that key tight in her hand. For months, years, she had schemed to get that same bit of metal into her holding. Now she had been given it openly and none would dispute her rummaging for what she truly wanted in the storehouse of Verlaine.
Rights of wreckage and plunder over wave and shore! Since Verlaine Keep had risen on the heights between two treacherous capes, the sea had brought its lords a rich harvest. And the storehouse of the pile was indeed a treasure room, only opened upon its lord’s orders. Fulk must believe that he had far the best of the bargain with Yvian to allow her unsupervised plundering there. For the company of Bettris she did not fear. Fulk’s latest bedfellow was as greedy as she was fair, and she would not cast any eye on Loyse’s choices, given a chance to hunt on her own.
She tossed the key from right hand to left, and for the first time a thin smile curved her pale lips. Well might Fulk be surprised at her choices from the treasure of Verlaine! Also he might be astounded at other things she knew about these walls which he accepted as such safe barriers. Her gaze flickered for a moment to the one where the shield mirror hung.