Hearts in Cups Page 3

  There was a brief rap on the door and Celia, one of her ladies-in-waiting, came in. "Your cousin, Lord Ian, has arrived and is in your sitting room, your grace. Shall I fix your hair for you or call Inara to do it?'

  "Just braid it please; this is not a public occasion." Hollin and Celia exchanged smiles. Hollin disliked being fussed over, especially when it came to her appearance, and while she submitted gracefully to Lady Inara's meticulous attentions for formal events, she preferred Lady Celia's ministrations for informal situations. Celia deftly caught up her mistress' hair and entwined it into a single braid. Hollin rose and smoothed the creases from her gown. As she did so she realized that she still had the ring clutched in her hand.

  "Please go and see to our dinner, Celia, and pour Lord Ian some wine on your way out. I'll be with him shortly." After the girl had left, Hollin again held the ring aloft and then slipped it onto her finger. There was a momentary sensation of warmth followed by a tingling in her arm which subsided gradually. With a start Hollin understood that this ring was more than mere stone and metal. The thought was not alarming but it was unexpected. Then, with a slight shake of her head, she went to meet her cousin.

  Ian's slight, elegantly dressed figure automatically turned towards her when Hollin came into the room. Bowing, he lifted her outstretched hands to his lips and then, with a comical twist to his mouth, he drew the hand with the ruby ring closer and observed it with undisguised interest. Celia made a soft sound in her throat as she came forward to give her mistress a glass of wine, and Ian casually let go her hand.

  The meal was served with quiet efficiency in the duchess' private dining room, overseen by Lady Celia. During the meal the cousins discussed Ian's recent travels and the general state of affairs in their mutual grandfather's barony. It was an old game to them, making amusing but inconsequential chatter while others were present. When young they had even tried to devise a code so that they might have private conversation at formal events, but had given it up when Hollin's mother had remarked that what they said made less than no sense to anyone overhearing them, and was thus in itself a cause for suspicion.

  The meal ended and Hollin dismissed the servants. Celia stayed long enough to draw the curtains and bring a light shawl for Hollin's shoulders, but at last she left, and they were finally alone. They returned arm-in-arm to her private sitting room, where the heat from the fire had intensified the fragrance of a bowl of golden freesias. They stood in companionable silence watching the logs burning slowly in the fireplace. Hollin moved to recline on her low couch and Ian draped himself over one of the chairs.

  "You do realize, Holly, that wearing that ring openly to the council session is going to cause a tempest. Then again, storm warnings are already up for this meeting. At least this gives you the advantage of the first move. ‘To the valiant of heart the battle doth go!’ Or some such prattle."

  Unwilling to be baited, Hollin's face expressed her serious frame of mind. "I have done a considerable amount of thinking today, Ian, and I have come to the conclusion that my options are few indeed. One thing is patently clear: if I stay away from the meeting, Niall and Rashara have one less stumbling block in their way. I intend to be a very large block."

  "Did you really consider just hibernating here while the Pentarchy's future is debated?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

  "A momentary weakness of heart, or stomach. Hibernation is Gervase's solution to life, not mine." Ian grinned at her. "You are absolutely correct about this ring causing more than a little confusion." She held her hand up and scrutinized the object she wore. "I discovered that it is not just a pretty bauble: it's ensorcelled."

  "Really? Didn't you know that before?" He sounded surprised.

  "No. I haven't put the ring on for years. Not since I assumed the House Power anyway. That may have triggered something within it, or made me more sensitive to it. I don't know much about imbuing objects with arcane powers or their properties." She shrugged and smiled self-consciously. Ian was not of an arcane background. The de Medicats were a landed noble family of minor rank. Only those directly descended from a Great or Minor House, or those trained at the Scholastium in the city of Dacara, were conversant with arcane energies and their uses.

  "Are you thinking of claiming the throne for yourself then?"

  "Take the throne? Not at all!" She dropped her hand in amazement. "My plan, such as it is, is to use my influence as an auxiliary descendant of House Sandovar, and as the formally affianced of the crown prince, to motivate a quest to go in search of him. No one has yet declared him dead, which leads me to assume that he is alive somewhere. And Prince Brian on the throne is the only solution that will keep any true and lasting peace in the Pentarchy."

  Ian took his time thinking about the proposal. Finally he pronounced his verdict: "Not bad. It has a few flaws, such as, what if the council refuses or Percamber announces that the prince really is dead? But it has its merits. First of all, unless the prince is dead, it would be tantamount to treason to not try to locate and inform him of the current state of affairs. I don't think that anyone, including House Mirvanovir, wants their loyalty called into question. It also has the distinct advantage that, even if he isn't found, which is a possibility, you will have gained time, and a solution acceptable to everyone may then be found.

  "It's a very prudent course, Holly. I approve. It also puts you in a powerful position in terms of establishing your link or claim to the throne, if it should come to that."

  "There is, of course, always the possibility that the prince will be found," Hollin interjected drily.

  "Ah yes, there is that possibility... And what do you intend to do if that should happen? Will you marry him?" He masked his face and voice to complete neutrality.

  "I don't know." She considered the question. "Wearing the ring openly puts me in an awkward position. I am publicly declaring myself his future wife without consulting him first. I was trying earlier today to remember what he looked like and I can't. I know that it is hardly out of the ordinary for members of our class to marry people they hardly know, but I don't condone it. I think that if the prince does return, I'll offer him the option of bowing out." She shook her head with a laugh. "It won't do to look too far into the future; we still don't know what Percamber has up his sleeve."

  "For a woman who professes to hate intrigue, you're displaying an inordinate amount of deviousness," Ian commented as he filled two glasses from a decanter on the sideboard.

  Taking her glass, Hollin drank sparingly, then rose and began to pace abstractedly about the perimeter of the room. The skirt of her dress swam about her feet as she walked. Ian sat in silence, drinking his wine, enjoying the simple act of gazing unhindered at his cousin. Since their talk this morning, he had felt a vague disquiet in himself. He had spent the greater portion of his life with her, and most of that in love with her. He knew her moods, her thoughts, the small nuances of her personality. That they were held apart by an invisible but potent barrier was as clear and painful to him as it was to her. Not thinking about it, he had assumed that they would continue in their comfortable limbo indefinitely. Secretly he had laughed behind his grandfather's broad back at the attempt to wed him off. While Hollin remained free, he had no intention of taking a wife, no matter how many casual affairs he might conduct. If he could not marry where he chose, he would at least remain at her side, as her friend. But today's news worried him. Upheaval and change were in the wind. A long forgotten suitor was being resurrected, or the memory of him was; and if not he then someone else would be on the throne. Either way, his beloved Holly was going to be at the center of the storm. Hollin stopped her perambulations and looked at her cousin. Instinctively, he put down his cup and regarded her attentively. It was foolish to worry about her ability to handle the situation, he told himself looking into her calm, fearless face. He schooled himself to relax and put his emotions in check.

  "Something that we haven't discussed yet..." she began. He lifted a well-curved eyebrow.
"I may not be returning, at least not for a long while." He looked puzzled. "I mean that it may take a long time to find the prince if he is still alive. I may have to stay in Pentarin longer than I intend; many things may happen. Whatever happens to me, Langstraad is my first responsibility and I need to make arrangements for its future. I want a strong wall at my back." A rueful grimace flitted across her features. "I have already discussed the preliminaries with Benedict, and in view of the fact that I have no ‘heirs of the body,’ as he so neatly put it, I am designating you as ducal regent for Genvra's eldest daughter, Maeve. It is assumed that the girl carries the potential for House Langstraad."

  "I don't understand. Gervase is the logical choice of ducal regent. I'm not even of the House," he added in a troubled voice.

  "But I choose you." Her voice caught and her face flushed with colour. "If I could will it, you would be my direct heir. But because you are not ‘of the House,’ I can't. Gervase is more than content to stay in Castle Iscoed. He won't argue my choice, and neither will Genvra. You are much cleverer than either of them; you would preserve my duchy." Hollin knelt before him and took his hands in hers. "Please, Ian, I need you to agree to do this for me."

  Ian noticed the slight trembling of her hands on his. Both of them were suddenly aware that they were on the brink of their relationship. In a state of impasse they sat staring ardently into each other's face before the unsteady light of the fire. Ian's mind raged between what he wanted to do and what he should do. The same conflict was mirrored on Hollin's face.

  With his own hands shaking, Ian put his arms around her. The past was swirling around him. How old had he been? Twelve or thirteen? Riding out into the hills with his cousin. They had separated themselves from the rest of the company and galloped off. He remembered following her up a hill and her reining at the top, turning to laugh at him. Red hair loosened by the wind, her cheeks and eyes bright; he had fallen in love at that moment. She was no longer his girl-cousin but the girl with whom he was in love. Learning that she must remain his girl-cousin crushed him. Yet here she was, after so many years, in his arms with her barriers down.

  The moment passed and she pulled back to look at him. "I will do whatever you ask of me, Holly," he said softly. "I will do whatever is in my power to protect you and yours."

  "Thank you." Bending forward, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I think it best to say goodnight."

  An unreadable expression came over his face. "Forgive me, but I may never be able to do this again..." He cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her passionately. "Goodnight, my lovely Holly."

  As he thoughtfully walked the long hallways back to his own rooms he reflected on what had passed between them. His essential feelings for her were the same, but having roused and seen the answering passion in her had somehow made him feel more peaceful. It did not make sense to him, but he accepted the fact that they had stepped out of the past and into the future. In the distance he heard the bells calling the tenth hour and halted. Tonight he was in no mood to make due with substitutes.

  The light of early morning revealed clouds brought by the night wind to be piled against the mountains, boding the coming rain. To the north the horizon was a dark blue-gray and the mists on the distant peaks told of the arrival of the storm. A small crowd of the castle's inhabitants had collected in the central courtyard to wish their liege a safe journey. The bulk of her escort was already mounted and waiting on the castle's great inner field. Within the keep's main courtyard, the noises of horses, harness, dogs and human voices were intensified as they reverberated off the damp stone walls. Two saddled but riderless horses snorted impatiently, pulling against the grooms who held and tried to soothe them.

  Ian stood at the top of the main flight of stairs into the courtyard. Wrapped in a fur-lined cloak of blue wool, he stood apart from the other nobles who had also gathered on the steps. His face was outwardly disregardful of the activity taking place about him, yet he saw and took note of everything that occurred. When Hollin appeared in the doorway, there was a spontaneous burst of well-wishing. She was deep in consultation with a tall, spare man with a deeply lined face, and the acclamation startled her. Looking up, she smiled and saluted the gathered crowd. From the door behind her emerged Griswold's bulky form, alongside the equally strapping figure of Sir Owain, Castle Lir's Master of Horse. They had come to receive any last instructions and to wish their lady a pleasant journey.

  In keeping with the formal occasion that she was journeying to she had forgone the breeches and boots of preference and was attired in the skirted riding habit favoured by most noble-women in the Pentarchy. Over her clothing was a cloak of the finest green wool embroidered with a chain of dragons in gold thread about the hem and clasped at the throat by a brooch of gold in the shape of a rising dragon with emerald eyes. Her hair was elaborately plaited and held by a circlet of gold. Though she was determined to make haste in her journey, it was a state procession and she was expected to travel accordingly. Dressed for travel but not riding, her principal ladies-in-waiting, Celia and Inara, stood near their mistress.

  Catching sight of Ian, Hollin motioned her escort to see her ladies to their waiting carriage and came over to where Ian stood. They had not been alone together since their private dinner two days previously. "Well, my lord, again I cause you to rise at inconvenient hour." Her voice was clear but her eyes were uncertain.

  "I would have it no other way, your grace," he replied with a deep bow and reassuring smile. "It is unfortunate that the weather is being uncooperative this morning."

  "Oh that," she dismissed it with a flick of her hand and Ian laughed. "I bid you good day cousin, govern well in my absence." She spoke loudly to be sure of being heard by all and reached forward to give him a kinsman's embrace. "Everything is in order. My secretary, Alaric, has my written will; Benedict and Griswold are the witnesses to it. Wish me well, Ian," she added anxiously.

  "You need not even ask that, cousin," he replied firmly and quietly. "Come home soon and guard yourself well, Holly."

  She squeezed his arm affectionately, then turned and descended to where her horse, a leggy roan, shifted his weight uneasily. Hollin pulled on a pair of leather gloves and allowed herself to be assisted into the saddle where she gathered up the reins. Sir Benedict, her seneschal, sat astride the placid gray destrier beside her. Raising her hand in farewell, Hollin and Benedict passed out of the courtyard and into the field, where the rest of her escort joined her, and on out through the gates to the main road.

  A small advance guard led the way with the standard bearer holding aloft the banner of House Langstraad, a green dragon rising against a gold background. The duchess and Sir Benedict rode side by side while behind them the rest of the procession spread out, the wagons carrying supplies for the journey along with the requisite gifts for various dignitaries, the nobles, ladies, servants, and a contingent of armed soldiers.

  The road they traveled was broad and well maintained, winding down through dark forests of pine. Small streams bright with ferns and moss intermittently ran across the road and were easily forded. For the first few miles the density of the trees protected the travelers, but as they descended into the hills the trees thinned out and a fine wet rain began falling on them. Hollin pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and sought to arrange her cloak in such a way as to shield herself from the worst of the weather. Beside her, Benedict stolidly hunched his shoulders forward and tried to ignore the droplets falling from his long mustache. Far away below them the river Tarn could be discerned as a leaden bar between its green banks.

  It took the better part of the day for the entourage to make the descent to the river on a road made slippery by the rain. In the late afternoon they crossed over the stone bridge that spanned the swiftly tumbling river. The road took them eastward for several miles and then branched in two directions. Southwards the road led down into and through the valley known as the Gannerly Vale before turning east towards Sandovar. The road straight
ahead went due east, into the hills that bordered the Earldom of the Inner Ward and the Duchy of Langstraad. They elected to take the longer and less-populated eastern hill-road and enter Sandovar from the north. Unfortunately this meant that they would be spending several nights camping rather than relying on the hospitality of people on route, but past experience had shown that such hospitality inevitably added several additional days to the journey.

  Camp the first evening was set up in a clearing surrounded by age-ridden oak trees that dripped soddenly all night. It was an area frequented by travelers of that road and was equipped with a fire pit and a primitive shelter stocked with firewood. A large, multi-roomed tent was erected for Hollin and her ladies, while smaller shelters were raised protectively around it for the men. Though a large bonfire helped to combat the chill, the sky continued to drizzle all night. Hollin, wrapped in warm furs on her cot before a brazier of orange coals, slept soundly.