by Lynn Kurland
“You’ll find, my lord, that my skills are much improved. I’d use the right, were I you.”
Kendrick smiled, an unpleasant baring of teeth. “No casting of spells, Jas. That wouldn’t be sporting.”
“I’ll brew you a numbing draught to ease the pain as you expire,” Jason promised. “Now, be about this business. I’ve a wedding to see to.”
“But no raising of a ghostly ruckus when I take Lianna to wife,” Kendrick warned, waving his sword at Jason. “I’ll have your word on that now, before I send you to the afterlife.”
“You’ll be the one doing the haunting,” Jason said, flexing the fingers of his free hand and wondering if knifing his brother suddenly would be considered poor manners. At least that way he wouldn’t have to listen to any more of Kendrick’s incessant chatter.
But then he remembered that such was one of Kendrick’s ploys to throw him off guard. And he remembered it the heartbeat before his head almost came away from his neck. He looked at his brother in shock.
“You intend to kill me.”
“The king commands it.”
“He didn’t!”
Kendrick shrugged and continued a very relentless and brutal assault. Jason cast a final look at Lianna before throwing up his sword to avoid another lethal swipe. Kendrick’s blade screeched as it traveled the length of Jason’s and was stopped by the hilt.
“Fight me or die,” Kendrick growled.
“Whoreson,” Jason spat.
He wished, absently, that he hadn’t said that.
And he wondered, quite seriously, if that might be one of the last things he would regret saying.
Nine
Lianna of Grasleigh, now Lianna de Piaget, still of Grasleigh, rode next to her newly made husband and wondered just how his parents would take to her, given what it had cost to win her. She fretted, she worried, she twisted her reins in her hands and thought she might be ill. It wasn’t just a matter of them acquiring a new daughter-in-law. There was the matter of the life-and-death battle she’d been the prize for not a se’nnight earlier. And the tremendously serious outcome of that battle.
That being the humiliation of one de Piaget brother by another before the king’s court, of course.
“Are you well, wife?” came the question from the man beside her.
“Well enough, husband.”
“You look nervous.”
She looked at her husband of a se’nnight and smiled—nervously. “Will they blame me, do you think?”
“Blame you for what? My victory?”
“Nay, your brother’s defeat.”
“Does he look defeated?”
She looked to her left to find the aforementioned defeated one, Kendrick of Artane, smiling pleasantly at her. “Don’t be fooled,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I allowed Jason to win.”
“Ha,” Jason said scornfully. “Your memory fails you.”
“I could not rob you of your love, Lianna,” Kendrick continued. “I considered it my chivalric duty to let him win.”
Jason snorted. “You’ve no reason to fear for his ego, my lady. He’ll repeat the story for years and end it with you warning him of William’s attempted treachery. Somehow he will come away smelling sweetly, and there will be no mention of him kneeling at my feet, weeping for mercy.”
“I did not weep.”
“Tears were coursing down your face.”
“I was sweating.”
“You were weeping. And begging. I could not in good conscience slay you.”
Kendrick leaned closer to Lianna. “He feared his mother would take a switch to his behind for the deed. I daresay it isn’t too late to annul your marriage to him. I am, as you might have noticed, still quite available.”
Something whizzed past her nose and connected quite perfectly with Kendrick’s. Perhaps there hadn’t been much blood on the battlefield before the king, but there was certainly ample draining onto Kendrick’s tunic now.
“Damn you,” Kendrick snarled, trying to staunch the flow with his sleeve, “can you not fight like a man? Throwing fruit! Who ever heard of such a womanly tactic!”
Lianna found it rather practical at the moment, so she had no argument with it. Kendrick, however, gave his brother a look full of promise and spurred his horse on ahead.
“He’s plotting your death,” Lianna said wisely, having grown accustomed to the habits of her husband and his brother over the past pair of weeks.
“Aye, likely,” Jason said serenely. He looked at her. “Are you happy, my lady?”
“Of course, my lord.”
He looked at her for several moments in silence, then his smile faded to be replaced by a look of seriousness.
“Are you?” he asked quietly. “Happy with such a one as I? Henry could have wed you to a man with power and status. I am, as it happens, but the third son.”
She shrugged. “What is power but wealth? I daresay you now have enough of that to satisfy any lust you might have for power.”
“Aye,” he said with a shiver. “Your father had enough of both, and to spare.”
“And you wouldn’t have known it to look at him. He was much more content discussing pigs than he was bits and baubles for his court clothes. I daresay you’ll follow in his footsteps easily enough.”
He looked startled enough that she wondered if she’d said aught amiss.
“Jason?”
He shook his head. “Idle thoughts.”
“Tell me of them.”
“Well, if you must know, the day I arrived at court, I was lamenting the foolishness of courtly conversation that focused on the cut of a tunic or the color of cloth. How much more, I thought, would I have rather been talking to the swineherd about the feeding of his charges, or discussing with the steward whether or not barley and hops might grow well in the north fields, or loitering in the blacksmith’s hut to see him at his labors.”
“My father would have been pleased with you,” she said.
“I could only hope.” He reached over for her hand and squeezed it. “If I’m ignorant of something, I’m not too proud to ask for aid. I’ll try not to shame you or your sire’s memory.”
She nodded, but in truth she was thinking less about how he might shame her than she was about how blessed she had been to have found someone with whom she had found a home. For that alone, her father would have loved Jason of Artane. Or Jason of Grasleigh, as it was. The Falcon of Grasleigh, as he would be known. She wondered what he would think when they arrived at her father’s keep and she showed him her father’s coat of arms.
A falcon with a dragon pinned under its foreclaw. A falcon with its head thrown back in victory.
She could only hope he saw the humor in it she did.
They rode on in companionable silence for the rest of the day. As dusk fell, Lianna was startled to see several men bearing down on them. Jason and Kendrick immediately drew their swords, then Jason called a greeting and was answered in the same tone. Lianna looked at him in surprise.
“Who are they?”
“Our escort,” he said. “I’m not surprised to see them, but I am surprised to see them so soon.” He leaned on the pommel of his saddle and smiled at her. “What think you of a few days passed in the dragon’s lair, my lady?”
Lianna smiled weakly. “These are Blackmour’s men?”
“Aye, come to protect his little kit,” he said, “and the kit’s bride.”
“Us?” she asked, feeling rather faint.
“Who else?” He looked at her closely. “Surely you don’t fear Blackmour. He is the tamest of men, I assure you. He will merely want to inspect you, see that you have all your teeth, and check that your ears are formed well enough to suit him.”
“And should I not suit him?”
“Seven maidens a day before breaking his fast,” Jason said with a sigh, “or the occasional consumption of one newly wedded lady. I suppose, then, that if you don’t please him, he’ll have you for his morning nibble.”
&n
bsp; She considered her husband. “Your time will come, you know. I daresay you’ll be twisting your reins into unrecognizable shapes as we near my home.”
“I daresay,” he agreed dryly.
“And I will do nothing to ease your suffering.”
“Ah-ha,” Kendrick called back at them, “you have made your bed, little brother, and see how she smoothes the sheets already. I fear you’ve met your match in this one.”
“And gladly so,” Jason said. He smiled at her. “My lord also has a fine chamber for guests with his second most comfortable goose-feather mattress—”
“Not that you’ve ever slept on it,” Kendrick said loudly.
“He,” Jason said with a glare at his brother, “will not be accompanying us to your hall, Lianna.”
“You’ll need someone to guard your back,” Kendrick said, “from your lady, should you not show yourself well. ’Tis best I come and see to that. Now, can we be on our way? I’ve a mind to reach some kind of inn before the sun sets completely.”
Lianna looked at Jason. “How much farther?”
“To Blackmour? At least four or five days. These lads have ridden hard to catch us. But I promise you a goodly rest there on that second most comfortable goose-feather mattress I spoke of. And I have passed a night or two on it—by myself,” he threw at his brother. He smiled at Lianna. “You’ll feel comfortable there. You’ll see.”
It was indeed another five days of travel, but the road was pleasant and the weather fine. Lianna watched Blackmour’s men with Jason and saw the respect they accorded him, even though he was much younger than they. She found that by the time they had reached the keep, she had even stopped taking Jason and Kendrick’s barbs seriously. There had only been a minor skirmish or two, but Kendrick had very solicitously avoided damaging anything she might find useful.
For herself, she found that being wed to the Dragon’s kit was more of a joy to her with each day that passed. He was kind and gentle, and he looked at her with love in his eyes.
What she did find curious, however, was that none of Blackmour’s men made any mention of Jason’s dark reputation. She had only jested of it once, and by the complete lack of expression on all the faces surrounding her, save Jason who had smiled, she decided that ’twas a subject better left undiscussed.
Except, of course, for the brief moment of privacy she’d had with her husband the morning before they’d arrived at Blackmour when he’d led her off into a small copse of trees for a private kiss or two. When she’d managed to gasp in a breath, she looked at him seriously.
“Have you cast spells?” she asked bluntly.
He blinked, then half of his mouth quirked up in something of an embarrassed smile. “One or two.”
“Did they work?”
“We’ll have to look at Maud in a year or two and see what’s left of her.”
She shuddered to think what sorts of torments he had left in place for the women who had dared harm her. Perhaps ’twas best not to know.
“Have you brewed potions?” she asked, determined not to be distracted.
“Aye.”
“Studied dark arts?”
He paused. “In a manner of speaking.”
“In a manner of speaking?”
He considered for a moment or two. “I have walked blindly into the darkness,” he said finally, “and studied art there with my master.”
“Have you indeed.”
“Aye. Swordplay and such. When you meet him, you’ll understand.”
“Hrumph,” she said, unconvinced. “I vow the only magics you’ve worked on me are best left for the privacy of our own tent.”
“Then you don’t think I brewed a potion to make you love me?” he asked, reaching up to tuck a bit of her hair behind her ear. “Or to make you wed with me?”
She pulled him to her and kissed him thoroughly. “Mayhap you brewed aught for me, but my heart was given the moment I saw you, and where my heart was given, my hand was destined to go. Or didn’t you know that my father cast his own kind of spell and bound that upon me from an early age?”
“I’ll thank him when next we meet, after you and I have spent a very long lifetime together.”
“Aye, my beloved nightshade.”
He laughed and pulled her close. “Is that how you think of me? What will your people say to that?”
“They’ll think me enormously brave to partake of you,” she said. “And isn’t that your damned brother bellowing for us to return?”
He looked down at her and smiled fondly. “I love you, Lianna.”
“And I you, my lord. Now, let us return before I propose a wrestle to silence him myself.”
That had been the morning before and she’d found herself too nervous to do aught but give Kendrick a companionable flick on the ear in passing. Now, as she crossed over the enormously small and completely inadequate bridge that separated Blackmour’s aerie from the rest of England, she wished she had brawled with her brother-in-law truly. The victory might have occupied her mind enough to cause her to forget her nervousness.
She dismounted in the courtyard. Well, she actually slid from her horse in something of a faint and found herself caught quite deftly by her husband, who set her on her feet as calmly as if he was accustomed to tending swooning wives daily.
They entered the hall, and Lianna soon found herself surrounded by a press of people, adults and children, who couldn’t seem to get close enough to Jason. Children tugged at him, cast themselves into his arms, and wept at the sight of him. A handful of lordly men clapped him on the shoulder, and a pair of women greeted him with kisses and affectionate ruffles of his hair.
And then the throng parted.
The Dragon himself—and it could be no other—stood there, waiting with his arms crossed over his chest and a fierce look on his face.
Jason took Lianna’s hand and pulled her with him. She didn’t want to resist. Not truly. Somehow, though, her heels just seemed to dig into the rushes of their own accord. It was to no avail, of course, for she soon found herself standing far too close to Christopher of Blackmour for her comfort.
“My lord,” Jason said, inclining his head.
“So,” the Dragon said gruffly, “you found yourself a bride.”
“I did, my lord.”
“Bested that womanly brother of yours for her, I hear.”
“That, too, my lord,” Jason said, loudly enough to cover a mighty snort from said womanly brother.
“Let me see her,” the Dragon said, “and tell her to stop quivering. I never devour brides until they’ve slept at least one peaceful night under my roof.”
“Oh, Christopher,” said one of the women with a sigh.
Lianna looked from the woman, who was shaking her head, then back to the Dragon himself, who seemed to be having trouble maintaining his frown. Perhaps he was tempted to let it disintegrate into something more fierce.
Jason was of no help to her. He stepped aside and placed her hand in the Dragon’s talon without so much as a flinch. Lianna swallowed over the hideously dry place in her throat and did her best to stand tall.
“Blonde?” Christopher of Blackmour asked.
Lianna blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dark-haired, my lord,” Jason said dryly.
Blackmour grunted. “Her nose is crooked.”
Lianna felt her nose with her free hand. It was, as it happened, her best remaining feature. “It most certainly is not,” she said, frowning at her host.
“But surely those teeth are rotting.”
“My second best feature,” Lianna said stiffly, then she realized something that had escaped her attention whilst she was defending what beauty remained her.
Christopher of Blackmour was looking at her.
But he was not seeing her.
She felt her mouth slide open. She gaped at her husband’s former master for several moments in silence whilst a pair of things that had never made sense to her suddenly became very clear.
<
br /> Blackmour rarely left his keep, but the rumor had been because he was too busy practicing his dark arts to do so.
Jason had said his master had taught him to see with his heart, to look beyond what the eye normally was consumed by.
And why not, when his master was blind?
Lianna felt tears well up in her eyes and course down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Christopher of Blackmour sighed. “Now I’ve made her weep. Gillian, have you a cloth about you for this poor girl? Jason, see what my sweet lady wife has to give you for the tending of your bride. By the saints, this gruff business works so much better when your sire does it.”
The woman who Lianna supposed was the lady Gillian snorted in a most unladylike manner. “You’ve grumbles enough of your own, my lord, and they work well enough. ’Tis but this lady’s sweet heart that causes her tears, for I daresay she sees more quickly than most.”
She smiled at Lianna, and Lianna found she had an entirely new well of tears to draw upon. What kind of woman was it, she wondered absently, who married a dragon and flourished under his wing?
She suspected ’twas the kind of woman she could only hope to one day become. She accepted Gillian’s ministrations, then found herself swept up into a family circle that was so much like her own that it took her breath away.
But it didn’t break her heart.
For such a family was now hers.
It was a good deal later that she snuggled with her bus-band on Blackmour’s second finest goose-feather mattress. Having verified its luxury for herself, she could only agree with Jason’s assessment of it. She sighed happily.
“This is lovely.”
“Aye,” he said, stroking her hair with his hand, “it is. I daresay I could not be happier than at this moment.”
She lifted her head to look at him. The candlelight flickered softly over His face.
“I never would have guessed his secret,” she said.
“He hides it well.”
“And you keep it well.”