The Pentacle War: Book One - Hearts In Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  On the wedding day, pennants and streamers flew from the windows in the castle and garlands of flowers were hung in all of the doorways. In her room, Angharad waited in a cold sweat for servants, under the direction of Lady Varenna, to come and dress her for the actual ceremony. If the week had been a trial for Ian, it had been the living of a nightmare for Angharad. Attempting to block out the reality of what was happening around her, she made herself stand and sit when so instructed. Food held no interest for her, and when she lay down to rest her dreams were haunted by her unhappiness. At no time was she left alone with the young lord; he was but a vague face and form that swam in and out of the periphery of her vision. She had come to focus entirely inward and was beginning to let her own fears and angers consume her. Those around her had lost their humanity and become symbols of torture for her.

  Since agreeing to be married off at her parent's behest Angharad had tried to think as little as possible about the future. Her grandmother had been kind and encouraging, but Angharad hid behind a barrier of silence. Like a large doll she had allowed herself to be measured for wedding clothes and apathetically condoned all choices made for her. The nursery beyond her room filled itself with boxes and trunks of clothing, along with the personal luxuries deemed necessary to her future life. Try as she would to ignore it, time moved inexorably forwards until the day that she stood captive between her mother and grandmother, watching as the Duke Regent of Langstraad and his wedding party rode into Gwenth.

  A knock at her door announced Varenna's arrival with four other personal attendants. Her eyebrows raised and her mouth narrowed into a thin line as she surveyed the future bride's appearance. With an undaunted gleam in her eye she set about ordering what needed to be done to alleviate the impression of dejection and gloom the girl presented. The girl would be representing the majesty of House Creon today and Varenna was determined to make the girl as worthy an ambassador as possible, despite the girl's objections. Angharad soon found herself being bathed and perfumed, her hair cleaned and brushed, dressed with absolute attention to detail and fussed over to a maddening degree. If she had hoped to be left alone before the actual ceremony she was to be disappointed, because as soon as Varenna saw that her task had been accomplished and went to ready herself a herd of younger female relations were let in to entertain the hapless bride until she was summoned.

  It was mid-afternoon when trumpets were sounded throughout the castle and everyone fortunate enough to attend crowded into the ducal audience chamber. Upon a raised platform, beneath an enormous arras of Creon's golden boar, sat the Duke and Duchess of Creon dressed in their full court regalia. Severely beautiful in her black gown copiously edged with gold lace and sewn with hundreds of seed pearls, Dierdre surveyed the hall with manifest pleasure, nodding with gracious acknowledgment as well-wishers filed into the room. Just to the left of the duke was his mother, the dowager duchess, looking both anxious and eager, and behind their parents stood the bride's two brothers, Lords Owen and Gereth, stiff with importance in the black and gold colours of their House. Near the ducal family were seated Lord Aidan Ravenspur of the Minor House of Thurin and his wife Lady Caitlan, Dierdre's sister, who had fostered Angharad as a child. Three trumpets were sounded in unison and the bridegroom's party entered and crossed the hall with a measured pace.

  Dressed in the gold and green colours of Langstraad and wearing his own ducal coronet, Ian de Medicat paced the length of Creon's hall. The slightness of his stature was negated by the sumptuous raiment and the trappings of his office, all of which he wore with his own brand of dignified elegance. Behind him walked his two chief vassals, his grandfather Sir Alister de Medicat and the Lady Idris ap Morna, both with their attendant spouses. After them trailed a dozen or so cousins of various ranks and a contingent of minor nobility from Langstraad intent on seeing their new regent wed and enjoying themselves with the feasting and entertainment concurrent with the event.

  Reaching the foot of the stairs Ian stopped and waited as the Duke of Creon rose and bid him welcome. There followed a series of speeches, formalized by long tradition, in which the father of the bride ritually quizzed the bridegroom. This interrogation was followed by the verbal recitation of the bride's dowry, after which the bride herself was escorted into the hall by her cousins, under the ever watchful eye of Lady Varenna. For his part, Ian saw a female form swathed in yards of white and gold fabric. Her hair was unbound but a veil of gold tissue was cast over her face, held in place by an intricate crown of open goldwork laced with flowers. She seemed to him to be more of an elaborate package than a living human being. For an instant he wondered if this would have been what Holly would have looked like in her place. Ruthlessly, he extinguished the thought and concentrated on the next phase of the ceremony.

  Vows were extracted from each of the participants, starting with the sponsors. The Duke and Duchess of Creon spoke their vows of confirmation and affiliation, pledging to deliver their daughter and her dowry into her new husband's hands. Then the Baron de Medicat and his lady committed themselves to seeing the bride to her new home and installed with full honours to her new position. Finally Ian publicly accepted the Lady Angharad as his wife, promising to fulfill the marriage contract endorsed by his grandfather and her father. Lastly, in the smallest of voices and with much prompting, Angharad also publicly consented to the marriage. More chairs were brought in and Ian and Angharad ascended to take their places on the nuptial chairs, set between her parents and his grandparents.

  In a never-ending line, everyone in the hall approached those seated to present their gifts and good-wishes to the newly wedded couple. The bride, still behind her golden veil, sat impassively while the parade marched by and left the polite amenities to those sharing the duty with her. Most of the guests simply assumed shyness on her part and took no offense at her silence. Beside her, Ian made automatically correct and gracious remarks while puzzling over the enigma at his side. When the last of the guests had presented themselves, the bridal party rose and led the guests into the banquet hall for the livelier festivities. Ian offered his arm to escort his bride, but she ignored him and proceeded by herself. He shrugged and kept pace at her side until they were seated together at the banquet table.

  It had grown dark outside, but fires in fireplaces, wall torches and candles illuminated the great feast within. The Duke of Creon would not have it said that anything was stinted in the wedding festivities in honour of his only daughter, and so the food was abundant and the entertainment lavish. Music poured out from the minstrel's gallery while acrobats and poets circulated among the guests. Great platters of roast meats and fish, breads and cakes, fruits and sweetmeats and a never ending supply of mead and ale were constantly offered to the assembled guests. A great din of merrymaking soon filled the hall as the guests set to enjoying the duke's hospitality. The dowager duchess began the meal with stolen glances of trepidation at her grand-daughter's mute, stationary form, but after a few glasses of wine she gave it up. The child was safely married and must now make her own peace with her situation.

  Beside his golden statue of a bride, Ian partook sparingly of the delicacies offered. To all appearances, he was relaxed and sociable. He made pleasant remarks to all who approached him, watching and listening appreciatively to the entertainers who passed by. By ignoring the reticent behavior of his bride, his own affability compensated for her rudeness.

  Gazing out of her golden shroud, Angharad barely masked her feelings of anger, betrayal and abject misery. Before her eyes, people seemed to be enjoying themselves as a way of tormenting her in her unhappiness. Now that she had been handed over to a stranger, her parent's attention turned completely from her. Wild thoughts of vengeance swept through her and she clenched her hands to suppress her imagination. She was all but oblivious to the man at her side; her involvement was completely within herself. At one point Sir Hildreth's face loomed before her, his lips moved and she heard her name being spoken. So startled was she that in a moment of blind p
anic she suddenly imagined that she had been married to the decrepit old man. Steadying herself, she fought her own way back to reason as he turned and left. She almost began to think normally again when she felt hands at her elbows and a woman's voice telling her to rise. Her mind went blank as she realized what event was being thus signaled. Trying to subdue a fit of trembling she let herself be led from the hall, surrounded by a group of babbling and giggling girls.

  They escorted her to a room that she did not recognize, obviously decorated specifically for this occasion. A large four-poster bed hung with curtains and made up with feather mattresses and white embroidered linen dominated the room. With much tittering, she was unwrapped from her ostentatious wedding clothes. She then stood in her thin chemise shivering violently as she was offered useless advice. Her mind had gone numb and, like a rabbit caught with nowhere to run, she was bereft of all independent action. A voice she thought belonged to her grandmother was telling her things that she did not want to hear as more hands reached out to guide and pull her to the bed. Placed in its center, her head pushed back onto the pillows and her hair spread out in an aureole over the unmarred whiteness of the pillow, they bid her a variety of wishes and left her to her fate. A scream died unborn in her throat as the door closed and she was left alone in the dimly flickering light of the candles.

  Back in the banquet hall, a servant whispered to the duke who spoke to Sir Alister, who, with a breath flavoured with much ale, told his grandson that, "the little minx is made ready for you, my boy." Ian nodded absently, as if he had not really heard, and finished the wine he was drinking. He had not liked the look of the girl's departure. She seemed completely terrified of what was to come and he was looking less and less forward to their upcoming interview. He was neither a prude nor a lecher, and though he had enjoyed many women, they had always been as eager as himself. It was not that he expected the girl to love him, as he certainly did not expect to love her, but it was not impossible to have a pleasant time without love being involved.

  His grandfather leaned over to repeat his information and Ian replied curtly, though quietly, that he understood and would go when he was ready. Sir Alister's reply was a shade more salacious than Ian had the patience for and he pointedly ignored him as he lifted his glass for more wine. When another glass had been drained, Ian felt that any more procrastination on his part would provoke comments he had no wish to hear. Summoning a servant to act as guide, Ian bade his father-in-law a good-night. Lord Branwilde's nod was courteous but Ian detected a certain constraint in his manner. Possibly all fathers felt this way about sending a man to their daughter's bed, he reasoned with a shrug. Several well-wishers stood and offered to keep the bridegroom company on the way to his bride's room. Politely but firmly, Ian declined their assistance.

  The corridors, once out of the general vicinity of the banquet hall, were dim and deserted. Soon he could no longer hear the boisterous roar of the wedding guests, only the soft steps of his own and his guide's footsteps. A manservant he recognized as Evan was waiting at a door for his lord's arrival. Word had apparently run before them. The guide was dismissed and Evan relieved his master of the crown and long velvet cloak, embroidered with gold and gems for ceremonial use. Ian did not speak but indicated the door before which they stood. Evan nodded and gave him a nervous smile. Dismissing Evan, Ian opened the door and entered.

  Closing the door firmly behind him, he found himself in a small antechamber with another door before him. The door behind him had a bolt which he fastened quietly; what was coming was going to be difficult enough and he was in no mood for over-zealous guests to come barging in. Taking several deep steadying breaths, he lifted the latch and entered the bedchamber. Before him a large room lay dimly lit by two silver candelabra. The walls were paneled in a dark walnut, and a rug of many colours and beautiful design lay on the floor. Large, carved armoires stood against the walls and in the middle of the room rose an immense bed. His attention became riveted to the center of the bed where a young girl sat shivering, with a desperate, half-mad expression on her face. His bride hardly looked in the mood for an enjoyable tumble amid the sheets, he reflected wryly. He started to move forward but froze when she spoke in a low, passionate voice. "If you lay a hand on me, I shall scream the castle down!"

  Ian stopped to consider. "I shouldn't bother," was his equable reply. "They have put us where no amount of noise or commotion will be heard by anyone."

  Her eyes continued to burn at him with feverish intensity. "Do not come nearer, I have a knife and I will use it if I must." From beneath the sheets, she drew forth a small, ornamental blade that was more apt to break than do much harm.

  Casually Ian surveyed the room until he found a comfortable chair. Paying no attention to the hysterical girl, he went over and dragged it closer to the bed. Taking his seat in it, his concentration returned to the girl. She had not moved but was watching his every move with distrust.

  "Now, suppose you tell me what is going on?" he suggested.

  She became confused, caught off guard by his lack of aggression. The knife was fingered as she shifted her grip and pulled the sheets tighter to her. "I will not be raped," she stated at last.

  Ian raised his thin, dark eyebrows. "I have no intention of forcing myself on you," he said quietly. "However, I was under the impression that you had agreed to this marriage."

  "Agreed? I was forced to yield to my parents demands because there was no alternative! I was told that if I did not submit to you, I would be given to an even more loathsome creature. They felt that because I had disgraced them I could be given to whomever they chose, with or without my consent, and with no regard to my wishes." Her words came out in tones of extreme bitterness and she looked very young.

  "My parents have always seen me as a possession and when I tried to leave and live my own life they sent soldiers who dragged me back to them in shame. I have lost all. There is no love and no happiness for me. Everything is in ashes!" Bitterness had given way to tears, so that she now knelt weeping on the bed.

  Ian was beginning to comprehend why she had seemed so distant and aloof during the ceremony. This was far more difficult a problem than he had anticipated, and he knew that he had to do something to resolve the situation here and now. She still clutched her flimsy knife and, while he assumed that she could not use it to advantage, she could wound herself with it. As she continued to cry, her hair falling in such a way as to partially block her view of him, he quickly launched himself out of his chair and onto the bed, where he wrested the knife easily from her startled grasp. She reacted predictably by screaming and wildly flailing at him. Immediately he backed off the bed and returned, as nonchalantly as he could manage, to his chair. She had pushed herself up against the headboard and was regarding him with her fearful, demented stare.

  "I have never raped a woman before, and I do not intend to start with you," he said somewhat testily. "I will tell you though, if you are as crazy as you are acting you need not worry, because I will hand you right back to your father. Alliance be damned! I am not having a mad-woman hung around my neck!"

  The sting of his words seemed to act as a restorative to Angharad's senses. She looked down into her lap for several minutes and when she again raised her eyes to his they had lost their terror. Her voice was stronger and quieter when she next addressed him. "I am not mad, my lord, but I have been misused and you have been misled."

  "May I ask why, if you were against this marriage, did your parents pursue and champion it? And why did you go this far in the charade?" His exasperation was evident though he continued to speak mildly.

  With a deep, shuddering sigh, Angharad related briefly and frankly the story of her doomed elopement and subsequent banishment to her grandmother's care, only to be recalled to her father's court and faced with marriage to him or to a man three times her age whom she detested. By the time that she finished telling her story, he could see that her body had lost its stiffness and was relaxed into a more normal pos
ture. Looking at her now, Ian detected the beauty inherent in her small, fine features which had been hidden by the contortions her overwrought state had produced. The eyes were still smudged shadows on her face, but they no longer rolled with an excess of white. Pity she was so unamenable, he thought to himself, but there it was. Feeling that since she had unburdened herself to him of the reasons she was opposed to this match, he felt obliged to explain why he was so inclined to marry her.

  "...and so, I need your father's commitment to an alliance between Creon and Langstraad."

  "Could you not have just signed a treaty with him?" was her question.

  "You have been born and raised in a Great House, my lady. Think of how alliances are truly cemented: either by mutual physical gains of property or by marriage; those gained through the familial alliances of marriage are the stronger and harder to dissolve. I need this alliance to keep Langstraad safe and, like it or not, you are the key that I have bargained for."

  "You, then, also think that I am merely a chattel to be traded or given away?" She plucked angrily at the coverlet in her hands.

  "So you are, and so I am." Her head jerked up at this admission from him. "I am as much a pawn in this as you. Do you think I like the idea of marrying someone I don't know? I assure you that the idea was almost as distasteful to me as to you. However, I made a pledge that I would preserve the Great House of Langstraad and if that means that I must sacrifice my own wishes to a greater goal, then I am prepared to do it."

  Ian gave her several minutes to think about what he had said before continuing. "Now, as I refuse to rape you, you can declare non-consummation to your parents in the morning and they can have the marriage dissolved. I admit that this would entail great embarrassment all the way around but I am willing to pack my bags and go back from whence I came. Of course, this does not mean that your parents might not find a less scrupulous suitor for you." He paused to see if she was following his logic. A furrowed brow indicated that she was indeed comprehending his meaning, although she remained silent.