As the meal progressed, Danilo noted traces of economy. Despite the costly imported goods in his own chamber, the carpets were worn almost through, the wine was not the best, the room was almost too cold for comfort, and there were not enough servants for the number of diners. Another guest might not have noticed, but Regis had taught Danilo to observe details. Lerrys and Geremy had lived richly among the stars without thought to the welfare of their own Domain.
Danilo had been placed some distance from Bettany, making any conversation between them awkward. Instead, he talked with the other men, the women being meek and, for the most part, silent. If this was the way Bettany had been brought up, no wonder she was graceless and inexperienced. She seemed not to have any immediate family present, certainly no female relatives. Throughout the meal, she picked at her food, played with her napkin, and drank more wine than was proper for a young woman.
The talk ranged from the unusually cold weather to the social season in Thendara to oblique questions about how the new Lord Hastur fared and then back to predictions of a bad winter.
After the meal, any hopes Danilo had of a word with Bettany disappeared as an older woman in the plain clothing of a nurse took the girl in charge and swept her from the hall.
“I am sorry to deprive you all of further entertaining news,” Danilo said, bowing to the other men, “but I must see to my horses and my trail guides.”
The Renunciates had set up their camp in the stables. Even without a fire, it was quite snug, warmed by the body heat of the animals and out of the wind and snow. He felt their instant alertness as he entered and asked if they needed anything.
Darilyn stood up. “The horses are resting comfortably. The head groom did his best for them with hot mashes and blankets. The hay is not the best, but there is plenty of it. We have not had to dip into our supply of grain.”
“I am glad of it,” Danilo said. “Is there any reason why we cannot leave for Thendara in the morning?”
The Renunciate offered a small smile. They understood one another. The weather was not bad enough to pin them down here, and the risk of worse would increase every day.
When Danilo returned to main hall, he found Francisco and a few of the men still in conversation. “ DomFrancisco, I trust the damiselawill be ready to leave at dawn.”
Francisco hesitated, and Danilo saw in that moment of panic that the young Ridenow did not have much influence over his cousin’s behavior. Danilo would not have been surprised to learn that Bettany was accustomed to sleeping as late as she liked. It was better to make expectations clear now than to wait until tomorrow morning. Being awakened and dressed at a decent hour, with or without breakfast, would be good for her. He smiled as he headed for his own chamber.
The next morning, the Bloody Sun rose on a cloudless sky. Danilo woke well before dawn, arranged for hot porridge and jacoto be sent to the women in the stables, took his own breakfast in the kitchen, and went about supervising replenishment of trail provisions and the loading of the bride’s dowry as well as her personal possessions. No one questioned his orders. The house steward, an older man whose mouth seemed permanently set in an expression of disapproval, responded with quiet efficiency. Danilo suspected the man was relieved to be rid of the girl and reassured that she would arrive at her destination with no blemish upon her former dwelling. Apparently Bettany was being sent away without a proper chaperone, since the Renunciates provided the necessary female company.
Just as Danilo was finishing his own work and beginning to wonder what he would do if Bettany did not appear, whether he had license to drag her from her bedchamber and throw her over the back of a horse in her nightgown, she rushed into the stable yard. Her nurse and two other women trailed behind. Danilo bade her a good morning but received only a sullen nod. At least her traveling dress had split skirts for riding astride and stout boots housed her feet. A fur-lined cloak completed her ensemble. Sniffling, her nurse thrust a pair of mittens and matching scarf, obviously knitted with care, into her hands.
“Pah! I don’t want those,” Bettany pouted. “They’re for babies!”
“You will want them before the hour is gone, I assure you.” Darilyn looked up from checking the harness on one of the pack animals. With a friendly smile, she took the items and slipped them into the saddlebag of Bettany’s pretty white mare. “Here, let me show you how to check the girths and under the saddle cloth to make sure your horse is comfortable for a long ride.”
Bettany shook her head. “I am a lady and soon to be the wife of a great lord. Such tasks are for servants.”
Danilo expected Darilyn to object, but the Renunciate shrugged. “As you wish. If your saddle slips on the trail or your horse bucks because a wrinkle in her blanket has worn a sore on her back, it is yourhead you will fall upon, not that of a horsegroom.”
Darilyn arranged the riders, taking the lead herself and placing Danilo beside Bettany. They set off through the gates at a brisk walk to warm the horses up.
“Why do you suffer this indignity?” Bettany asked him. “Surely, youshould ride in the position of honor. You are the only man among us, and a Comyn lord. It’s demeaning for you to take orders from a hired servant!”
Danilo restrained the retort that rose to his tongue. “Darilyn is our trail guide. Your promised husband has paid for her advice on how to get us to Thendara as safely and comfortably as possible. This is her business, after all. Do you not think we should take her advice?”
Bettany said nothing, only stared ahead. Within a quarter an hour, however, she began complaining. She had a headache, her saddle was too hard, she was cold, she was hot, she was hungry, she was bored. Danilo, who had almost no experience with children, tried at first to encourage her. Nothing he said lessened her distress. Clearly, she had no conception of the distance to Thendara or the importance of taking advantage of every hour of good weather. Very shortly, he was reduced to staring straight ahead, teeth clenched, and doing his best to ignore her.
Finally he burst out, “This incessant whining is making matters difficult for the very people who are trying to help you. Lord Hastur has charged me with your education in the cristoforofaith and anything else you might need to know as wife to a great lord. The lessons will begin now. A lady does not complain at every little discomfort! Nor does she sulk and pout like a spoiled brat.”
“I’m not spoiled! I can’t help being hungry—you would be, too, if you hadn’t eaten since yesterday! I’m not usedto this!” Bettany burst into tears. “I want to go home!”
Darilyn, who had been riding on a circuit of the caravan, reined her sturdy piebald gelding beside the distraught girl. “What is this? Did you not eat breakfast before we set out?”
“What do youcare?” Bettany glared at the Renunciate and stuck out her lower lip.
“I am responsible for the well-being of every person in my charge, little lady. If you are merely uncomfortable, that is something you must bear in good temper. But if you are not properly nourished, you cannot withstand the rigors of travel. If you become ill and we must stop, we risk becoming snowed in without shelter. You put all our lives in jeopardy. Do you see how your actions affect more than yourself ?”
“Oh . . .” Bettany said in a small, contrite voice. “I would not want anyone to diebecause of me.”
“Then I will ride beside you and show you how we Free Amazons eat while on a long trail. DomDanilo, would you be so good as to ride point?”
Grateful for the escape, Danilo nudged his horse into a trot until he came to the front of the caravan. Darilyn’s kindliness toward Bettany surprised him;. He had thought Darilyn—and all such women, who lived by their own labor and renounced the protection of men—hard and unmotherly. Within a few minutes, Darilyn and Bettany were laughing together. Bettany’s chronic petulance disappeared, revealing her to be surprisingly pretty. What her natural temperament might be, Danilo could not tell. She had been taught neither manners nor self-discipline, but there was something more in her that t
roubled him, an oddness. He could not puzzle it out.
He could not see any man of sense being content with such a wife. He thought of Linnea, with her keen mind and trained laran,and more than that, her generosity, her sensitivity . . . all the things he had not wanted to admit but that made her the ideal consort for Regis. In fact, he could think of no other woman who posed lessof a threat to his relationship with Regis.
Darilyn persuaded Bettany that it was fun to nibble on trail food as they rode along, and the party made good progress. The women set a pace that was not too draining for the animals but took advantage of the fine weather. As afternoon waned, they pressed on, arriving at a good-sized village at a crossroads.
The inn there was run by two Renunciates, friends of Darilyn. One took charge of the horses, patting their necks and speaking to them with such affection that Danilo had no doubt they would be pampered and fed with as much care as their riders.
The common room of the inn was clean and warm, if plainly furnished. By this time, Bettany had passed from her earlier cheer to peevishness and then to sullen silence. She had given up complaining how tired and hungry and cold she was and sat where she had been placed before the fire. The second innkeeper set about providing hot drinks for them all while dinner was prepared and baggage brought up to their rooms.
Danilo carried a cup of jacoto Bettany and pulled up a stool beside her. “Here, drink this. It will warm you.” He took a packet of honeyed nuts from his jacket pocket and held it out. “Eat these as well. I always carry them on the trail for times such as this. Dinner will be soon, but it is best to have something to tide you over.”
Like an obedient child, she sipped the stimulant drink and nibbled on the nuts. Within minutes, her face, which had been very pale, brightened. “These are good. Th-thank you.”
“It has been a long, hard day for someone unaccustomed to travel. This must all seem very strange.”
“Oh! As to that—” Her eyes turned glassy, then she gathered herself. “I see you mean to help me. Tell me, what sort of man is my new lord? Is it true he is . . . not as other men?”
Danilo sat back, momentarily at a loss as to how to answer. “I am sure he will be a good husband to you.”
Temper flashed in her eyes. “Do not treat me like a child to be cozened with pretty promises! I have heard . . .” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “he is deformed. As a man.”
Deformed? Danilo felt a rush of outrage. He mistrusted Rinaldo for many reasons, but the poor man’s birth was not among them, nor should it be.
“I believe you mean he is emmasca,” Danilo said firmly. “It is nota perversion, but the way he is made.”
He paused, surprised at his own vehemence. What he had just asserted was as true for Regis and himself as for Rinaldo. The way each of us is made.He did not know the particulars of Rinaldo’s anatomy and inclinations, nor did he want to. He knew how difficult it was to reconcile one’s nature with incompatible demands. Had Rinaldo undergone a similar struggle, or had he found acceptance in the cristoforocommunity? If the doctrine was harsh in some areas, it could be compassionate in others.
From what Rinaldo had said, he responded sexually to women, at least in theory. He was not ignorant of what passed between husbands and wives. He must have had good reason to think he could perform the role of husband.
Danilo said as much to Bettany, adding, “The marriage bed is not the only test of a man’s ability. There are certain normal functions that occur even in young unmarried men—”
“I know—I—” Blushing furiously, the girl looked down.
Danilo took the cup from her and set it down on the hearth. “ Chiya,I am sorry! I should not have spoken so crudely to you.”
Bettany twisted her hands together as tears streamed down her cheeks. Danilo laid one of his hands on hers to comfort her. Her fingers were like ice, but the physical contact brought an unexpected psychic link. He himself was not a strong telepath, but he had always been able to sense the emotions of others. Now he felt her fatigue, her irritability, her fear, her self-absorption. He also sensed a memory so distorted and bizarre that it colored everything else in her mind. In reflex, he pulled his hands away and slammed his laranbarriers tight.
Brief as the rapport had been, he knew what he had touched. This poor young woman, this difficult child, had been caught up in a Ghost Wind. She must have been away from home at the time, for the plants producing the highly psychedelic pollen grew only at high altitudes. Under the influence of the airborne particles, men were known to have gone berserk. Bettany was lucky to be alive and with any portion of her mind intact.
She had calmed and was staring at him with the glassy expression he now understood. He did not want to touch her again.
“Whatever else he may be,” Danilo said, “Lord Hastur is a good man. He has spent most of his life as a cristoforomonk, dedicated to a virtuous life. Did they tell you that, as well?”
She shook her head, and he wondered if she had indeed been told but had not understood. He explained, in the broadest terms, the principles of that faith. Rinaldo’s constant reminders and regular chapel attendance had sharpened his memory.
The conversation continued through the dinner hour. For the first time, Bettany seemed to be genuinely interested in something besides herself. Perhaps she was relieved or simply attracted to the idea of a husband who was not only rich and powerful but romantically mysterious as well. At least, she was now minimally familiar with the tenets of her husband’s faith.
Danilo escorted Bettany up the stairs to the room she shared with one of the Renunciates.
“What I said about my promised husband,” she said, “I did not mean it. I was told those things out of spite. Theywanted me to believe that he could never love me or give me a child. If what you say is true—if the Lord of All Worlds and His saints work miracles for the faithful—then who is to say we will not be blessed as well? Surely, there can be no more devout follower than my husband.”
Leaving Danilo speechless, the girl shut the door behind her.
24
As the party neared Thendara, the weather worsened. Clouds blanketed the sun. Both humans and animals breathed out streams of vapor, and ice formed on skin and clothing. Sleet poured down as they crested the pass through the Venza Hills. The horses plodded on, heads lowered and tails clamped to their rumps. There was no shelter along this stretch of the road, and the winds cut through the hills like razor- edged knives. Darilyn, her face pale and set, shouted to keep together and keep moving. Danilo admired her ability to keep everyone organized.
They arrived in Thendara late, as the quick hush of nightfall settled over the city. They were all thoroughly drenched and aching with cold. Bettany’s lips had turned blue. She was shivering visibly.
Darilyn sent one of her women ahead to alert the Castle. When they clattered into the courtyard, lanterns were already lit and the cobblestones swept clear of snow. Servants waited in the sheltered alcoves of the doors with blankets in hand.
Within the Castle itself, Javanne Hastur and a handful of maids waited to take Bettany in hand. Javanne stripped off the girl’s sodden cloak and wrapped her in a thick shawl.
“Where is her waiting-woman? Has she no kinswoman to attend her?” Javanne demanded of Danilo, as if this lapse of propriety were his fault.
He hesitated to blurt out the truth in front of the girl, that she had been thrust into an unseasonable journey among strangers, without even that small comfort. Javanne pressed her lips together, her posture expressing her opinion, and bustled the girl away.
The Renunciates had finished offloading what did not belong to them and were ready to leave. Danilo offered them a hot meal from the Castle kitchens, but they refused. They looked weary, yet anxious to be back in their own Guild House.
Darilyn and Danilo stood in the lee of the outer wall as he counted out the rest of the fee, adding a generous bonus from his own purse. Instead of taking her leave, Darilyn lingered.
“Is anything amiss?” Danilo asked. He was distracted by the business of their arrival and the safe disposal of Bettany’s dowry, so that he was not blocking telepathic contact the way he normally did. She was unsure but not alarmed.
“You are—you were paxman to DomRegis Hastur?”
Pain welled, but only a small pulse, quickly fading in the thought: Was and still am, in my heart.Nothing could change that, not all of Rinaldo’s fiery words or the gods themselves.
Darilyn said, “I hear he is lately married to Lady Linnea Storn.”
“Yes, that is true.” Why would the affairs of the Comyn concern a Renunciate? Given Darilyn’s touch of laranand red-tinted hair, could she and Linnea be distant kinswomen? Throughout the Domains, the illegitimate offspring of Comyn lords often had some degree of psychic talent.
“Would you convey my wishes for her happiness?” Darilyn’s usually brusque manner softened. “I met her years ago, you see, when she was Keeper at Arilinn. My freemate and I sought her out when there was no one else we could turn to for help. She was gracious to us when there was no obligation. She accepted us, accepted mefor what I am. I have never forgotten that kindness.”
How like Linnea to have seen past the cropped hair, the mannish clothing, and the surgical mutilation to the heart of the woman. There was nothing mean spirited or prideful in Linnea. She would not judge Darilyn for her choices . . . or Regis for his.
“I cannot say when I will next have the opportunity, but I will speak to the lady and give her your greetings.” Danilo bowed in informal salute.
With a whisper of a smile, Darilyn returned to her sisters.
While Danilo was fetching Bettany to Thendara, arrangements for the marriage had been made. The ceremony took place only a tenday later, with barely enough time to sew the wedding clothes.
The intervening time went by in a cascade of autumnal storms, one upon the heels of the next. Ice-edged rain battered the city, sending even the hardiest folk scurrying for shelter. The damp chill penetrated stone and wooden walls alike. Winds swirled through the streets and the courtyards of the Castle. In the brief respites between gusts, common people emerged to rush through the most essential tasks. Street vendors set up their wares with desperate speed and as quickly took them down. On corners and outside taverns, men in ragged cloaks gathered to exchange dire prophecies about the winter to come.
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