Gray autumn gathered around him in thick waves of salty mist as he walked into the rear garden. Few plants were in bloom, and most had been cut back for the winter. His mother’s favorite tree, a sturdy oak, was shed of half its leaves, and acorns littered the ground beneath it. The swing he used as a child still hung there, the thick hemp ropes turned slate gray by the weather and years and the flat plank weathered and rotted near the edges. He sat on a wrought iron bench near the tree, put his elbows on his knees, and folded his hands as he thought about how to approach Sean Mac Rian’s requests. He frowned, and the oiska churned in his stomach as if to highlight his loathing of the northern duke. The only thing Mac Rian wants is to be as close to the crown as possible, he thought. If he had more money, he’d try to take it himself.
Braedan’s distrust of Mac Rian ran deep. When Braedan was nine, Sean Mac Rian visited Torlach with his daughter, Olwyn. Swayed by the duke’s sweet words, Braedan’s father gave Mac Rian additional lands and all but eliminated the responsibilities Mac Rian had to the regency, saying that Duke Mac Rian needed all of his resources to rebuild his holdings since his father had squandered most of the family’s wealth. And now he comes to beg help from me. What will he promise me in return? His stomach twisted again. His daughter. And gods help me, he knows I need to wed.
“Considering which chambermaid you plan to deflower next, Braedan?”
He opened his eyes. Igraine stood before him, arms crossed and green eyes flashing with anger. “Is something amiss, your highness?” He stood. “I don’t know—”
“You do know, and more importantly, I know.” She had changed from her riding habit to a jade green silk gown and bold jewels that would have overwhelmed a lesser woman. Her hair was looped and pinned into an intricate design halfway back on her head and left to swing unbound behind her. “Keep your hands off my maids, Braedan.”
Braedan’s guard took a step forward, but Braedan gestured him away. “My lady, I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“You bedded Gwyn,” she said in a low, hissing tone. “I know you were with her last night. I spent the morning soothing her tears and attempting to assuage her guilt. I don’t give a pig’s member who you are, lad—she’s a fifteen-year-old girl and you deflowered her without a thought to any needs but your own.”
He folded his arms. “She said she was with me?”
“She didn’t have to. She’s been weeping all morning and the Lady Aislinn said she came out of your chambers while I was riding.” She spoke each word distinctly. “Keep your hands off my maids, Braedan.”
He laughed. “You presume to threaten me, Igraine?”
She lifted her chin. “You think I’ve not considered a way to follow through on a threat, then? You think I’ve nothing to keep from you, lad?” She lowered her voice. “If you want me, you’ll keep your hands off my ladies and stop acting like a rutting goat.”
He hated that his breath quickened. He forced himself to breathe slower. “Want you? I don’t know what you mean. You’re an ambassador and a foreign princess. I wouldn’t presume to think of you improperly, highness.”
Indignation crossed her face. “I’ll not believe you’ve never looked at me and thought about it.”
He couldn’t resist goading her. He leaned closer to her ear and lowered his voice. “If I wanted a chance with you, lady, don’t you think I would have asked for one by now?”
For the breath of a moment he thought she might slap him, but he should have known—he should have realized that Igraine would never do what he expected of her. She lifted her mouth and pressed her lips to the skin behind his ear, teasing him with the tip of her tongue just before she drew away enough to let her breath linger near his neck. “Tonight, when you’re alone in your bed and all of my ladies are tucked safely away, consider that if you had waited, you could have had me.”
He closed his eyes. “You tease me, my lady.”
“I never tease about this.” She drew away. “I will see you in the audience hall, majesty.” She turned and walked away, the green silk clinging to her hips and her hair swaying with her proud gait.
Braedan let out a long breath. At least she helped me shake the drink. “Let’s get back. The lords will be wondering where I am.”
The audience hall had grown crowded in Braedan’s absence. Several lords of the realm awaited him, and at the front, dressed in black and red silks and woolens, stood Sean Mac Rian. The lords all bowed low as Braedan ascended the dais and sat on the Raven Throne. Logan took a place next to him, affecting the easy stance of a man who could strike down a threat to the king and return to his position with no more than a blink.
As Braedan sat, the doors opened again, and his breath caught in his throat. Igraine glided in with two ladies trailing her. The way she enters a room is the stuff of legend. He stood again and descended to meet her. She offered her hand and a deep curtsy. He bowed. “Your highness. Do you join us today as an ambassador or as a petitioner?”
She straightened, her face a mask of regal propriety. “I’m here as an interested observer and friend of the court. If it pleases you, majesty.”
Cormac called Mac Rian’s petition. “Duke Sean Mac Rian of Fox Hill, your majesty. He requests your assistance with some difficulties with the tribes.”
Braedan forced his eyes away from Igraine. The duke gave a low bow as he approached the dais. “Majesty. I humbly thank you for your attention to my petition,” Mac Rian said.
“My lords are always welcome in my court,” Braedan said, struggling to maintain an even, polite tone. “Tell me how I can assist you.”
“The tribes, majesty. They have started to make forays across the boundary and into my holdings. I need additional men to help me hold them back. I fear for the peace between our peoples, but I fear more that the savages will overrun Kiern and its environs and penetrate Taura.”
Braedan leaned back against the throne. “I’ve received your many letters, Duke Mac Rian. You still say you don’t know why the tribes are encroaching on your territory?”
“No, majesty. I don’t know. Their attacks seem unprovoked. I’ve lost good men to their spears and arrows, and I fear it’s only a matter of time before I lose villagers. Already, merchants are using the east road out of fear of using the great road. I fear you will look weak, my lord.”
If I deny him men, the tribesmen will make short work of him. “How I appear to other lords and tribesmen doesn’t concern me much, Mac Rian. If you don’t want to lose men, stay out of the forest. I need all of my men here.” He nodded toward the door, dismissing Mac Rian.
“Sire, if I may?”
It was Igraine’s voice. She’d risen from her bench, and all eyes turned toward her.
“You have something to add, highness?” Braedan asked.
“I realize it’s not my place, my lord—I am your ambassador to the Great Kirok, not to the tribes, and I have little sway in your relations with your lords—but I think you may be too hasty in refusing men to assist Lord Mac Rian.”
Braedan lifted an eyebrow. “Hasty? Do you presume to know the business of the tribes and northern lords, my lady?”
“May I speak freely?”
“When have you not spoken freely?”
An amused chuckle passed through the crowd. Igraine even smiled and gave a low, brief laugh. “My lord knows me well,” she said in a low, purring timbre. “I wish only to point out that your lord uncle’s men are still in the city shoring up the defenses of the army. If you might beg his indulgence and assistance, you could send the men from Stone Coast to investigate this matter.”
Braedan glanced at Ronan, who shrugged as if to tell him to do as pleased him. “My lord uncle needs to return to his holdings before winter sets in,” Braedan said.
“Then perhaps they could ride north and return to his holdings once this trouble with the tribes is settled.” She turned to Ronan and smiled. “As long as you must go north anyway, why not take the great road and help your fellow lord sort o
ut this trouble before you cross over to the east?”
Ronan stood. “If my nephew wishes my assistance in this matter, I am at his disposal—and at yours, my lord Mac Rian.”
Braedan stifled a sigh. “And do you think you could get this matter sorted quickly, uncle?”
“Of course.”
“My lord—” Igraine smiled again. “If I may, it would be a greater show of your authority if you would accompany your uncle.”
“Do you have any concept of how to keep still?” Braedan snapped.
She lifted her eyebrows. “And do you have any concept of how to speak to a foreign royal?”
She gives as much as she gets. And gods help me, I can’t be angry with her. He rubbed a hand across his mouth to hide a grin. It’s tempting to goad her just to hear her lilt. He shook his head. Pay attention. She wants you away from Torlach. Why? “Who do you propose would look after affairs here, highness?”
“Your seneschal is a highly competent man. I’m sure he can look after everything. I am, of course, at your disposal as well, and I would be delighted to assist Lord Rowan.”
Braedan sat up all the way. “You would assist Cormac?”
“If it please you.”
Braedan shot a glance at Ronan, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving a foreign princess in a position of such authority,” Braedan said.
Igraine blinked. “Sire, forgive me. I only meant that I could offer administrative assistance to Lord Rowan—legal research, assistance with correspondence, those kinds of things. I would not presume to govern in your stead, majesty.”
Braedan rubbed his chin. The lords listened carefully, watching to see what he did. Mac Rian waited, eager and hopeful. If I give Mac Rian the help he asks for, the rest of them will expect it as well. Still, I am his liege. If he asks, I should assist him. He gestured to a servant. “Water.” The boy bowed and brought a goblet, and Braedan took a long drink to give him a moment to consider his position. Mac Rian isn’t telling me everything. If I went north, I could find out what’s really happening with the tribes and perhaps find a guardian myself. But if I anger Hrogarth in the process, is it worth it? He glanced at Igraine again. I can’t let the other dukes think a foreign royal has sway over me, either. They’ll assume my loins are doing the thinking. He drank again to hide a grimace and shifted in his seat. And I confess—they may be right. Damn woman.
He gave the goblet to the servant. “Her highness speaks eloquently in favor of helping you, but I’m not prepared yet to acquiesce,” he told Mac Rian. “Let me have a night to consider your request and her suggestion. I will give you my answer in the morning.”
Mac Rian bowed. “Of course, sire.” He backed away from the dais and sat. Igraine and Ronan returned to their seats as well.
Braedan turned to Cormac. “Who’s next?”
Cormac called the next lord forward, and Braedan dispatched the petitions of the dukes and minor lords quickly. When Cormac signaled the guards to let in the other petitioners, the audience hall filled with commoners and merchants. Cormac introduced the petitioners one by one, and Braedan listened as boundary disputes, minor criminal cases, tax questions, and other matters were brought before him. He found himself stifling or hiding yawns in short order. Igraine’s eyes rarely left his face.
When Cormac brought a common woman of middle years before him, he expected another boundary petition. “This woman is from your uncle’s holdings, majesty,” Cormac said. “She wishes to present her claim for ownership of her property.”
Ronan stood. “Majesty, may I?”
“You may speak.”
“This woman’s petition has been before my court before. Her husband died some time back, and they had no surviving children. By law, without heirs, her property should be mine to claim.”
“Sire, please,” the woman said. “The farm belonged to my father. He bequeathed it to my husband when he died. I have men to work the land, but your lord uncle desires to put me out of my home.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’ve lived there my whole life. We’ve paid our dues—we’ve given our tenth to your lord uncle every year. We’ve always lived within the law. Am I to be homeless because I have no heir?”
“You have no one who could take you in, lady?” Braedan asked.
She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “I’m an able-bodied woman capable of taking care of myself. I have no need of a keeper. My only crime is being a woman. I can’t keep my farm because of my gender. Is this the king’s justice?”
“Majesty, it is the law,” Ronan said. “A woman cannot inherit property. I have offered to take the lady into my household as a maid, but she has refused.”
“I am not a servant,” the woman said. “Majesty, I beg mercy of you—let me keep my farm.”
Braedan considered her. People will follow a vision. I have a woman ambassador in my court. Perhaps it’s time to change things. “Very well. The king’s court will be merciful. You can keep your home and lands, and upon your death, they will pass to Lord Kerry.”
The woman’s face broke into a wide smile amid shocked murmurs of the crowd. Ronan’s face clouded. “Majesty, you cannot just overrule the law that way,” he blurted.
And now my uncle will interrupt me as well? “If I can’t, who can?” Braedan held up a hand when Ronan opened his mouth. “Protest again, uncle, and I’ll have you escorted out.” He gestured to the woman. “You can go, lady. Find a place to stay. Lord Rowan will draw up papers. Return tomorrow and your deed will be ready.”
She curtsied, low, and started to speak, but Igraine stood and interrupted. “Majesty, forgive me again, but I fear you are making a grave error.”
The hall fell silent. Braedan’s shoulders tightened. Will this woman ever learn to keep still? Who’s king here? He stood. “I warned my uncle, highness. Do you expect me to be more merciful for you than I was for him?”
“No, I expect you to listen and obey the law you purport to respect.”
He motioned to Logan. “Escort her highness back to her chambers.”
Igraine brushed Logan’s hand away and took a step toward the king. “A moment, sire.” She gave him a winsome smile. “Please.”
That smile . . . I know what it does to me, I know why she uses it, and yet . . . . He sat on the throne again and folded his hands in his lap. “Make it brief.”
“Forgive me, sire, but despite this woman’s sympathetic argument, the law is not on her side. She cannot inherit property. It is sad and unfortunate, but the law does not recognize her as a separate and distinct person from her dead husband. Only a separate and distinct person can inherit property, and only men are recognized as such.”
Braedan leaned back on the throne. Ronan and the common woman stared at Igraine. “I realize the problem, my lady, but I’ve already overruled the law and granted her request.”
“And is it your plan to overrule the law every time you don’t like it?” She stepped closer to the throne. “If the king thinks he operates outside the law, he is no better than a common criminal. You are bound, majesty. It is sad, and I grieve for this lady, but she has no legal options. You cannot overrule the law for one woman unless you plan to overrule the law for every woman.”
My father would never have stood for this—for a woman speaking this way in open court. I should have her taken away. But . . . His hands tightened in his lap. “Do you argue to change the inheritance laws, my lady?”
“I am simply pointing out to your majesty that the law, as it stands today, is not on the side of this woman. It is on the side of your lord uncle. If the king will not follow the law, then the king opens his justice for abuse and disparity based on the whims of nobles and outlaws alike. If no one follows the law, anarchy will follow in short order.” She paused. “But if the law is unjust, it is a matter for the king and his advisors to consider if it might be changed.” Her eyes flicked down to his hands, and a hint of a smile twitched at her mouth.
; She sees my tension. This woman misses nothing. He unfolded his hands and tapped his lip. She stood with the poise and elegance of a woman raised in a royal court, but she spoke with the wisdom and eloquence of a man practiced in law and leadership. He stood. “Her highness has given me much to consider. Forgive me, lady, but I will have to reconsider my ruling. Please come back to court tomorrow. I will give you my answer then.”
The woman’s eyes teared, but she swallowed once and curtsied. “As it please your majesty.”
Braedan waved away the next paper Cormac tried to give him. “I’ve heard enough petitioners for today. I have much to consider. You may return tomorrow, and I’ll begin hearing cases again.” He descended to stand near Igraine. “Highness, a word in private?”
“Of course.” She took his arm, and Logan and her ladies fell in behind them.
When they were out of earshot of the lords and petitioners, Braedan dropped her hand and turned to her. “Is this how it is in Eirya? Is this how your mother speaks to your father—interrupting his deliberations and scolding him in open court?”
She lifted her chin. “Aye, ‘tis. If ye don’t like it, get control of your court.”
She had slipped back into her lilt as into an old pair of slippers. The sound of it tickled his ears. “I had control until you arrived.”
She snorted. “Your control is an illusion. You speak without thinking, make decisions based on whim instead of the law or even thought. You’re no better than your father if ye can’t even handle a bit o’ dissent.”
His composure wavered. She may as well have slapped me. It would have been easier to recover. Am I so much like my father? He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Of all the people in the room who would argue with my decision in that final case, you are the last one I would have expected.”
“D’ye think my desire for equality between genders and classes precludes my love of the law, then?”
“My pragmatic princess has little room in her spirit for mercy and exception.”
Her mouth dropped. “Little room for mercy? You can’t be serious. It is the role and obligation of the noble class to dispense mercy when and where it is required—as your uncle was doing by offering the woman a position in his household. Her pride kept her from accepting it. She desires only to stay in her family’s home.”
Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) Page 21