Baroness of Blood r-10

by Elaine Bergstrom

  Shaul moved close to him, ready to hold him back if need be. Mihael whirled. For an instant, they locked arms, almost as if they embraced, then Shaul flung him away and wiped his eyes with the back of one shaking hand. He looked at Mihael, his face flushed and ugly in its rage, then at Ilsabet-calm, serene, beautiful. She plays games with the lieutenant as well as the baron, Mihael thought. She has everyone fooled.

  "A ruler has to be level-headed, Mihael," Ilsabet said patiently. "A ruler has to be prepared to fight real threats, not imaginary ones."

  "This threat is very real," Mihael countered.

  "In your mind," Ilsabet replied.

  The tone she used, as if she were placating a small child, infuriated him more than anything she had done so far. His anger surged, and he reached across the table and gave her a hard slap on the face.

  The act should have dissipated some of his anger, but instead it made it worse. He would have hit her again, harder, but Shaul wrenched him back. Mihael fought with more effort than he'd ever expended before, but Peto joined in. The two of them managed to wrestle Mihael to the floor but he continued to struggle, and they hit him until his face was bloody.

  "Stop it!" Ilsabet screamed. She stood above them, her hands clasped in front of her. "You're insane, all three of you! Look, you've even opened his wound."

  Peto pulled back and saw the bloodstains on the floor. "Let him go," he said to Shaul.

  As Shaul obeyed, Mihael began pushing himself to his feet. At the last moment, he grabbed a knife that had fallen in the scuffle and lunged toward his sister.

  Shaul flung himself between them, his own blade out to repel the attack. Mihael must have seen it, but he never stopped his forward rush.

  He died quickly, struggling to his last breath against the men who tried to help him, while Ilsabet backed away as if hoping that her distance would calm him.

  Jorani arrived just as Mihael died. Ilsabet gave a terrified cry and rushed into the comfort of his arms.

  "You saw what he did," Peto said to her.

  "I saw," Ilsabet whispered, pressing close to Jorani. "And it makes no sense."

  "What happened?" Jorani asked.

  "The man ran up my blade," Shaul said incredulously.

  Baron Peto provided the rest of the story while Ilsabet sat beside him, her expression dull with shock.

  SEVENTEEN

  From the Diary of Baroness Ilsabet

  I had not planned on this, so the grief I felt as I pressed against Jorani was real. I stood, swaying on my feet as they carried my brother away. Jorani's arms shook, and I knew he was as shocked as I.

  Later, privately, Jorani asked me what part I had in the tragedy. I stood at his tower window, looking east as I had during my father's last campaign, his plans gone tragically awry as my own had.

  "My brother keeps his hairbrush and mirror on a table close to the spy hole. While he slept, I managed to get a bit of the powder on his hairbrush. He brushed his wet hair. As it dried, the powder flaked off," I said. "I wanted Mihael raving, seeing plots all around him." I explained that I hadn't counted on the powder's strength, nor on Mihael's struggle with the lieutenant.

  "The lieutenant was affected as well?" Jorani asked.

  nodded. "They were both half insane when Mihael charged me."

  "And Peto?"

  "He has no idea what happened except that Mihael was making wild accusations. He'll think Mihael was raving."

  "Mihael told me you killed Greta deliberately."

  "Deliberately!" I whirled and faced him and saw a hardness in his expression that had never been there before. I knew if I told him the truth about Greta, he would betray me or have me killed. Hiding the anger I felt, I lied.

  "At Argentine, I considered different ways to poison the baron. I knew I had to choose something slow so that no suspicion would fall on me. I intended to try different mixtures of the web poison on the prisoners in the dungeons until I found just the right concentration to sicken a man and kill him slowly. I never had a chance to experiment. Greta found the kerchief while she was cleaning. It was mixed in a soft molasses cookie. She probably licked her fingers and died."

  "You didn't pick a very good hiding place," he said.

  I told him how after her death I'd found a dead rat in my cupboard. "I think it had been gnawing on the poison. Greta must have heard it in there."

  One of Jorani's books on statesmanship said that a lie is best believed when it is in close proximity to the truth. This was certainly as close as I dared to go, and he believed it. "Greta raised me. I'll always feel guilt over what happened because of my carelessness," I said. "I didn't plan her death. Don't accuse me of it."

  "I would not." Jorani spoke almost offhandedly. His mind was not on the present conversation, and I knew with a second sight that he thought of me standing in the dark shadows of the dungeons, doling out poisons, watching prisoners sicken and die.

  "Were you the one responsible for the plague that cut down the prisoners?" he asked, sounding both certain of it and unapproving.

  "How did you learn, Jorani?" I asked.

  "The same way. I would go down to the dungeons with your grandfather at my side. The killings sick-ened me at first, until I hardened my heart to them."

  "Enemies must be destroyed," I said.

  "You are your father's daughter." He accompanied that comment with a sad shake of his head. "If you could wish for the perfect future, what would it be?"

  I walked to him, placed my hands on his shoulders and tilted up my head to look at him. "That I rule Kislova with you at my right hand as you were for my father." I hesitated for a moment then added, "No, not precisely that way."

  Standing on tiptoe, I kissed him. I moved quickly, kissing with what I thought must be passion. As I expected, the move caught him off guard. He'd never suspected that I might share the attraction he'd struggled with for so long. He gently pushed me back and looked down at my face-my youth, my beauty.

  "No," he said, exactly as I'd expected him to. As I'd guessed, he loved me too much to play the doddering old man with the child bride.

  "That future will come," I said, then laid the side of my face against his chest. "When Peto returns to Sundell, we will rule Kislova together."

  "You'll let him go?" he asked. I heard the relief in his voice.

  "Every time I have tried to move against him, I've brought tragedy to myself as well as those I love. In truth, the fates want him to live. As for me, I judged him by his deeds, and when I swore my allegiance, I meant it. It's time that I listen to you and forget the past. We have our lands to consider, and our own future together."

  Our. We. I used the words quite deliberately. As I did, I saw him wince ever so slightly. "You could do more than that," he said.

  "Wed him?" I laughed. I couldn't help it. This was exactly what I'd wanted him to suggest.

  He misinterpreted my reaction, hastily going on.

  "Your father desired Sundell. Your son will rule that land as well as Kislova." saw something clearly then-the most perfect vengeance. "He already desires me," I said. "I wish I could feel the same, but though I may marry him, there is no one I will ever love as much as I do you, Jorani."

  I kissed him again. This time, I felt him respond.

  I wish that Peto were a greater fool, someone Jorani could not respect. If so, Jorani and I would be allies. I could end my duplicity, take him completely into my confidence and reveal to him the exquisite beauty of my plan. Instead, the first kisses of my life were lies and the only man I could ever love became nothing more than a pawn for me to play.

  Three days after Mihael's funeral, a trading party coming west from Sundell was attacked. Nearly all the guards and merchants were slaughtered by outlaws. The ones who escaped fled west to Nimbus Castle.

  They were bathed and rested, with their wounds dressed before they met with Peto. But the royal treatment they received did nothing to dispel their anger, which seemed to be fueled more by the loss of gold and goods th
an that of their porters' lives.

  "You must do something to end these attacks, or the alliance between our lands is meaningless." Ilsabet had quietly listened to the merchants describe the attack. Now she leaned forward, getting Peto's attention before saying, "The rebels were strong in that area. They may be leading the thugs."

  "She's right," Jorani said. "If they are challenging our alliance, we need to make a strong showing."

  "A united one," Ilsabet added.

  Peto agreed and ordered Jorani and Shaul, the two highest-ranking officers of the Obour and Casse families, to ride out together at the head of a group of united troops.

  In the days the troops were gone, Peto saw much of Ilsabet. She dined with him, sitting at a distance that managed to be both polite and cautious. He saw how she eyed his food taster, now one of the cook's children, a stout boy of twelve with a crippled arm and a placid disposition. Peto suspected he had volunteered for this position not to be useful but because the food would be better.

  Peto found the thought so amusing that he requested that portions served him from the kitchen be increased by one half. From then on, he simply placed half on the second plate for the child and sent him to the far end of the table to go about his work.

  His only demand was that the boy learn to eat faster. Since it seemed unwise for Peto to begin before the boy had finished, he'd begun to long for a warm slice of meat or a steaming potato.

  "Do you suppose he'll need more as he gets older?" Ilsabet whispered to Peto one evening after the boy had moved out of earshot.

  "Probably, but nonetheless it's good to see someone so well-matched to his chosen profession," he replied, thinking how good it was to laugh again.

  At least the news from the east was good. In the four days since the soldiers had set up camp in the border forest, they had killed half a dozen outlaws and took twice as many prisoner. Of the forty soldiers sent out, two were killed and three wounded. The wounded men were recovering well, tended by the healer and Ilsabet, who eagerly used what she had learned to make them rest easier.

  She'd shown particular patience in working with the most painfully wounded of the men, sitting by his bed, feeding him poppy extract and holding his hand while the surgeons removed his gangrenous leg. Later, when Peto came down to the makeshift hospital to see how the man was doing, he found Ilsabet still sitting at the bedside, holding the man's hand though her own had been bruised by the force of the man's grip. He thought she had never looked so beautiful as she did then.

  There was much to admire in her, so much that he sent a letter home to his mother explaining his feelings and asking her permission, as his surviving parent, to wed Ilsabet.

  The answer came two days later, brought by the same messenger. It was not as understanding as Peto had hoped.

  You know exactly what people will think, his mother wrote. Kislovans will assume you are so anxious for a marriage with their rulers that when you could not have one Obour bride, you picked another. As for myself, I speak for most of Sundell when I wonder why you cannot find a bride among your own. Come home, Peto, I'm sure if you look again you'll find someone more than suitable here.

  Peto showed Ilsabet the letter almost apologetically. "I thought it best to ask her before speaking to you," he said. "But as you see…"

  Ilsabet frowned and looked away to hide her disappointment. This was exactly the reaction he'd hoped for.

  "… she'll have to be reminded who is ruler and why I would make such a decision. Will you come to Sundell with me as my bride?"

  "Bride?" Ilsabet had her terms all prepared, but now that the matter was in the open, she wasn't certain how to proceed. "When Mihael died, I became the last Obour. Do you understand?" she said.

  "If you don't marry, you'll certainly be the last."

  "I made a vow. I can't give up my name."

  He considered this. "Then keep it," he said.

  Ilsabet went into his arms and kissed him, astonished at how much pleasure she got from the touch. Cinder other circumstances she would find him a charming man.

  He pushed her to arm's length, looking at her face with the same adoration her father had. Ilsabet realized that he loved her, as well as desired her. Someday, she vowed, he would know the truth about how Marishka had died.

  "And our son will have both names?" Ilsabet asked, pressing her case gently.

  "It is done in some of the northern provinces when the mother's family is of high noble blood. The move will undoubtedly cause some talk in Sundell, but once the nobles meet you they'll understand why I agree to this. Besides, it is fitting for a man who will rule both countries."

  "And who will rule Kislova for our son?" It was the heart of her demand, but to say it outright would seem too mercenary. She couldn't risk that.

  "I've never thought of Kislova as mine," he said. "When Mihael was alive, I considered it his. Now that he is gone, I have consulted with Lord Jorani and Lord Ruven. They tell me that there are women running estates in this land. Why can't a woman rule it?"

  "Me?" Ilsabet looked no more shocked than she felt, though for a different reason. She'd expected the bargaining to be more difficult.

  "I return it to you as my wedding gift."

  Ilsabet closed her eyes, wanting to laugh and cry.

  "Isn't it what you want?" he asked.

  "Oh, yes. But Peto, it means that we'll be apart," she said, trying to sound upset by that prospect.

  "Not so often. Shadow and Nimbus are close enough. And when you are with me, Lord Jorani or Ruven or whomever you wish can rule in your place."

  She kissed him again.

  "What kind of a wedding would you like?" he asked.

  "None." She laughed at his sudden shock. "I mean I wish no feast, no dancing, no complex ceremony. I experienced all that with Marishka. I don't think I could bear to stand in her place. There would be too many memories." She touched his cheek. "I'd like to wed soon," she said.

  That evening, with not even Jorani to confide in, she opened her journal and made a single entry. "It seemed to be so right to kiss him. It occurs to me I will have to make an effort to keep my wits about me when dealing with him. It would be easy to forget he is the enemy."

  Two nights later, just as the sun was setting, Peto and Ilsabet exchanged their vows in a small ceremony attended only by Jorani and Shaul and a handful of Sundell officers. Afterward, they drank a toast with Sundell wine, a second from the vineyards west of Pirie. Jorani had brought his lute and played a slow wedding song. He managed to smile as he did so. The expression always looked out of place on him, so he doubted anyone noticed how strained it really was.

  While he played, he noticed that Ilsabet was staring past him, her expression so intense that he could only assume she was having second thoughts or her conscience troubled her. He moved quickly to her side and brushed his lips against her cheek, whispering quickly, "A bride should not look so pensive at her wedding ceremony."

  "I was thinking of my sister," she said, her expression softening somewhat as she turned her attention back to her husband.

  Jorani left the hall before the wedding couple. He'd considered carrying up a bottle of brandy to his tower but decided against it. There were safer potions to bring him sleep if sleep had been what he desired. Instead, he sought out one of the serving girls who'd given hints of being attracted to him.

  They went down the fog-shrouded stairs that led to the river and bathed in its chilly waters. After they spread blankets on the stone ledge above the high-water mark, he took her in his arms.

  As he kissed her, he looked up at the castle walls, at Peto's chambers, where the lamps glowed dimly.

  When he woke late the following morning, Shaul was waiting for him downstairs with a dozen matters that needed immediate attention. Jorani appreciated that. In the days that followed he tried not to think of Ilsabet at all. Life became easier yet when the seemingly well-matched couple left for Sundell.

  EIGHTEEN

  From the Diary of
Baroness Ilsabet

  My entire world has changed, I have never seen such splendor. I could fill half a book with a description of just my own rooms here in Sundell. But I shall describe the journey in order.

  Dusk was falling when we reached the forest near the border. An hour later, we stopped at the guardhouse where Sundell and Kislova guards served together. While Peto met briefly with his troops, I got out of the coach, saying I needed to stretch my legs and get a drink of water.

  After I'd lowered the dipper into their water barrel, I tossed in a few potent grains of my powder. As I started back to the coach, the captain of the Sundell guards joined me and asked if I wanted something to eat. "Or, if you prefer, I have a bottle of red wine sent to me from my mother as a birthday gift."

  "You shouldn't share that," I commented.

  "I wouldn't with any of the men, but I'd be honored to pour a glass for you."

  I saw possibilities in this and followed him into the guardhouse.

  The wine was exquisite, and in a beautiful decanter. As I admired the cutwork in the glass, I lifted the stopper and dropped in a few more grains of the sand. As we started back to the coach, I let the remains from my kerchief fall onto the ground just inside the guardhouse door.

  I pictured them sleeping on the warm summer nights, the guardhouse door open, the breeze picking up the dust, swirling it through their room. I saw their captain, tired and homesick, drinking his wine. And, of course, everyone needed water.

  Things would not be peaceful there for long.

  As we went on, the land slowly leveled. In the moonlight, we passed cleared fields amid the thick forest, well-tended farms, and horses roaming their ranges. It must be a peaceful land, I thought, but then prosperous lands usually are.

  We stopped for the night at an inn that was the centerpiece of a small town. The public room was packed with people who had come to see their ruler and his new bride. They watched while we ate, cheered Peto when he made a toast, then began beating their feet against the wooden floor until he kissed me. I took some comfort in the barbaric display. It's good to know that they aren't entirely civilized.