Hearts in Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  "On the other hand, since you and your parents seem to be on less than the friendliest of terms, you can say nothing, keep your chastity to yourself and return to Langstraad with me," he concluded.

  "What then?" The question was tentative but he had piqued her interest.

  "Then my lady, you may take up your position as wife to a duke regent and live your own virgin life, if that is what you wish. I have a mistress at Castle Lir so I will not trouble you in that respect," he assured her. "I want this alliance, and you want to escape your parent's grasp. I think that we can strike a bargain between the two of us. What do you say?"

  Angharad took her time before replying. In the last hour she had regained enough of her old self to be able to look at this man and not see an ogre. What she did see was a young man of slight build with a lively face and penetrating grey eyes beneath humorously arched black brows. What he had to say and what he did not do reassured and gave her pause for reflection. It was true that the few options she had before her were increasingly bleak. She had no doubts about her parent's displeasure should she cry for an annulment and the thought of facing them with it wilted her completely. What this man sitting before her was offering was a way out of her dilemma, if she could trust him. She continued to study him, trying to read beneath the smooth lineaments of his face into his mind.

  "What do you expect from me?" she ventured to ask.

  "That for the next few days, while we are here, you will appear and act the part of my wife whenever we are with other people. Also, that you say and do nothing to hamper my alliance with your father. I will sleep in here, on this chair, to keep up the illusion that we are man and wife. When we return to Castle Lir, you will have your own suite of rooms and need only play this charade at public occasions. Can you live with those conditions?" He waited for her reply.

  Taking a deep breath and looking directly into his candid eyes, she gave him her answer. "I will play your game so long as you respect my liberties. I agree to your conditions."

  Standing, Ian gave her a correct and courteous bow. "Our bargain is struck then," he announced pompously, followed up by an attractive grin. "Now if I can find a blanket, I shall stretch out in this chair and get what sleep I can."

  He rummaged in the armoires until he found what he was seeking. Then, taking off his boots and getting as comfortable as he could, he wrapped himself cocoon-like within the blanket and settled down into his chair. Luckily it was commodious and well padded, though he did not think himself capable of more than a few nights on it.

  For her part, once she had seen Ian wrapped in his blanket and recumbent in his chair, Angharad attempted to lay back against the pillows and rest from the emotional storms of the day. Mind and body ached, but she was unable to let herself relax into sleep. All night she continued to waken at Ian's slightest movement and only in the pale light of dawn did she drift into an exhausted doze.

  The sound of Ian disentangling himself from his blanket woke Angharad from her light sleep. The candles, left burning all night, had dripped wax everywhere. Some servant was going to have a difficult task that day, Ian mused. He went to the window and drew the curtains to look out and over the castle walls. The townspeople were already about their business out in the streets. Yesterday's holiday now a memory as they bustled about their daily tasks. He turned back to where Angharad sat stifling a yawn, her hair in dishevelment about her shoulders. Saying nothing, he folded and replaced the blanket and then pushed the chair back into its original location. As he rummaged among the clothes that Evan had placed in the room earlier, he found a heavy mantle to wear against the chill of morning. He stopped to remove his outer garments in the small anteroom, before throwing the bolt back and returning to the nuptial chamber with the bulk of his mantle draped about him. While he had been out of the room, Angharad had slid off of the bed and found a suitable robe to cast over herself. She stood to the side as he, expertly to her eye, tossed the pillows about and disarranged the bed linens. Then, favouring her with a conspiratorial wink, he pulled the bell-rope to summon the servants.

  That first day was a trial to Angharad. Functioning under the burdens of too little sleep and a deception with which she was far from comfortable, she was nevertheless forced to admit that Ian played his part perfectly, behaving in as kind and solicitous a fashion as a new husband should. Unfortunately she was still uncertain how much of this was but a game to him, and distrusted him because of it. She was subjected to many comments during that day, some of them unexpectedly insensitive and catty, all of which she met with glacial silence. Her grandmother attempted to have a confidential chat with her before dinner but Angharad pleaded a headache and withdrew into her own room or, more accurately, the room that she now shared with her husband.

  The newly espoused Lord Ian, appearing serene and at ease, escorted his new wife through the rigors of the day. He was as uncommunicative as she in regards to events of the previous day and night, but seemed far less tense than his wife. After dinner, when Angharad had retired with the other ladies, Ian drank with his father-in-law and discussed politics, keeping the conversation away from personal matters. He had snubbed his grandfather earlier in that regard, so that now the old man kept his speculations to himself.

  Angharad was deeply asleep when Ian returned to their room. One hand lay beside her face on the pillow, her fingers curved slightly around a lock of her soft brown hair. Her breathing was deep and regular, like a child's. She did not even stir as Ian fetched his blanket and curled up for another night's discomfort.

  Three days later the Duke Regent of Langstraad departed with his bride amid an excess of pleasantries and surrounded by the retinue that had accompanied him there. They traveled swiftly, in spite of the burden of gifts they were conveying back to Castle Lir. Ian had suggested that his grandparents might return directly to their own manor, as their barony lay in the south of Langstraad, while the nuptial party continued north to Castle Lir, but they would not hear of it. In fact, his meek and almost invisible grandmother became positively animated as she scolded him, saying that they had taken a vow to escort his bride to her new home and see her properly installed and that she took this responsibility most seriously. With a graceful shrug, Ian said no more.

  The trip was uneventful. Angharad rode in the carriage with his grandmother, looking subdued and thoughtful. She was so unresponsive to Lady Eloise's conversational tidbits that the old lady soon gave up trying to chat with her. Ian rode, sometimes with his grandfather, but more often than not he trotted along with Lord Alwyn and his wife, Lady Idris. Their holdings of Morna lay north of Castle Lir and they had accepted Ian's invitation to travel back with him and stay for a few days as his guests.

  There was much of a political nature that the three of them were able to discuss on the journey, for Idris was Lord Percamber's niece, and had recently had news from him indicating that a special session of the Pentacle Council was due to be called within a month. Alwyn Glendark had been visiting his family in Gresha a few weeks back and mentioned disturbing rumours of what was happening in the south of the Pentarchy. Alwyn also appraised him of the movement of troops along the northern border between Langstraad and the Inner Ward. All agreed that war was becoming inevitable, and by the time they reached Castle Lir Alwyn and Ian were deep in discussion of what precautions needed to be taken in case Lord Brescom turned traitor and tried to overrun his borders.

  Servants, free-holders, minor lords and ladies, soldiers and castle stewards all came forth to welcome their liege and his new lady home. Amid the bustle of unpacking and exchanging of news, Ian was able to draw Dame Edwinna aside and ask which rooms had been prepared for the Lady Angharad. Mystified, Edwinna had replied that the new lady was to be housed in the rooms used by the late duchess. All of her grace's personal things had been packed away, because the new lady would of course be bringing her own objects to decorate her new apartments. Ian nodded absently and instructed Edwinna to conduct her new mistress to the rooms prepared for
her. Then he casually let fall the information that he did not want the furnishings of his old rooms transferred to those of his new wife. He wanted his rooms left as they were since he intended to continue using them himself. Somewhat shocked by these orders, yet not being in a position to gainsay them, Edwinna merely favoured him with a "yes my lord," and went away to do as she had been bid.

  Seeing that the efficient machinery of the castle was engaged in taking care of all of the arrivals, Ian told Angharad in low tones what he had ordered and sent her off in Dame Edwinna's care. Taking the opportunity that presented itself, Ian then slipped away to his own rooms. Here he posted a guard against intrusions, stripped his traveling garments off and threw himself onto the comfort of his own bed, where he immediately fell into his first truly restorative sleep in more than three weeks.

  Chapter 18

  Percamber sat at the large table with Lord Michael Talen, recorder for the Pentacle Council and private secretary to the regent. They had been drafting the summons to a council session all morning and, as the regent sat back in his chair, Michael watched him with concern, noting how thin and fragile he had become in the last few weeks. They had been forced to cancel a council summons drafted two months ago, after the terrible news had first been brought to Pentarin of the loss of the party sent to find Prince Brian. The shock of these tidings affected Percamber to such an extent that he had fallen seriously ill. His recovery had been slow and Michael still did not think him up to the strain of convening a special session, with all the problems and personalities that the meeting would force him to deal with. But Percamber had insisted, and his councilors had given way. The court physician was also against putting any more pressure on his patient than he was already enduring, but when he saw that his advice was not to be heeded, he shrugged and silently did what he could to relieve his patient’s pain.

  Between them, the Viscount of Treves and Lord Michael continued to administer the Pentarchy in Percamber's name, but they could only maintain what was in effect, not change or modify policy. Both knew that it was imperative to bring the members of the Pentacle Council together, especially as they saw the edges of the Pentarchy beginning to unravel.

  From the north, again, ill news had come within the past two weeks. The Duke of Tuenth was dead, apparently murdered by his eldest son, who had subsequently disappeared. Before a lengthy investigation into the death could be enacted or the duke's second son invested with his father's office, Torval died in an accident with his horse. The third son, Blaise ap Halberstad, had not even waited for confirmation from Pentarin before declaring himself Duke of Tuenth with his mother's supposed blessing. News from Tuenth had been desultory since that time, and what fragments of information had come were disturbing. In the name of unification, much of the duchy was being mobilized. There was still no word of the fate of the duke's eldest, accused, son, but his brother had officially declared him "dead within the borders if found, and a good price to whoever rids us of this parricide."

  With Lord Gunnar's death, only Branwilde of Creon could be counted as an allied Great House. His daughter had just been wed to Langstraad's Duke Regent, which indicated support from that House as well, but the scales were beginning to tilt alarmingly in Mirvanovir's favour.

  A soft knock was heard at the door and, before either man could respond, Dinea's tall figure swept through the doorway. There was a slight scowl marring her face when she halted to regard them, arms akimbo on her hips. In her wake came two servants bearing trays from which the smell of cooked food emanated.

  "Michael, it is well past the noon hour. Are you going to be at this all day or can you spare a few precious minutes to eat?" With an arm she brushed away any reply he might be inclined to make and ordered the food to be placed on the table.

  "Rest easy, Dinea," Percamber admonished gently. "We have just finished with this morning's state of affairs, and were going to take a break anyway."

  "And to eat?" Concern for him made her sound more waspish than was her nature. "You know that the doctor has told you that you must eat regularly if you are to regain your health."

  Peevishly he put the plate to one side. "I cannot eat if I am not hungry. Take it away!"

  "You must eat, and I will stand here until you take some nourishment." By threats, pleading, reasoning and cajoling, Dinea had struggled to force Percamber back to health. It was due greatly to the love that she bore the man, but it was also a matter of practicality. She knew what Colin and Michael were labouring to hold together and how vital Percamber was to their plans.

  Percamber looked into her set face and relented. Appeasingly he drank a spoonful of the broth that she had provided and forced himself to swallow it. His stomach told him that he did not want it but he persisted. With Michael eating what had been brought for him with relish and Dinea standing guard to make sure he ate what she considered a reasonable amount, Percamber felt alternately badgered and foolish. He appreciated what Dinea was attempting to do, but the weariness within him was beginning to demand its rest.

  When he had eaten as much as he could, Dinea ordered the dishes cleared away and prepared to leave the men in peace. Michael also stood and gathered together all of the papers that they had been reviewing. Waving them both away, Percamber announced that he would take a nap in his solar and rejoin them at dinner.

  Colin and Michael were talking in low but animated tones, seated on an upholstered bench in one of the private salons of House Sandovar's wing of the palace. Colin’s arm was almost completely healed and he no longer needed to cradle it in its linen sling, though an occasional twinge of pain reminded him to use it with care. Dressed in shades of rust and gold, Dinea had found a seat beside an open window to watch the changing, twilight sky. They had taken to assembling thus in the evening to wait for Percamber's arrival before escorting him to the small banquet hall that was used when the palace was empty of Great and Minor House guests. Here the nobles and palace attendants of rank would dine at the long tables running the length of the room in parallel rows, while the ranking lords would partake of their meal at the raised table that crossed the room.

  Dinea was the first to begin fretting about Percamber's tardiness. The sky had grown quite dark and still he had not made his appearance. When she mentioned this fact to the two men, they responded by teasing her in a friendly fashion about her maternal fussiness. Irritated by their banter, she stalked back to her seat and, with her chin resting on her fist, continued to stare out the window.

  It was a white-faced servant who stumbled into the salon half an hour later, trying to remain coherent in spite of his evident distress. He had gone to waken his lordship at the hour that his lordship had requested but, upon opening the door, he found the regent lying dead upon his bed. The three nobles fled at once to Percamber's bedside, only Dinea having the wit to order the servant to fetch the court physician.

  In his rooms, upon the bed where he had lain these last ten years, Percamber ap Morna, regent for the Pentarchy, lay in the sleep from which he would never awaken. Reverently, the three who had shared his last difficult months stood at the end of his bed as the summoned physician clucked in commiseration and folded the aged hands on his breast. The heart had simply grown too old and had ceased its beating. No treachery had struck him down, only time.

  The city of Pentarin was stunned to hear the ringing of the bells, denoting the passing of a soul and to find that the soul belonged to the regent. Colin and Michael together ordered the ringing of bells and a funeral befitting a ruler of the Pentarchy. The body was cleaned and arrayed in robes of state, then placed in the Royal Crypts to join company with the dead kings of the Pentarchy who had been interred there since the first High King. The ceremony of interment could not be delayed, as both custom and the summer's heat demanded that the body find its resting place within three days of the death. Therefore, no member of a Great House attended the funeral.

  The inhabitants of the city came forth to mourn the loss of their regent, watching his fune
ral procession as it wended its way through the streets. Furtive looks cast among the crowd revealed a populace well aware that with his passing there was no longer a duly anointed steward to protect them. At the head of the procession walked Viscount Treves carrying the empty ceremonial scabbard. Keeping pace with him, Lord Michael Talen led the pallbearers as they conveyed their sad burden to his tomb. Towards the rear of the cortege Dinea, veiled and with a heavy heart, followed with the other noble mourners. A single drum beat its monotonous march, echoing down the streets as they passed through the city.

  Within a week of Percamber's burial, Colin received a secret, urgent letter from the steward of his own home, Castle Howell. In the letter, he was told of armed troops from Mirvanovir crossing into Treves, which lay along the northern border of the Duchy of Mirvanovir, and moving north towards the Royal Duchy of Sandovar. He was advised not to try to return to his own home, for it was now occupied by Mirvanovir's soldiers. Their children were still at Howell, and both he and Dinea suffered a moment of panic until they read the second letter, written by Dinea's niece, Cerwen de Rommel. In it Cerwen told them that she was taking the children and their nurse to a place of safety where they would not become hostages of the Duke of Mirvanovir. She also advised that rumours, intimating that the regent had died at Treves' hand, were being circulated.

  "At least Cerwen is with them!" Dinea expostulated. She was torn between a desire to race to the aid of her children and stay at her husband's side. Luckily, the decision was not hers to make. There was no way that she could get to Treves without passing through Mirvanovir's army, and Cerwen had not told them where it was she was taking the children, in case the letter fell into enemy hands.