“That is what Dom Ruyven told me. At the time, I was so distressed by the abduction, I could scarcely hope.”
“In this, Ruyven is as knowledgeable as any man, having served not only here but in the court of King Allart Hastur himself.” Lord Scathfell bent close to Alayna and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He may not look like a hero, but few can equal him in scheming, plots, and nefarious intrigue.”
Dom Ruyven, who had clearly been meant to overhear the remark, made a dismissive gesture, but it seemed to Alayna that he was secretly pleased.
Servants took away the last plates and moved the tables aside. By the time they had finished, a group of performers had set up. Lord Scathfell himself placed Alayna beside his own chair, where she might have the best view.
The musicians were skillful, far better than any she’d heard at Rockraven, and she’d never seen anything like the acrobatics and juggling. How strong and supple the performers were, with their leaps and somersaults, and the way they juggled so many balls at once. Once or twice she thought how much Kyria would have enjoyed this evening.
Now and again Lord Scathfell smiled at Alayna. She was so filled with the excitement of the evening, she smiled back. Before she knew it, the performance ended. Lord Scathfell signaled to the coridom, who handed a purse to the troupe leader, and they exited the room.
Alayna settled back in her chair, a little sad that the evening had come to an end. Truthfully, she was tired, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she was so wrought up. Servants brought more trays with goblets. She took one because she was expected to. The goblet held something akin to jaco, only with a heady aroma. By the time she’d finished it, the musicians had begun playing again. She recognized the promenada as one she’d danced at home. Of course, it was impossible for her to join in. She had no kinsman to dance with. There was Dom Ruyven, who had met her parents, but he was engaged in conversation with one of the courtiers.
“Damisela Alayna?” Lord Scathfell rose to his feet and faced her, one hand extended. “Will you grant me the honor of the first dance?”
Even if she had not been delighted with the opportunity, she would not have dared to refuse. To be singled out by the lord of the castle! Ellimira would have been beside herself.
Alayna placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, exerting pressure to conduct her to where she was to stand. She had heard of how a skillful male dancer could guide even the most inexperienced lady through complicated patterns, but never before had she had moved so effortlessly in time with the music.
All too soon, the musicians played the final cadence. The lines of dancers paused, men and women facing each other. Lord Scathfell bowed, but not so low that she could not see his smile, mirroring her own. She executed a curtsy that would have done Ellimira proud, then he escorted her back to her seat.
She did not remain there for long. Soon one of the courtiers approached her for the next dance. He was as old and as richly dressed as Dom Ruyven. The dance was one she knew, or near enough that no one noticed if she stepped wrong. Its liveliness made more than a few words conversation impossible. She thought wistfully that if Francisco were here, she would have no need for words.
She had scarcely two moments’ rest when Dom Ruyven came to claim her for the next dance. At this rate, she would be engaged for every number, and it would be a close contest which would give out sooner, her feet or the musicians. This one was slower, the dancers interweaving and occasionally exchanging partners.
“Are you enjoying the evening?” Dom Ruyven asked. Although a bit red-faced, he proved to be light on his feet and, to her surprise, Alayna enjoyed dancing with him.
“I am, thank you for asking.” At that moment, Alayna couldn’t help but wonder if it were seemly to be engaged in revels planned for her sister, when Kyria still languished in the hands of those horrible men. But not for long, she reminded herself.
Despite the exhilaration of the dancing, and the attentions of Lord Scathfell as he claimed a second and then a third dance, Alayna’s energy began to flag. She did her best to smother a yawn, lest her current partner think she was rude or, worse yet, bored with his company. She wondered how to politely excuse herself.
Just as the dance ended, Lord Scathfell made his way across the floor to where Alayna stood. “I fear we’ve overtired you, and for that I beg your forgiveness.”
“There is no need, sir.” Alayna indicated the hall. “This was a truly splendid welcome.”
A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. “And you were the jewel of the evening. I will not detain you with the flattery you so richly deserve but bid you good evening and good rest.”
Alayna, having no idea of how to respond, curtsied and murmured, “Vai dom.”
Domna Dimitra conducted Alayna back up stairs and down hallways until they arrived at the suite. A fire had been lit in the bedroom, a branched candlestick illuminated the mantle, and a tray on the bedside table bore a goblet of warm milk sweetened with honey and a plate of tiny scones. Domna Dimitra lifted off Alayna’s dress and eased her into a high-necked nightgown. Even though she was tired, Alayna downed the scones and the milk. Then, pleasantly warm, she sank into the softness of the bed.
“Good night then, sweetling,” Dimitra murmured, reaching for the candlestick, but Alayna was already asleep.
16
The fire was still burning when she woke. Or maybe it was a new fire, tended by a silent servant. Alayna snuggled under the covers, reveling in the sensation of being truly warm. The last time she had slept anywhere but on the ground had been in the traveler’s shelter where they’d met Edric, and she and Kyria had shared one of the alcoves. Remembering Kyria had a sobering effect. When Alayna went to the window, she saw that the sun was well overhead.
What a slug-a-bed I’ve turned into!
She went to work with water and soap, and materials she found on the washstand for cleaning her teeth. Just as she finished, a discreet knock on the door heralded Dimitra, and Sadhi carrying a tray that contained a sumptuous array of breakfast foods, surely enough to feed half the Rockraven family. Alayna was sure she couldn’t possibly eat that much, but decided to take a taste first. One bite led to another and another, until she scarcely drew breath.
After the maid removed the tray, Alayna glanced up at Dimitra. “What am I to do now?”
“Lord Scathfell’s ridden out today, so you are not obliged to present yourself.” Dimitra pulled the covers down for Alayna to slide back under. “Sleep as long as you like. You’ll need your strength for tonight.”
“Why, what—?” Alayna covered her mouth in what she hoped was a suitably ladylike manner even though she yawned so hard, her jaw popped. “What is happening tonight?”
“Another, much larger ball. The headman of the village and his wife will attend, and the officers of the castle guard and the army, as well. It will be a grand affair, one you’ll want to be refreshed for.”
“More dancing . . . I wonder.” If Francisco will be there.
Before she could finish the thought, she melted back into sleep.
Alayna spent most of the rest of the day alternating between dozing and daydreaming in bed, luxuriating in the delicious sensation of being warm and comfortable, without obligations.
Once Kyria had been restored, there would be another round of festivities, even more joyous because they were to celebrate the formal wedding. So she, Alayna, must look her best to honor her sister and her new brother-in-law. She might be only a poor country girl, but she knew what was required to make a good showing of herself. Last night, everyone had made allowances; she’d just arrived, after all, and she’d been through such an ordeal, and besides, everything had been made ready to welcome her sister, not her, so no one expected her to be prepared. Tonight, however, everyone would be watching her.
Before Alayna could figure out how to summon Sadhi or Dimitra,
both appeared. Sadhi carried yet another tray of covered dishes, from which came the most mouth-watering smells. Alayna looked over the hand-sized meat pies and basket overflowing with nut rolls.
If I keep eating like this, I will soon be as big as a plough horse.
“There will not be a banquet tonight,” Dimitra informed her. “Lord Scathfell will dine privately, so it is best to fortify yourself while you can. This simple fare should last you through the evening.”
Alayna took one of the meat pies. She started to remark that Scathfell must be wealthy indeed, if a meal like this was considered ‘simple,’ but then she remembered Francisco’s comments as they passed through the farmland. Everything came with a price.
Dimitra selected a gown from the wardrobe, a proper lady’s dancing attire of thick, cream-colored spidersilk, shockingly low in the neckline. Alayna didn’t care, it was so gorgeous. Lace edged the neckline and sleeves. The matching slippers were a bit too narrow, but of leather so soft it molded itself to her feet.
“It fits as if it were made for you.” Dimitra touched Alayna’s hair. “How to arrange your hair? It’s so lovely in its own right, I wonder if we should choose a simple style.”
“I am no child, to wear it unbound,” Alayna said.
“Yet you are a young, unmarried woman, and you have no need of artifice. I doubt even a jeweled tiara would be as much adornment as your hair itself. But perhaps you are right. The gown is certainly that of a woman grown, so we must not risk you appearing like a child in her mother’s best dress.”
Alayna flushed, for Dimitra’s words had the effect of making her feel exactly like that, only not her mother’s dress but her older sister’s. What would Kyria think if she saw Alayna now?
Kyria would laugh and tell me not to take myself so seriously. She would say I always cared about finery more than she did.
“What’s the matter, sweetling? Are you ill? Or does the gown not please you, after all?”
“No, it is splendid. It’s that I miss my sister very much. We have never been apart, not even for a single day.”
Dimitra put one arm around Alayna’s shoulders and gave a motherly squeeze. “It does you credit to think of your sister, but I am sure she would not want you to fret. Lord Scathfell will see to her rescue. Everything will turn out for the best, you will see.” She sounded so certain that Alayna allowed herself to be persuaded.
The musicians were already playing as Alayna followed Dimitra into the Great Hall. She stared at the assembly, her confidence wavering. There were no performers, as on the previous night. Instead, she looked out at a sea of ladies and courtiers, dressed in bright, rich colors, men in uniform, and folk in farmers’ rough cloth, standing to the side while more elegant couples formed a doubled line.
Here came Lord Scathfell himself, holding out his hand to her. She remembered herself in time to curtsy, before he led her out onto the floor. She danced the first set with him, and then the next, each as effortless as their dances the night before. After that, courtiers and officers, first one and then another, asked her to dance. The room swirled with color and movement. Although she looked, she did not see Francisco.
“Vai damisela, is aught amiss?” Her dancing partner, a courtier dressed in purple and yellow, bent over her with an expression of concern. His name, which he’d taken pains to give her, was Dom Nevin Morrisco, and he was a kinsman of Lord Scathfell. “Are you ill? I shall summon a healer at once.”
Alayna gathered her wits. She’d missed a figure of the dance and almost collided with the lady of the opposite couple. “Please do not trouble yourself. I’m overheated from dancing, that is all.”
“Then allow me to help you to a chair and bring you something to drink.”
Clearly, Dom Nevin hoped for an intimate conversation as he guided her to a seat near a shadowed alcove and then lingered. She reminded him that she would like something light to drink. While he was gone, she took the opportunity to move to a more prominent location between two older women, to one side the wife of the village headman, to the other an older woman, who Alayna took to be a widowed aunt but was actually the household leronis, Jerana.
Dom Nevin returned a few minutes later, bearing a goblet. “Refreshment for my lady.”
With the first heady sip, Alayna felt her head spin. He’d brought her hot, spiced, fortified wine.
Just then, the headman approached and took his wife away to dance. Dom Nevin slipped into the empty seat before Alayna had time to draw breath. “The whole castle is talking about you, you know. Everyone knows you are here as a companion to the future Lady Scathfell. We did not expect someone so enchanting in her own right.”
Alayna found it increasingly difficult to breathe. The gown was too tight, the room too hot. She then discovered two things: that she really was very thirsty, and that she would become intoxicated if she drank any more fortified wine. Kyria would know what to do, but Kyria was not here. Alayna’s vision went swimmy with tears.
“Vai damisela?”
Lord Scathfell stood before her. Dom Nevin sprang to his feet and executed a flourished bow. Alayna seized the opportunity to thrust the goblet into his hands. She got to her feet, clenching her teeth against the wave of renewed dizziness, and slipped one hand around Lord Scathfell’s arm. He looked pleased rather than offended by her forwardness. To her relief, he did not proceed to the dance floor but to his own chair. At a gesture, servants brought up a second chair and placed it alongside. She sank into it gratefully.
“Shallan for the damisela,” he murmured to one of the servants. “Well watered.”
Before Alayna could think of what to say, the servant returned with a folding table, on which he placed a tray bearing a goblet. Beads of condensation covered the outside, and when she took it, she found the contents were chilled and delicious. Kyria would have loved it. How long would it be before Alayna saw her again? The thought dampened the gaiety of the evening.
Presently the servant took away the tray with its empty plate and goblet. “Would you care for more?” Lord Scathfell asked.
“No, thank you, vai dom. I am quite refreshed.”
“But something still troubles you.”
“My lord, last night you said that riders had been dispatched to the bandit stronghold for word of my sister, and for that I thank you. How long must we wait before we hear from them?”
“That I cannot tell you, for there are so many things that might go wrong: the roads, the weather, the process of bargaining with Sain Erach, or something entirely unforeseen. I place the greatest faith in Francisco, however. If anyone can negotiate this ransom, he will.”
He leaned toward Alayna and took her hands in his. His fingers felt warm and strong, so strong. “I understand how terrifying the uncertainty must be for you. Like you, I have lost someone dear to me. My brother died when I was too young to understand what had happened. I prayed every day for him to come home.”
He spoke with such unaffected candor that Alayna felt as if he had opened his heart to her. “I’m so sorry.”
“That is why I can now say to you, do not lose hope. Nothing can be gained from worry, only from action. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to ensure your sister’s recovery. In the meantime, I hope you will partake of Scathfell’s entertainments, such as they are. There is nothing wrong in diverting your attention from troubles you have no power to resolve, only endure.”
Before he could say anything more, Dimitra approached them and curtsied. “Are you here to deprive me of my charming companion?” he asked.
“Indeed, my lord, I think she has not sufficiently recovered from the ordeals of her journey to be carousing two late evenings in a row.” Dimitra took Alayna’s hand and helped her to rise. “Come now, sweetling. There will be dancing enough to come, but only if you do not make yourself ill with exhaustion.”
“We must on no occasion allow t
hat,” said Lord Scathfell.
Alayna dropped a curtsy, perhaps not as deep as was due his rank, but graceful nonetheless. At the rate she was practicing, she would soon become as proficient as any great lady.
As they made their way through the maze-work of the castle, Alayna concentrated on not tripping over the hem of her beautiful gown. At last, they reached the end of the stairs and headed down the corridor to Alayna’s suite. A few more times, she thought, and she’d be able to find the way herself.
“Dom Nevin paid you particular attention, I note,” Dimitra said. “He is a fine catch. Rich, you know, and well-connected. He’s Lord Scathfell’s mother’s second cousin. Or did he mention that?”
“Dom Nevin did convey the general sense. He was trying to make a good impression, I think.”
“As well he should.” Dimitra opened the door and stood back for Alayna to enter. “He’s in the market for another wife.”
Alayna turned and stared at her. Another wife? How many does he have?
“He’s a widower twice over and needs an heir. His first wife was Delia-Mhari Reynart, poor thing. She died in childbirth, as did his second wife, but Lady Delia left a living child, a daughter, who must be five or six now. So of course he must want a mother for her, as well as a wife to bear him a son.” Dimitra began loosening the laces of Alayna’s gown. “Or sons, just to be on the safe side.”
“I’m flattered that anyone might think I’m a match for him.”
“Lift your arms, sweetling. So you say, but you must look at the facts. There’s no other future for you, hanging about until you shrivel up like last year’s apples. Or going home where, I understand, the only prospects are chervine herders and woodsmen. A fine life you’d lead.” When Alayna did not answer, Dimitra rattled on, “Do you mean to say that it has never crossed your mind to hope for a more advantageous alliance?”
Alayna, now in only her shift, turned to face her. No one here knew of Kyria’s intention to provide her with a dowry, and it was wiser to keep it that way. “What I hoped—and still do hope—is to marry for love.”
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