Duty: a novel of Rhynan (2 page)

In the background, Loren continued to answer the
recorder’s questions.

I asked Antano, “Is the king doing this
elsewhere?”

“Yes, though many commanders are far more brutal than
Lord Irvaine. The tales are not for feminine ears. Be thankful Lord
Irvaine is your new master.”

“What of me, Antano? What will my fate be?”

“That, lady, is not for me to say. Ask Lord
Irvaine.”

“I shall.”

Loren replied to the recorder’s final question. “I
will marry.”

He directed her toward the door into the yard.

As Loren passed us, I caught her hand.

“My lady, no…” Antano protested.

“I request to accompany her.”

He frowned at me, but listened.

“I nursed at her mother’s breast, learned to toddle
holding her hand, and shared every step of my life with her. I wish
to walk beside her now.”

Antano studied our faces for a moment. “No
interfering.”

I squeezed Loren’s cold fingers and received an
answering tightening. Antano spoke with the record-keeper. While
his back was turned, Loren pressed against my side. I drank in the
familiar warmth of her presence. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I will see this is stopped. I will speak to Lord
Irvaine.” I wasn’t sure what I would say, but the Kurios would give
me words. Surely this wasn’t His will.

“Nay, Bri, I have had more time than most. Marriage
was my fate. I have delayed long enough. It is time for a husband
and children.”

“I wish the circumstances were otherwise.”

Loren turned her face toward the only window in the
room. “Wishing won’t change reality.”

I preferred the tears to the silence of raw emotion
petrifying the heart. I witnessed too much dull acceptance,
resignation to circumstances. I wanted to scream, fight, rage
against the injustice.

Antano led us out into the yard. Forty-five men stood
and lounged about. Loren’s entrance caused a stir. Men straightened
their shoulders and stood to their feet. A bald man licked his
fingers and smoothed the few hairs remaining on his crown. I
scanned the gathered crowd, at least twenty strong. Tall and short,
all broad in the shoulders and muscled, they bore scars and signs
of their craft. Though, some were more weathered than others. Loren
focused on her feet, blind to all but the dirt beneath her bare
toes.

I nudged her elbow. “You need to at least look at
them.”

“I can’t.” She trembled.

In desperation, I turned to Antano. He had been
decent, considering the situation. He knew these men.

“Who will be a gentle husband, Antano?”

“Nay, lady.”

“Please, we don’t know these men. How can she choose
on appearance alone?”

Antano held against my pleading gaze for a moment
only to give in with a sigh. Despite the grim lines of his
features, I found kindness there.

“Choose the one without a left hand.”

I frowned up at my guard, but something in his voice
made me look again at the man he indicated.

The man stood at the back of the crowd, a solid and
unmoving island among the shifting men. He held his shoulders
square, but his manner remained loose and comfortable. He allowed
those around him to move first.

“Quaren has a child, a girl of four summers, who
needs a mother, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. He was a good
husband to his first wife. Your friend will be safe with him.”

“He appears to be a man of patience, Loren.” I
pressed her shoulder. “See how he waits.”

Finally lifting her fair head, Loren peered at the
group. As though sensing someone spoke of him, Quaren turned his
face toward us at the same moment. The two’s eyes met.

“I will take him.” Loren pointed at Quaren.

The officiate grimaced. “He has but one hand, miss.
Surely you wish a man who has all of his parts.”

“He lost the hand honorably, I assume.” I glared at
the balding man. He listed to one side himself, suffering from a
twisted back much like my cousin.

“Aye, my lady, saving Lord Irvaine’s life.”

“Then I don’t see how that would be a disadvantage in
anyone’s eyes.”

“But, my lady, some women prefer…”

“She wishes to choose him, Ryanir.” Antano’s voice
cut off any future protest from the officiate. “Unless you wish
Lord Irvaine to hear of how you are interfering with the choices of
the women, I would recommend you witness their vows without
fuss.”

In answer, Ryanir motioned Quaren forward. Within
moments the new couple exchanged vows, were allotted a living
space, and dismissed. I hugged Loren tightly.

“You will still see me,” she protested.

“I know.” I still didn’t release her. “But from now
on it will be different.” She was no longer going to be constantly
near. I wasn’t going to be her responsibility now, he would, he and
his child. “If he ever lifts even a finger to harm you, come to
me.”

“You will be as helpless as I, Brielle.”

“Promise me.” I pulled back to lock gazes with
her.

“I promise.”

Only then I let go. I watched the pair leave the yard
and grasped at hope. The gentle way Loren’s new husband touched her
shoulder reassured me, but the sour sensation in the depths of my
stomach refused to be ignored. I lifted the helmet I still carried
and frowned at it.

“Antano, take me to Lord Irvaine.”

“He didn’t wish you to return until nightfall.”

“I have seen enough. If you don’t escort me, I shall
find him myself.”

Antano eyed me warily before pointing toward the
lord’s hall.

Contrary to my keeper’s obvious concerns, questions
not anger burned in my gut. Only Lord Irvaine could answer the most
pressing one of them all. What did he mean to do with me?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The familiar dim shadows of the lord’s hall during
the daylight hours comforted me. All remained as it had been the
night before though it was now well past midday. Trestle tables
leaned against the stone walls, the noon meal forgotten in the
chaos. A smattering of pallets still littered the floor. The
daylight falling from the single smoke hole illuminated little
except the center of the room. On the edge of the light, Lord
Irvaine slumped in the steward’s chair. His fingers lost in his
shaggy hair, he groaned.

“That is hardly enough to last us through the first
few months of winter.” The thin man to Irvaine’s left waved a sheet
of parchment for emphasis. Dressed in a simple tunic and leggings,
he stood just beyond the touch of the light. His other hand
clutched a parchment roll.

“Brevand, I can count. I surpassed you at figuring
when we studied under Master Tarn. I know the provisions are
inadequate.”

“I was just…”

“I know. Sorry.” Irvaine rubbed brutally at his face.
“This whole confounded situation is a nightmare.”

Antano cleared his throat.

Brevand’s cold eyes fell on me from the shadows. An
icy tingle tensed my spine as his bored gaze assessed my lack of
attributes. Lord Irvaine didn’t bother to lift his head.

“What news do you bring?”

“Lady Solarius insisted on speaking with you.”

“I told you, Antano, I…” Irvaine finally lifted his
face. He still hadn’t washed away the dirt. It ringed his eyes and
stained his cheeks. He rested his elbows on his knees. Beneath the
grime, he appeared haggard. He sighed. “Very well, my lady, what do
you wish to say?”

“I have questions, my lord.”

He closed his eyes, resting his head against his
fisted hands. “Leave us.”

The men exchanged a glance of confusion.

“But, my lord…” Brevand protested.

“Leave us, Brevand. You have provisions to recount
and divide. Expect the worst and then return with the details.”

Brevand’s thin features flinched in anger before
arranging into an expression of indifference. Unease tingled along
my forearms, but I brushed it away. I needed to focus on the man
with the answers.

As Brevand and Antano retreated into the sunshine
outside, I studied the man who held all of our fates. His rough
hands and muscled limbs were not the markings of a noble. He moved
like a warrior, quick and purposeful.

My cousin Orwin’s hands were lean and weak. Despite
his attempts to appear a strong man among men, his face remained
permanently flushed from excessive wine and his belly soft.

“You have not been a noble long,” I observed.

“That is not a question.”

“Very well, what did you mean when you said I was
yours?”

He lifted his head and regarded me intently as though
weighing my reaction before breaking bad news. Finally he let out a
sigh and thrust himself to his feet.

“We were married by proxy before King Mendal a month
past in the presence of your cousin and the full gathering of
nobles. The land, the village of Wisenvale, and your hand were
given as gestures of loyalty by Lord Wisten, accepted by King
Mendal, and imparted to me as gestures of peace.”

My head swam and the room tilted. I forced air into
my lungs and closed my eyes. This stranger was my husband.

“I was given orders to marry you publicly before my
men and take possession of this land.”

I was not alone in this. A fact I could not forget.
All the women I witnessed that morning, forced to make a choice,
were no better off than me. Nay, I preferred their lot. There was
no selection before me. He already owned me.

“And the portioning out of the women?” I asked,
hoping for more information.

“It is by order of the new king. He needs a resident
force here at the border. There have been reports of activity among
the robber barons on the other side of the river.”

The Varvail River marked the easternmost border of
Rhynan. Only three days ago a hunting party stumbled through an
abandoned campsite as close as the first ridge beyond the river.
Soon winter would come. The snows and wind should keep any raiding
ruffians at home. This far north the weather was a curse and a
blessing. But come spring, the situation changed.

“Back to the matter at hand. I am honor bound to
fulfill my duty, Lady Solarius, but you are not.”

Pulling myself from my thoughts, I focused on him.
His dark eyes met mine as though he had never looked away, his
expression unreadable. Intense and probing, his gaze left me no
room to shy away.

“Are you suggesting I am without honor?” I pulled
back my shoulders.

“Nay, lady, I suspect your measure exceeds most. I
only wish to say I will not hold you to a promise made by another.
If your father, or brother perhaps, granted your hand, I would feel
more…at ease. But your cousin makes this whole scheme smell of
deceit.”

His scrutiny made me want to squirm.

“I am nothing like my cousin, my lord. I do not
scheme or plot. I have lived the simple life of a peasant. My hands
bear callouses from laboring alongside the humblest in our village.
I am not a delicate woman to be cosseted.”

“I can see that.”

I lifted my chin. Men frequently took exception to my
height and direct manner. Bracing for a biting summation of my lack
of virtues, I met his regard.

Instead he smiled. Well, not really. It was more of a
lift to the left side of his mouth, as close to a smile as I had
seen so far. The slight change warmed his eyes. Looking away, I
grasped at my train of thought.

“I am not the kind of woman a rising noble should
have by his side.”

He stepped closer. The smell of leather and dirt
filled my nostrils. He was two handsbreadths from me.

“I am not a noble.”

I opened my mouth to protest the obvious, but he
stalled me by raising his hand.

“I am a soldier, a man accustomed to grueling
marches, meager fare, and long, cold nights sleeping in the dirt.
Alive by the strength of my sword arm and the speed of my feet, I
need a wife who can stand at my side, not cower behind me. The more
I know of you, the better suited you appear, my lady. Should you
have me, I would willingly take you to wife.”

“You are giving me a choice?”

“Aye.”

“And should I choose nay, what will happen to
me?”

“You can marry your sweetheart.”

“I have none.”

“You nurse a secret yearning for one of the youths of
the village? Or perhaps your beloved died?”

I peered at him. Was he jesting? “I have no romantic
attachments.”

“Do you object to men?”

“No. What are you driving at?”

He flashed a balance-skewing grin. “I didn’t think I
was that ugly.”

“You aren’t.”

I spoke truth. He wasn’t handsome, but I had never
been inclined toward men proud of their face. He was tall, gaining
on me by at least a handsbreadth. He possessed all of his hair and
teeth, remarkable considering his line of work and his age. Judging
by the creases in his face, he was at least thirty. I eyed the
traces of silver highlighted by the sunlight. Perhaps he was closer
to forty-years-old.

“Then I suggest a solution. We marry. I will give you
protection, children, and companionship. I believe we can hope for
at least friendship, but…” He studied my face. “…I haven’t
completely given up on the possibility of more. What do you
say?”

In light of the sacrifice of the other women in my
village, I had a duty. It was the obligation of every noblewoman to
set an example. Mother lived the lessons she taught me until her
death. Always gracious and supportive, she even accepted the
introduction of Orwin into their household, never speaking a word
against him. Orwin saw no reason to still his own tongue, however.
I blackened his eyes a few times before he learned to not speak his
insolence in my hearing.

This man would not be so easily directed. His life
spoke to his skill with a sword. His position indicated he
possessed some ability to learn. Memory of his control when I
prodded his temper that morning reassured me that I would not be
constantly warding off his blows. Still, his character remained
untested.