Hearts in Cups (32 page)

The hawk had begun his
descent in a leisurely way, looking for the bird he had been loosed to find. In
a blur of wings the intended victim fled from the tree where it had perched
towards a new sanctuary. Like a rock, the hawk dropped out of the sky,
unerringly taking aim on the frantic activity of its target. The hawk struck
with precision and force, and an explosion of feathers marked the demise of the
gamebird.

The bay mare was pulled
up so short that she had to lower her haunches and slide with her rear legs in
order to maintain her balance. An arm, protected by a thick, leather gauntlet,
was imperiously raised and the hawk was called to his master. Bracing himself
as the weight of the hawk settled onto his arm, the young man sighed in
frustration. He had hoped that the violent actions of his hawk might act as a
release for the tension that seethed within him. His companions approached him
courteously as he strove to conceal his emotions.

He had only been
apprised of his new title and status one week ago, and was still in a state of
shock and grief. The Duchess of Langstraad was dead and he, Ian de Medicat, was
now the Duke Regent of Langstraad. It was an office he had never wanted and one
that he had never imagined having bestowed on him. In the first few hours after
he had received the dreadful news about Holly, he had almost refused, as
sacrilege, to take that which had been hers. Only after meditating and grieving
in solitude did he begin to accept the responsibility that she had bequeathed
him. He had promised when he thought that he would never be called upon to
fulfill that vow, but now her admonition to care for and protect her people and
her lands was ringing in his ears.

Tying the hawk's jesses
securely, Ian indicated that he wished to return to the castle. Respectfully,
his attendants wheeled their horses about to follow him. Riding along in the
somber afternoon light, Ian's brow creased into a frown as he recalled that his
grandfather was due to arrive at Castle Lir that evening.

Alister de Medicat had
received the news of his grand-daughter and liege-lady's death and Ian's
advancement in status soon after Ian had been told. The older man's sorrow at
his grand-daughter's death was heartfelt and sincere. He had loved Hollin and
had respected her position as his duchess. Feelings of woe had been succeeded
by incredulity and consternation when he found that his headstrong and, to his
thinking, completely frivolous grandson had been appointed regent for Hollin's
designated blood-heir, the 12-year old Maeve Iscoed Danane. For one short
period of time he had been speechless with astonishment. In an instant, Ian had
been removed from the sphere of his grandfather's general bullying and
browbeating to be placed in a position of power and authority. Messages had
been exchanged, as between all of those minor nobles who owed their allegiance
to House Langstraad, and now the Baron de Medicat and his wife were coming with
the others to swear oaths of fealty to their new liege. Only Lord Gervase
Iscoed, pleading a case of gout, had begged to send an ambassador in his place
and, being a known quantity, been excused.

The castle came into
view, its turrets dark and solid and familiar against the sky. The guards in
their green and gold livery stood to welcome the castle's new lord as he passed
through the massive main gate of the outer defense wall. A man was waiting to
intercept Ian as he drew near the mews and handed his hawk to its keeper.

"What is it,
Alaric?" Ian's question was curt but not unkind.

Not taking offense,
Alaric bowed and said, "I thought that you would like to know that Lord
Alister and Lady Eloise have arrived." He spoke in a low, confidential
tone of voice. When the duchess had left to attend the Pentacle Council
session, Alaric, her personal secretary, had stayed behind to continue in his
office. Perceptive to everything that went on within the castle's walls, Alaric
was discreet and reliable. Ian had found him to be of immeasurable help in the
distressing first days of his regency.

"Have all of the
others arrived as well?"

"All are within
the castle, my lord." He went on to add, "Dame Edwinna has arranged a
formal banquet for tonight. You may receive their pledges of fealty tomorrow
morning."

Ian nodded absently as
they walked together. The formality of the evening would suit him well. He
wanted time to be able to observe from a distance those whose allegiance would
be owed to him. It would also allow him to present himself to the best
advantage for securing and consolidating the power-base of his office. He also
wished to avoid undue direct contact with his grandfather until after it was
made clear to the older man that his grandson was taking and holding this
office on his own.

Slipping unobserved up
the stairs to his own rooms, Ian dismissed Alaric until it was time for his
entrance to the banquet hall. Evan, his personal attendant, was waiting within
the doorway to take his master's clothes and conduct him to a basin of very hot
water. Ian's eyes roamed around the room as he unfastened his cloak and handed
it to Evan.

The young man blushed
and said candidly, "Mistress Kathryn is not in, my lord."

"Good." Ian
grunted and sat down to have his boots removed. His mouth twitched, half in
amusement and half in irritation at the young man's use of that particular
honourific. His mistress was becoming something of a nuisance. Her
ill-concealed pleasure when she found that she was now sharing the bed of an
acting duke was extremely annoying to him. Appropriate words of sorrow and
condolence upon hearing of the death of her duchess came easily to those
pouting lips, but her eyes had gleamed with ill-concealed excitement. He had
not remonstrated, preferring instead to drown himself for a brief time in those
charms in which she excelled. He had emerged from her arms unappeased and still
restless with grief. So, while she continued to share his bed and he took what
solace he could with her, he was less and less interested in her as a person.
It was a problem that he had begun to realize needed to be addressed and
resolved before it got completely out of control.

After washing and
attiring himself as befitted the castle's lord, in a velvet surcoat of dark
forest green with Langstraad's dragon embroidered in gold thread on the chest,
over a fine linen shirt and hose of black silk, Ian sent Evan into the anteroom
with orders that he was to admit no one. Retiring to his chair behind a large
desk he restudied the letter that Lord Percamber had sent after the
confirmation of Ian's new title. In the letter it was suggested that Ian should
make haste to send for Lady Genvra's eldest child, who was to be fostered until
she should come of age, at which time she would be invested as the new duchess
and keyed to the House Gift. A letter had been duly drafted and posted to Lady
Genvra, who had replied promptly that though she saw that it would be best for
her daughter to be fostered at Lir, she wanted a few month’s time to prepare
Maeve for the change. He had agreed and ordered Alaric to write again and tell
Genvra to use her own judgment in this matter. Delicate allusions were also
made by the Pentarchy's regent to the expectation of a coming confrontation
with Mirvanovir, now that the mission to bring back the prince had gone awry.
It was also hinted that Ian would do well to procure himself a good alliance
through marriage to the daughter of a suitable ally.

Ian put Percamber's
letter aside and mused over the intimation of political struggle to come and
the forging of alliances. He was relatively certain of the loyalty of his own
nobles and the people of Langstraad itself, but he could understand the wisdom
of a newly appointed ruler such as himself using the strength of a powerful
ally to buffer his fledgling court. Marriage was the time honoured method for
forging bonds of commitment and cooperation between noble houses. It usually
worked in the larger scheme of things and if the personal feelings of those
thrown into the marriage bed by politics were ignored, at least there was the
meager consolation that they were not the only ones suffering this fate. In
fact, many of the men and women married off thus took pride in the political
and financial alliances constructed around their personal unions. His
grandfather had been trying unsuccessfully for several years to have him marry
for the good of the de Medicats, but while Holly had lived Ian had not
complied. Now that Holly was gone, he saw with a cool logic that he must choose
and cement a bond of marriage if he was to fulfill his promise to her and keep
her House safe.

With grim humour he
looked over the list of candidates that his grandfather had composed last
winter while sitting idly before the fire dreaming of the advantages each
girl's family could bring to the de Medicat domain. It was interesting to note
those names and families that would have done well for the barony of his
grandfather would not do for the duchy of his cousin. Only one name held
promise of being of any real worth to him and his situation, and by luck she
was his grandfather's favourite candidate as well: Lady Angharad d'Aurilac, the
Duke of Creon's daughter.

Ian paused to consider.
He had not been personally impressed with the girl when he had met her a few
months ago, but then it wasn't for personal reasons that he wanted to marry
her. Her father would be a very powerful ally, possibly the most powerful ally
that Ian could bargain for. While Lord Branwilde had been rather ambivalent in
his treatment of Ian last spring and Lady Dierdre had been openly disapproving,
Ian had only been a baron's grandson then; now he was regent for a Great House and
fully accounted the honours of a duke, save for passing his title on to heirs
of his own body. Since the children of the Great Houses generally did not
intermarry, this was a unique opportunity for a duke's daughter to marry a
duke. Ian was certain that the Duchess of Creon would find his offer hard to
resist. Lord Branwilde would, hopefully, see the union as a good strategic move
to unite two of the Great Houses, and he was known to be unhappy with Lord
Niall's overt interest in the disposition of the throne.

A movement from the
other room caught his ear and Ian shuffled the documents together and put them
in his strongbox. Putting the box into his desk, he heard voices engaged in
furious whispers. The door was summarily thrust open and Kathryn whisked herself
into the room with an apologetic Evan following immediately on her heels.

"He said that I
was not allowed to come into your room!"  She sputtered in
indignation and pointed a threatening finger at Evan.

"I was only trying
to do as you asked, my lord."  Evan evenly balanced the correctness
of his words with the irritation in his voice.

Exasperated, Ian looked
Kathryn up and down, saying nothing. She was dressed in a green under-garment
of thin cotton cut with tight sleeves to the wrist, its hem touching the floor,
with an over-garment of yellow wool, fitted at the bodice and flaring to a
skirt that ended between her knees and ankles. The tawny hair was elaborately
dressed to form a coil around her head with the remainder loose on her
shoulders. It was a style that was mostly favoured by ladies of the nobility,
coupled with dress colours that were uncomfortably close to the green and gold
of Langstraad.

Ian's normally
easy-going features grew tight with anger. "When I issue orders saying
that no one is to enter my rooms, I mean that no one is to be admitted."
His voice was flat and hard.

Kathryn looked
momentarily startled. "I naturally assumed that you would not object to
me!"

"I said no one and
I meant no one."

"Well, I'm sorry
if I misunderstood." Her voice took on its customary purr. She was gauging
whether to admit pique or to play penitent. Lowering her eyelashes and folding
her hands together at her waist, she chose contrition.

Ian's anger was not to
be deflected. "You may enter these rooms only when expressly invited. Do
you understand?"

"There was a time
when I could come and go without such rules." Her voice was soft with a
slight catch as if she fought back tears but he knew from long experience that
it was just part of her game.

Ian deliberated on how
far he should go in deflating Kathryn's fatuous opinion of herself. It was
necessary that she realize that his condescension did not elevate her to be his
equal. In sharing his bed, she entitled herself to many luxuries and comforts
that would otherwise have been unobtainable, but it did not entitle her to
playing the lady of the castle. He was loathe to give up the comforts that she
provided, however, unless she understood her position and was willing to abide
by certain rules of conduct, he determined that she would have to return to her
mother's village.

"Leave us,
Evan," he ordered in a smooth voice. Kathryn stole a glance at him through
her eyelashes as she stood meekly. Ian continued to sit at his desk regarding
her with less than friendly eyes. "I think that it is time that I set a
few things straight with you..." In the same deliberately smooth voice
with which he had ordered Evan away, he now began to acquaint his mistress with
the behavior he would and would not tolerate from her, and the consequences
that her behavior would entail.

Sitting at the head of
the table in the smoky main hall with the rushlights and candles sending
guttering shadows into the lofty beamed ceiling, Ian ate and drank moderately
while surveying the assemblage of men and women who were his power base within
the duchy. All of them were familiar faces if not well-known, for he had been
fostered at Castle Lir for many years and had spent most of his adult life in
close proximity to his cousin. The mood of those gathered this night was
subdued but with an undercurrent of acceptance. Their well-loved and respected
duchess was dead, but they knew the man she had designated to be regent to her
heir and were willing to give him his due.