Hearts in Cups (49 page)
As he was struggling
into his hose and a shirt, Kathryn sleepily raised her head, inquiring what it
was he was doing. "I'm putting some clothes on so that I can walk the
castle halls without freezing to death. Angharad is ill. I'll be back when I'm
ready." With this curt reply he slipped on a pair of low, soft leather
boots and left the room. Sulkily, Kathryn pulled the covers over her head.
Two silver lamps cast a
soft light over the simple furnishings in Angharad's bedchamber. Ian had time
to take in the impression of a room lacking many of the amenities that he would
have thought essential to a woman in her position. More suitable for a child
than an adult, it was a feminine room nonetheless. A movement from the bed
brought his attention to the reason for his being summoned. He came closer and,
as a woman sitting beside the bed rose to curtsey to him, he glimpsed
Angharad's face against the pillow. From the edge of the bed he saw that her
skin was very pale, almost greyish in hue, and dark shadows ringed her closed
eyes. Her breathing was shallow and rapid as she tossed her head back and forth
so that a few strands of sweaty hair now clung to her cheeks and forehead. The
woman who had risen at his entrance looked apprehensively at him, as if she
might be thought guilty for her mistress' condition.
Lady Moira, who had
brought him hence, now entered the room with a man wearing old-fashioned robes
and carrying a large wooden box. Drimnor was not such a physician as could be
found in Sandovar or the southern and eastern provinces, but he was well-versed
in the medicinal as well as the culinary virtues of a wide assortment of
plants. He had tended the hurts and illnesses of the residents of the castle
and the surrounding villages for over thirty years with much success, and was
well thought of despite his testy manner.
"Come in,
Drimnor," Ian said impatiently as the man stopped to offer him a bow.
Drimnor straightened,
shrugged and shuffled his way to the bedside. The box was handed to the woman
standing beside the bed, who thereupon almost dropped its unexpected weight and
earned a look of contempt from the healer. He bent over Angharad, laying his
hand on her brow as he pulled her arm gently from under the bedclothes and
sought her pulse with his fingertips. She stirred under his touch and tried to
open her eyes. Her body became stiff and rigid when she had forced her eyes
open and Ian could see that the irises were completely dilated. Those bright,
inky pools did not seem to comprehend what was happening to her. Moira stepped
forward, so that Angharad could see her, and murmured a few words of
explanation. Though the expression in her eyes did not change much, she lay
quietly now.
"You've overtired
yourself, my lady, that much is easily seen. I'm going to give you something to
drink that will help quiet your nerves and let you sleep." So saying,
Drimnor turned and took a small glass vial out of his box. Moira brought a cup
of water to him when so ordered, and into it Drimnor poured a small amount of
the liquid from the vial. Supported by Moira, Angharad was raised and the cup
set against her lips. A wrinkled nose indicated the less than appetizing smell
of the draught, but she did not complain and drank it down. Moira and her
fellow attendant fussed over Angharad for a moment, making sure that she was
lying comfortably. Angharad slipped under the influence of the medication very
quickly, and her eyelids grew heavy with sleep. One of the lamps was
extinguished and Drimnor indicated that they should withdraw from the chamber.
"The girl looks as
if she just spent a week without food or rest," Drimnor complained when
the door to Angharad's room was closed. "What has she been doing to herself?"
He glared at Ian and the two women.
"She has been
working with arcane powers," Ian replied quietly as he motioned the two
women to leave. The women withdrew towards a door at the other end of the
antechamber and halted uncertainly.
Drimnor gave Ian a
penetrating stare. "What kind of magic?" was his blunt query.
"The House Gift of
Creon. Why do you ask? How ill is she?" Irritation laced through Ian's
words.
"She doesn't seem
ill exactly." Drimnor softened his tone, momentarily having forgotten
Ian's rank. "She's completely exhausted. It could be from using magic;
especially if she is unused to it. I've given her a narcotic to make her sleep
very deeply and to act as a tonic on her nerves. I will come in the morning to
check on her progress, but if she wakes in discomfort during the night, send
for me." Ian nodded and Drimnor picked up his box and followed one of the
women out of the complex of rooms designated for Angharad and her attending
ladies' use.
Once more Moira
approached Ian, her hands folded before her. "We shall keep careful watch
and let your lordship know of any change," she said meekly.
"That won't be
necessary," he replied, his eyes wandering back to the bedroom door.
"I will stay with her ladyship myself." Ignoring Moira's open-mouthed
amazement, Ian turned and disappeared into Angharad's room, closing the door
behind him.
It was an hour or two
past daylight, many miles to the east, on the road carved through the mountains
forming a link between Castle Lir and the Gannerly Vale, that the soldiers,
wearing the badge of the Red Stag, began slowly driving the soldiers of the
Green Dragon back in the direction of the castle.
The battle had
recommenced a little before dawn when a small band of Langstraad's men had
crept unseen to the edge of Tuenth's camp and let fly with a volley of arrows.
They quickly fell back, having done the damage they intended, and Tuenth's army
assembled to begin that day's offensive. Marching in formation, they met with
much resistance as they slogged up the road, forcing the slow retreat of the
defenders.
Somewhat after the noon
hour, Baron de Reunne worked his way back from the front ranks to where Blaise
was riding to tell him that they were approaching that section of the pass that
had been discussed the previous evening. Eagerly spurring his horse forward,
his abrupt action making it difficult for his guard to stay abreast of him,
Blaise rode forward through the ranks until he could see the area that had been
spoken of. Standing in his stirrups he descried, a mile distant, the steep,
heavily forested mountainsides converging and the straight but narrow road that
fell between them.
Langstraad's forces
were still spread out and attacking in a semi-circle at this point, many of the
men weaving in and out of the trees to either side of Tuenth's army. Blaise
sent the other commanding officers the order to fall back, so that Langstraad's
men could make a run for the pass. Though still unsure of their lord's plan,
his officers gave the order and Tuenth's army faltered in its push forward.
Assuming that the pursuing army was suffering from fatigue, the commander of
Langstraad's troops thought it an opportune time to rush his men through the
tight pass and set up on the other side, effectively bottlenecking Tuenth's
army and slowing them down even more.
At his word, the men of
Langstraad pulled back out of the trees and began a fast retreat through the
pass. The length was only about a half-mile and Blaise waited until as many men
as possible were in the pass before he reached within his mind for the power
that lay there. He heard many of his own men shout but they were overwhelmed by
the roar of the earth as it opened up and the screams of hundreds of men as the
chasm that had opened beneath them closed over their heads.
Shaking and sweating
freely, Blaise managed to cling to his saddle as his horse swung around in
fear, ready to run. His nearest adjutant leaped off his own horse and grabbed
the bridle of Blaise's mount preventing it from running away. His face was
etched with fear and respect, having just witnessed and understood what his
duke had done. Tentatively the adjutant extended his hand should Blaise wish to
dismount. Angry at showing the faintness the deed had cost him, Blaise pushed
the offered hand away with the toe of his boot and ordered the army to advance
on those men on this side of the pass who had not been destroyed in the chasm.
Beginning with half-hearted shouts that grew as the men of Tuenth realized that
the legendary power of the Great House they followed had turned the tide to
their advantage, the soldiers of Tuenth fell on the still dazed men of
Langstraad and slaughtered them in a frenzy of elation.
The morning sun,
finding a chink where the heavy draperies were pulled together, threw a bright
beam of light across Angharad's face. Its pleasant warmth quickly became an
irritant as it moved an inch to fall directly across her eyes. Angharad shifted
her head out of its path but in doing so she roused herself out of the depths
of sleep to lie drowsily with her eyes closed.
The events of the
previous day flitted through her mind in disconnected wisps, half memory and
half dream. There was a tense, dark area associated with her use of the House
Gift that she skirted, preferring the glow of accomplishment that her actions
had brought about. For the first time in her life, she was aware of being in
control of her own destiny, and basked in the security of that knowledge. In
and out of her musings Ian's face and form were woven, drawing forth an unexpected
surge of emotion. Her image of Daffyd had begun to fade somewhat over the past
months, like a dreamy remembrance of some distant childhood event. Though still
prey to conflicting currents of feeling, she found that she had passed the
point where thoughts of Ian seemed a betrayal of her love for Daffyd.
Unflinching, she faced up to the truth of her grandmother's words and admitted
that she been guided more by her own need to make use of Daffyd's infatuation
with her. It was not that she hadn't loved him, but overwhelming love had not
been the only reason that she had run away with him and therein, she
acknowledged, lay her fault.
The sound of breathing
penetrated her thoughts, bringing her wide awake when she realized that it was
not her breath making the sound. Opening her eyes, she turned her head and was
astonished to see Ian, wrapped in a fur bed-robe, asleep in a large chair not
five feet from where she lay. Keeping silent so as not to wake him, she took
this opportunity to study him undetected. Up until now, when she had been in
his company her vision had been affected by excess emotion or he had been in a
state of animation. This was the first time that she had the leisure of really
looking at him, and what she saw did not displease her. He lacked Daffyd's
height and breadth, and she noted that the thin, sensitive features of his
face, even in sleep, had a secretive quality.
As if her scrutiny
reached out to nudge him, Ian's shoulder moved and his eyes opened, revealing a
surprisingly alert expression. Finding himself observed, he wriggled into a
more upright posture and offered her a circumspect look of his own in return.
Finally, he asked, "Are you feeling better this morning? Your attending
lady... I don't remember her name, came to my rooms last night when you became
overly restless in your sleep." He went on to explain that the castle's
healer had been summoned and had pronounced her condition to be the result of
stress and fatigue. After she had been given a sleeping draught, he had decided
to remain in case there was a reoccurrence of her malady.
"That was most
kind of you," Angharad thanked him solemnly. "I do remember waking up
and being given something to drink, but I did not know whether it was real or
another dream." She pushed herself up on the pillows, propping herself
into a more comfortable position. With a teasing lilt to her voice she said,
"It seems that whenever we spend the night in the same room, you have the
least comfortable accommodations."
Ian smiled and prepared
to stand up. "Since you are recovered, I will leave you in peace. Drimnor,
the healer, will be coming to check on you later this morning."
As he stood and began
to fold the fur robe, he was checked by Angharad's voice calmly suggesting that
he stay and break his fast with her. "After all, if you've spent the night
here, what matters an hour more?"
"Are you
sure?" He looked carefully into her face, trying to ascertain the
genuineness of her offer.
"Of course I'm
sure." Impishly she leaned over and pulled on the bellrope that hung down
from the ceiling. "That is, if it won't cause too great a scandal. His
lordship breakfasting in her ladyship's rooms, I mean."
Ian said nothing in
response to that remark as he sat back down in his chair with a droll
expression on his face. He contented himself with waiting and watching this
evidence of her blossoming personality. He was uncertain as to how serious her
teasing might be, whether it presaged further changes in their relationship or
just that she was beginning to feel comfortable with him as a friend.
Moira entered the room
followed by a kitchen maid carrying a tray. The tray held more food than
Angharad was wont to consume, but not sufficient for two healthy appetites. In
a calm, authoritative voice Angharad ordered more food to be brought up from
the kitchens.
"Is there anything
special you'd like?" she inquired of Ian.
He grinned, "No,
just tell the cook that it's for me and they will know what to send."