Hearts in Cups (5 page)

An unreadable
expression came over his face. "Forgive me, but I may never be able to do
this again..." He cupped her chin in his hands and kissed her passionately.
"Goodnight, my lovely Holly."

As he thoughtfully
walked the long hallways back to his own rooms he reflected on what had passed
between them. His essential feelings for her were the same, but having roused
and seen the answering passion in her had somehow made him feel more peaceful.
It did not make sense to him, but he accepted the fact that they had stepped
out of the past and into the future. In the distance he heard the bells calling
the tenth hour and halted. Tonight he was in no mood to make due with
substitutes.

The light of early
morning revealed clouds brought by the night wind to be piled against the
mountains, boding the coming rain. To the north the horizon was a dark
blue-gray and the mists on the distant peaks told of the arrival of the storm.
A small crowd of the castle's inhabitants had collected in the central
courtyard to wish their liege a safe journey. The bulk of her escort was
already mounted and waiting on the castle's great inner field. Within the
keep's main courtyard, the noises of horses, harness, dogs and human voices
were intensified as they reverberated off the damp stone walls. Two saddled but
riderless horses snorted impatiently, pulling against the grooms who held and
tried to soothe them.

Ian stood at the top of
the main flight of stairs into the courtyard. Wrapped in a fur-lined cloak of
blue wool, he stood apart from the other nobles who had also gathered on the
steps. His face was outwardly disregardful of the activity taking place about
him, yet he saw and took note of everything that occurred. When Hollin appeared
in the doorway, there was a spontaneous burst of well-wishing. She was deep in
consultation with a tall, spare man with a deeply lined face, and the
acclamation startled her. Looking up, she smiled and saluted the gathered
crowd. From the door behind her emerged Griswold's bulky form, alongside the
equally strapping figure of Sir Owain, Castle Lir's Master of Horse. They had
come to receive any last instructions and to wish their lady a pleasant journey.

In keeping with the
formal occasion that she was journeying to she had forgone the breeches and
boots of preference and was attired in the skirted riding habit favoured by
most noble-women in the Pentarchy. Over her clothing was a cloak of the finest
green wool embroidered with a chain of dragons in gold thread about the hem and
clasped at the throat by a brooch of gold in the shape of a rising dragon with
emerald eyes. Her hair was elaborately plaited and held by a circlet of gold.
Though she was determined to make haste in her journey, it was a state
procession and she was expected to travel accordingly. Dressed for travel but
not riding, her principal ladies-in-waiting, Celia and Inara, stood near their
mistress.

Catching sight of Ian,
Hollin motioned her escort to see her ladies to their waiting carriage and came
over to where Ian stood. They had not been alone together since their private
dinner two days previously. "Well, my lord, again I cause you to rise at
inconvenient hour." Her voice was clear but her eyes were uncertain.

"I would have it
no other way, your grace," he replied with a deep bow and reassuring
smile. "It is unfortunate that the weather is being uncooperative this
morning."

"Oh that,"
she dismissed it with a flick of her hand and Ian laughed. "I bid you good
day cousin, govern well in my absence." She spoke loudly to be sure of
being heard by all and reached forward to give him a kinsman's embrace.
"Everything is in order. My secretary, Alaric, has my written will; Benedict
and Griswold are the witnesses to it. Wish me well, Ian," she added
anxiously.

"You need not even
ask that, cousin," he replied firmly and quietly. "Come home soon and
guard yourself well, Holly."

She squeezed his arm
affectionately, then turned and descended to where her horse, a leggy roan,
shifted his weight uneasily. Hollin pulled on a pair of leather gloves and
allowed herself to be assisted into the saddle where she gathered up the reins.
Sir Benedict, her seneschal, sat astride the placid gray destrier beside her.
Raising her hand in farewell, Hollin and Benedict passed out of the courtyard
and into the field, where the rest of her escort joined her, and on out through
the gates to the main road.

A small advance guard
led the way with the standard bearer holding aloft the banner of House
Langstraad, a green dragon rising against a gold background. The duchess and
Sir Benedict rode side by side while behind them the rest of the procession
spread out, the wagons carrying supplies for the journey along with the requisite
gifts for various dignitaries, the nobles, ladies, servants, and a contingent
of armed soldiers.

The road they traveled
was broad and well maintained, winding down through dark forests of pine. Small
streams bright with ferns and moss intermittently ran across the road and were
easily forded. For the first few miles the density of the trees protected the
travelers, but as they descended into the hills the trees thinned out and a
fine wet rain began falling on them. Hollin pulled the hood of her cloak over
her head and sought to arrange her cloak in such a way as to shield herself
from the worst of the weather. Beside her, Benedict stolidly hunched his
shoulders forward and tried to ignore the droplets falling from his long
mustache. Far away below them the river Tarn could be discerned as a leaden bar
between its green banks.

It took the better part
of the day for the entourage to make the descent to the river on a road made
slippery by the rain. In the late afternoon they crossed over the stone bridge
that spanned the swiftly tumbling river. The road took them eastward for
several miles and then branched in two directions. Southwards the road led down
into and through the valley known as the Gannerly Vale before turning east
towards Sandovar. The road straight ahead went due east, into the hills that
bordered the Earldom of the Inner Ward and the Duchy of Langstraad. They
elected to take the longer and less-populated eastern hill-road and enter
Sandovar from the north. Unfortunately this meant that they would be spending
several nights camping rather than relying on the hospitality of people on
route, but past experience had shown that such hospitality inevitably added
several additional days to the journey.

Camp the first evening
was set up in a clearing surrounded by age-ridden oak trees that dripped
soddenly all night. It was an area frequented by travelers of that road and was
equipped with a fire pit and a primitive shelter stocked with firewood. A
large, multi-roomed tent was erected for Hollin and her ladies, while smaller
shelters were raised protectively around it for the men. Though a large bonfire
helped to combat the chill, the sky continued to drizzle all night. Hollin,
wrapped in warm furs on her cot before a brazier of orange coals, slept soundly.

Morning found them
continuing east through the corrugated folds of the hills with a light rain
still at their backs. More than once Hollin cursed the fact that she was forced
to ride side-saddle in the rain, but reflected that it was better than riding
in a carriage listening to Inara's continual gossip and feeling nauseous. Her
horse, however, was young and inexperienced, and several times she almost lost
her seat as he shied and slid in the mud.

By mid-day the rain
began to abate and the next night, though cold, was damp only on the ground.
The ducal entourage had passed through several villages along the road, but
again they spent the night in their own camp. The third night brought them to
the large manor of one of Hollin's vassals and the principles of the party
spent the night indoors. The following day saw them crossing over the border
from Langstraad into the Royal Duchy of Sandovar. Hollin always suffered from a
feeling of exposure when she left her own lands.

Pentarin, the capital
city of the Pentarchy and home to House Sandovar, lay a little more than 300
miles directly south and east of Castle Lir: a journey of over two weeks,
burdened as they were with wagons. The weather continued to improve as they
moved east and when, at the end of ten days, they turned south and entered the
vastness of the Silvarluin Valley, they were met by blue skies and fields
bright with wildflowers amid new growth.

The Silvarluin Valley
was a rich, populous land dotted with large farming manors, home to minor
nobility, and small crofts of peasant farmers. Numerous small towns were strung
along the roads that converged like a spider's web on Pentarin. Once within the
prosperous borders of the valley, the entourage could no longer make their own
camp and so several nights were passed being entertained by minor lords.
Benedict sent messengers ahead of the main party in order to alert those nobles
to whom the obligation of housing and feeding the ducal entourage would fall.
Most nobles considered it a great honour to entertain a member of one of the
Great or Minor Houses and vied with each other for the chance. Diplomatically,
Benedict always arranged for different sponsors each journey. Hollin assumed
her ducal attitude, responding with the anticipated regal graciousness expected
by her hosts.

On the last morning,
Hollin allowed a little more time for Inara, with Celia's assistance, to
prepare her for her entrance into the royal city. Rich garments of green and
gold were lifted from their trunks and Inara helped Hollin to dress. Lady Inara
would have been even happier if Hollin had agreed to ride in the carriage
properly, but here Hollin drew the line. She had always ridden into the city on
horseback and she was not about to dismount. Inara sighed in disappointment;
her mistress' dresses always suffered when they were worn riding. Surrounded by
her escort, the Duchess of Langstraad rode in state to the gates of the capital
city.

From afar Pentarin
could be descried by its white towers gleaming in the sun. The city was built on
several small hills on either side of the river. Unlike her own Castle Lir,
Pentarin had been built for beauty and trade, not as a fortress. It was a city
of broad, paved streets lined with trees, and graceful bridges that spanned the
river, Silvarluin, the main conduit of travel and commerce between the
Pentarchy's capital and its major port at Dacara. The buildings were spacious
and well-proportioned structures from the palace complex to the merchant's
plazas and down to the dwellings of the less exalted citizens. Everywhere one
looked there were bright flowers set off by the whiteness of the buildings. The
palace walls were faced with white marble, while the remainder of the city was
washed with limestone. The towers and turrets of the palace had their roofs
sheathed with silver, carefully treated so that they were impervious to
dullness and tarnish; thus the city could be seen from great distances, looking
as if it were ablaze with a silver fire.

As the ducal entourage
approached the northern gateway to the city in the mid-afternoon sun, an
honour-guard of horsemen rode forth to meet them. Benedict halted the company
and waited as ten riders on gray horses approached bearing the badge of House
Sandovar, a silver griffon on blue, on their surcoats. They came to a halt and
one of their company rode forward, dismounted and bowed before Hollin. "In
the name of Lord Percamber ap Morna, regent for House Sandovar, I bid you
welcome and invite you to enter our city in peace." He spoke in rich
sonorous tones and followed his speech with another lavish bow. Hollin replied
with a slight inclination of her head. He turned, remounted and they became an
advance guard. Reaching the archway that was the city's northern entrance, they
proceeded into the city itself.

Hollin had made many
trips to Pentarin over the years but she was always struck by its beauty and
the courtesy of its populace. All along the paved streets well-dressed people
bowed and smiled at her as she passed. Their way led into the heart of the city
and up onto the hill that contained the palace. Through the gateway in the
marble walls, they entered the precincts of the palace complex, coming to a
halt in an impressive semi-circular courtyard. Before them a broad staircase
led up to the great hall, while on each side of the staircase porticoed wings
of the palace spread out, curving to enclose the courtyard.

One of the city's
escort raised a trumpet to his lips and blew a fanfare, announcing the arrival
of a ducal embassy. He was answered by other trumpets from within, as the
enormous brass doors leading into the great hall were opened and two men
emerged to stand at the top of the stairs. Benedict dismounted and assisted
Hollin from her horse. Handing their horses to a waiting groom, they ascended
the stairs. On the top step Benedict stopped and knelt, while Hollin walked
forward alone to stand before the two men, both of whom were sumptuously
dressed in formal state robes in honour of her arrival. The elder of the two
she knew: Lord Percamber ap Morna, father of the late queen, grandfather of the
crown prince and current regent of House Sandovar and the Pentarchy; an old man
with frost-bright hair and deep-set eyes of remarkable intensity. A map of fine
lines and wrinkles etched his face and his hands were thin and blotched, but
his back was still remarkably straight and supple. The man standing beside him
was many years his junior. Hollin also had little trouble identifying him: Lord
Colin de Chantalcalm, Viscount of the Minor House of Treves. He was known to be
a close friend and advisor to Percamber. His long jaw was clean-shaven and his
rather handsome face held a pair of deceptively mild, pale-blue eyes under his
bright, corn-coloured hair. A clever and capable man Hollin had judged him in
the past, though she was not on particularly close terms with him herself. Like
Percamber, he was attired in the long robes of state with his house badge
embroidered within a silver pentangle on his right shoulder. He bowed deeply to
her in deference to her superior rank.