Jayne Castle [Jayne Ann Krentz] (13 page)

willing, but she had probably negotiated the contract herself. Few decent families would want their

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daughters involved in such an arrangement.

In addition to the bride's obvious tension, the austere grimness that hung about the groom disturbed the

advisor. Not that the Fire Whip appeared unwilling; on the contrary, he seemed unusually determined.

Ridge stood before the advisor wearing a mantle of unrelieved black. The hood of his cloak was thrown

back. The night dark garment made a striking and unmistakably dominant contrast to the scarlet, hooded

cloak worn by the bride. The stark colors of this wedding were enough to make any right thinking

Polarity Advisor cringe. Surely such dramatic tones presaged conflict and strife.

The Master of the House watched from his seat in the center of the long hall in which the wedding was

to take place. Quintel wore black like the groom. But then, the Polarity Advisor recalled, the trade baron

almost always wore black. Perhaps he had even loaned the groom his mantle.

Around Quintel were ranged an assortment of vividly dressed guests, most of whom appeared to have

come straight off the floor of the Traders' Guild hall. Even the women had the stamp of lower class

females. Their tunics were too short, their hair too extreme, their eyes far too bold. There was no sign of

any guests from a more distinguished stratum of society. But given the nature of the marriage, that was

hardly surprising.

Behind the guests musicians waited with counterpoint harps and flutes to play for the feast that was to

follow. And feast it would be, the Polarity Advisor thought with some satisfaction. The long, low banquet

table was already brimming with an array of food. Roasted haunches of grain fed zorcan, full bowls of

rich whipped columa berries, platters of harten liver pates, iced serinfish, and trays of expensive tanga

fruit were just a sampling of the offerings. A seemingly endless quantity of good red ale and fine Encana

wine was arranged nearby. More of everything would be of the duty that lay ahead of her. She had been

grateful when Arrisa and the other freewomen had arrived early and had gleefully begun to dress the

bride. Vertina had asked if she had remembered the day's pinch of crushed selite leaves and made one or

two cracks about the steel of Countervail. From that point on there had been little chance to brood.

But the ceremony was almost over, and she would soon have to face the role Olara and the luck of the

Spectrum had assigned her. Kalena was only half listening as the Polarity Advisor continued the

ceremony. Her mind on her problem, she caught only scattered words and phrases.

"A man who accepts his wife must also accept the duty he assumes toward her. She has left the

protection of her family, trusting in the protection of her husband. She is now his responsibility. Her honor

is forever entwined with his own. He must protect it as he would his own."

Kalena thought she could feel Quintel's dark gaze on her and she wondered what he was thinking. As far

as she was concerned, his insistence on the formal ceremony had never been satisfactorily explained.

Aunt Olara had predicted the large wedding, but her Far Seeing trance had not explained why Quintel

would provide such excellent cover for his own murder. Kalena clearly recalled her aunt stating that the

time to strike would be on the night of the marriage, when feasting and celebration occupied the members

of the household. Kalena had been told she was to use the privacy provided by the traditional hour

allowed the bride after the feast.

If only she had not succumbed to the temptation the night before, Kalena thought in despair. All day long

she had been paying the penalty. Her mind was in turmoil and her resolve was almost in shreds. The

thought of the act which lay ahead was enough to make her tremble with nausea. She had no doubt that

the time she had spent in Ridge's arms had weakened her catastrophically. A barrier in her mind had

been breached and the waters of resistance and uncertainty were flooding her senses.

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"A woman who accepts a husband accepts his authority. She must remember this even though there be

times when the natural reaction of opposites causes her to think of rebelling against that authority. She

must trust in his guidance and strength, knowing he is the guardian of her honor as well as his own."

Kalena's attention was caught by the small, carved onyxite box that was being handed to the Polarity

Advisor.

"Let this symbol of union be worn around the bride's throat. Placed there by her husband as a sign of his

protection and authority, it is not to be removed by any other hand."

Kalena watched with a numb feeling of inevitability as the onyxite box was opened and held out to

Ridge. Her new husband reached into the sarsilk lined interior and removed the thin, shimmering chain.

One end of the chain ended in a lock of white amber. The other ended in a key of black amber. When it

was in place around her throat, Kalena would be well and truly wed—at least for the length of time

stipulated in the contract.

Ridge turned to her for the first time in the ceremony, the symbol of his possession in his hand. Kalena

caught her breath. For an instant everything around her seemed to stand still as the panic that had been

simmering just under the surface suddenly possessed her completely. She looked up into the banked

golden flames in his eyes and every instinct warned her to flee. She knew she would have done exactly

that if there had been any way of overcoming her body's paralysis.

Instead, she found herself standing unmoving as Ridge carefully pushed the hood of the scarlet cloak

back so he could have access to her throat. She closed her eyes, felt his hands on her as he looped the

chain around her neck, and then there was a slight pause as he held the key to the opening of the lock.

The guests were as still as Kalena. Ridge inserted the key into the lock, thus joining the ends of the

beautiful chain.

There was a faint but audible click as the key turned in the lock and a great cheer exploded in the hall.

Even Quintel smiled briefly, the expression fleeting and curiously satisfied. He got to his feet and came

forward to greet the bride and groom.

For the next three hours, Kalena existed in a haze of exuberant, noisy chatter, endlessly flowing wine and

a table full of food that was forever being replenished by scurrying servants. The selection of guests had

practically guaranteed a loud, raucous crowd. Fortunately, Kalena was not expected to participate to any

great extent. Her duty consisted primarily of sitting at one end of the table, sampling bits of food and

tasting from a goblet of wine. Considering what lay ahead of her that evening, she decided, it was as

much as she was capable of doing anyway. Tonight, at least, she was not expected to serve. Good thing,

she decided. Her fingers were shaking too much to allow her to risk holding a crystal decanter.

Ridge sat at the opposite end of the long table. He lounged at ease on the cushions, his gaze flicking

frequently to Kalena's tense face. The guests plied him with bawdy jokes and an endless assortment of

sexual advice. Quintel sat halfway down the table, indulgently tolerating the noise and good cheer.

"A toast to Quintel's Whip," declared one man, staggering to his feet after several others had already led

such drinking bouts. "A toast!" the others agreed, waiting expectantly.

"I give you the man they say can turn cold steel into glowing fire ..."

Kalena was aware of Ridge's abrupt scowl. Apparently, the legend behind the label he wore was not to

his liking.

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"May he succeed in doing exactly that tonight in such a way that his bride will always remember her

wedding night!" the trader leading the toast concluded with a leering grin.

Loud guffaws and several ribald comments concerning Ridge's alleged affinity with fire and steel and the

possible uses of that ability in a sleeping pallet swamped the room in laughter. But no grin broke out on

Ridge's face, Kalena noticed.

Vaguely alarmed by her new husband's silence, she looked up in time to see him lean forward across the

table, his hand thrust under his cloak to rest on the sintar he wore. As the guests became aware of the

fact that the joke had not gone over well, a ragged hush fell on the crowd. Ridge spoke into that uneasy

silence, his voice low and harsh as he addressed the trader who had made the unfortunate jest.

"A man who doesn't know his manners would do well to keep his mouth shut on the occasions when he

has been fortunate enough to be invited into civilized company. But perhaps it's not too late to teach you

a few of the social graces, Laris."

Uneasy glances passed along the table. Automatically, Kalena looked to Quintel, expecting him to

interrupt the proceedings before Ridge got into a fight with the man named Laris. But Quintel merely

lounged on his cushions, watching his Fire Whip as if Ridge were some species of pet fangcat who was

about to give a performance.

"Ah, Ridge," Laris said with an attempt at a shaky chuckle. "It was only a jest."

Ridge fingered the handle of the sintar, although he did not remove it from its sheath. "Only a jest?

Perhaps you would like to apologize to everyone present for your unfortunate sense of humor? You have

embarrassed my wife."

"Now, Ridge, there's no call to get upset about this," Laris said uneasily.

"Maybe not, but I'm upset anyway. What are you going to do about it?"

After one last, frantic glance at Quintel's disinterested expression, Kalena rose to her feet in a swift

movement that brought all eyes—including Ridge's—to her end of the table. There was silence again as

she reached down to pluck up the wine decanter. Forcing herself to smile with a demure sweetness she

was far from feeling, Kalena started around the table toward Ridge. Her scarlet cloak swirled gracefully

around her ankles.

"I see your wine glass is nearly empty, my husband. Perhaps that is the real cause of your ill temper. I

would not have you in a bad mood tonight of all nights. Allow me to perform my first duty as your wife

and refill your glass."

Ridge eyed her balefully as she knelt to pour the wine into his glass. Everyone watched in fascination as

Kalena set down the decanter and picked up the goblet she had just filled. If Ridge accepted the goblet

from her, he would have to take his hand from the handle of the sintar.

Kalena did not attempt to hand him the goblet straight off. Instead, she sipped delicately at the wine

herself; then she offered him the delicately chased cup.

The incipient blaze in Ridge's eyes died out, to be replaced by rueful amusement. "It would seem you

have a talent for the wifely arts, Kalena." He released his grip on the sintar and took the goblet from her

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hand. A small sigh of relief circled the table as he took a healthy swallow.

Kalena said nothing, sensing the immediate problem was solved. She got to her feet and walked back to

her end of the table. The feasting and the laughter resumed, unabated.

It was when Kalena knelt again on her cushion that she happened to glance down the row of faces at the

table and notice that Quintel was gone.

She looked toward the back of the room and saw his dark figure disappear in the direction of his private

apartments. No one else seemed to notice. When she glanced at the crystal water clock she saw that it

was the hour when Quintel always retired to pursue his studies. She had learned his habits well during the

past three days.

It was time for her to carry out the task for which Olara had raised and trained her.

Kalena felt a twisting nausea in the pit of her stomach. A suitable sensation for a woman who was about

to commit murder with the aid of poison, she told herself grimly. She waited for a few minutes longer and

then slowly rose to her feet. The next moment would be tricky, as the bride could hardly slip away

unnoticed from her own wedding celebration.

All eyes turned to her almost at once.

"Kalena, are you tired already?" Arrisa called laughingly. "Your bride grows impatient, Ridge," one of

the men hooted. There were several other remarks made that were guaranteed to make any bride blush.

Kalena merely lowered her eyes. She wasbeyond the blushing stage. The knowledge of what lay ahead

of her had made her pale, not pink.

"If you will excuse me, I claim my hour of privacy in which to make the proper preparations," she told

the guests, keeping her eyes lowered in what she hoped passed for modest confusion. "I have no wish to

break up the celebration. You must all continue without me."

"Don't worry, Kalena, we'll send your groom along in a while," Vertina assured her with a grin. "You

have your hour. Use it well."

One of the men added, "It will give her enough time to grow bored and fall asleep."

"Never mind, Kalena, we'll keep the men under control here," Arrisa said. "Every bride deserves her