The Falcon Throne (The Tarnished Crown Series) (27 page)

Another mud-and-leaf-muffled thundering of hooves, then someone else shouted. “
Give way! Give way! Mind yourself, Vidar!
”

And that was Aistan, hard on Roric’s heels. Thundering with him were Humbert, Scarwid, Farland and that pisscock Ercole. Cursing again, Vidar held back his blowing, agitated horse until the knot of nobles was safely ahead, then gave chase. Off to his right, keeping rough pace with him, he could hear more riders crashing through the forest, and the baying of different hounds in pursuit of their own prey. The hunting pack had split. Did Lindara ride with them? He’d glimpsed her once so far that morning, when he arrived late at the rustic hunting lodge Harald had built at the forest’s edge. But Humbert kept her close. He’d had no chance to speak with her or even catch her eye.

A fresh thunder of hooves. A distant flash of sunlit colour between Bingham’s mighty oaks. Scarlet velvet, indigo leather, a shadowed gleam of dappled grey hide and chestnut. Then tawny velvet, and bright blue,
and brown leather. A golden bay horse, two brown horses, and a black with white legs. Even with his half-ruined sight he knew none of them was Lindara. And then he saw her, brilliant in hunter green, riding her favourite pied gelding. She turned her head. Saw him. Such a look on her face! Startled, he glanced beyond his horse’s ears. Roric and the others were losing him. If he didn’t kick on he might well miss the kill.

Turning back to find Lindara, vanishing and reappearing and vanishing again as she threaded the narrow forest trail with customary, reckless skill, he saw her still stricken, as though she were newly bereaved.

Fuck the kill. Let Roric have it.

Heedless of his horse’s hocks he wrenched the animal sideways a second time, forcing it so close between two burled oak trunks he came perilous near to crushing both of his knees. And then he rode dangerously hard, though his ruined hip burned with pain, determined not to lose the other pack, and his beloved.

A score of pounding strides and he’d caught them.

“Lindara!”

She’d slowed her pace, was riding conspicuously last. And since she
never
let herself fall behind she must want him to join her. As he reached her side she nodded, but there was no smile, no laughter. The Lindara he loved always laughed during a hunt.

Feeling sick, churned with fright, he matched his horse’s pace to hers.

Ahead of them the hounds’ baying changed pitch, yelped higher and more lustily. Woodcocks and silver pigeons burst from their leafy hiding, escaping into the forest-fretted sky. Vidar stood awkwardly in his stirrups, stared over the heads of the riders in front of him at the creature being hunted. Another boar in panicked flight, Harald’s hounds snarling and snapping at its bristled rump. It swerved leftwards, desperate, and the hounds swerved after it. A fallen tree, slanting, crushed spring-green undergrowth, blocking their path. The boar blundered under it but the hounds leapt it freely, as though they had wings, and the following horses leapt it too. Side by side with Lindara, Vidar felt his horse gather itself beneath him, felt its quarters drop, its shoulders lift. Her horse was a mirror. They cleared the fallen tree as one.

And still she didn’t laugh.

A cry of triumph from the leading riders as they burst into a clearing. The hounds yelped their excitement. The boar let out a grunting squeal.

“We have it! We have it!” And that was Gerbod, who never let a man or woman ride by him. “Go to, dogs, go to!”

More yelping, snapping, snarling. A hound shrieked, then was silent. Milling confusion, steaming sweat, stamping hooves, excited voices, as the hunting pack of nobles surrounded the stricken boar.

“Vidar, with me! Quickly!”

Startled again, Vidar spurred his horse after Lindara. At a swift trot, neatly ducking under branches and skirting Bingham’s great oaks, she guided him away from the sounds of slaughter in the clearing. When the shouting and barking were dulled to a whisper, she stopped. Took a moment to be certain they were alone, then swung her horse around to face him.

“I was told not to tell you this, but I don’t care,” she said, reckless. “Vidar, I’m to wed Roric.”

The breath left his body as though he were a boar, run through his pounding heart with a spear.

“Wed Roric?” he croaked. “You can’t.”

She spurred her horse forward until they were close enough to touch. But his beloved didn’t touch him. Her gloved fingers were tight on the reins, and her eyes glittered in her bloodless face. “I must. Humbert has given me to him, and there’s no taking me back. Make your peace with it, Vidar, as I have.”

The jangle of steel bridle work, as his horse rubbed a sweaty cheek on its knee. In his head, a dreadful roaring. In his body, so much pain.

“
Peace?
” He choked down the rising bile. “You wanton bitch! You bawdy strumpet! You never loved me, did you? All along you’ve wanted Roric. You want the power he can give you. I was only ever—”

“You know me better!” she cried, her voice catching as tears spilled. “On my knees, on my
belly
, I begged Humbert to spare me. I told him I had one love in this life,
you
, and that if he loved me he’d not force me into Roric’s bed. He wouldn’t listen. With my brothers dead he wants immortality through my children. He said my first duty as his daughter was to him and to Clemen and that in marrying Roric I’d serve both, and do him honour.”

“
Honour
.” Sweating, freezing, Vidar pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, praying he’d not vomit. Breathed hard for a moment, then let his hand fall. “What would Humbert know of
honour
, when he whores out his daughter for the sake of a ducal crown?”

“I’m no whore,” she said, chin lifting. “I’m no bitch or bawdy strumpet. If you love me, guard your tongue.”

“
If I love you?
Lindara—”

“You know I can’t refuse my father,” she said, as though he hadn’t spoken. “I wed Roric or die a prisoner in Larkspur castle. Please—” Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Don’t say you’d rather I died.”

As if he would! “Does Roric know you love me?”

“I’d be a fool to tell him, wouldn’t I? He might send you away–and Humbert would beat me till my bones break.”

“And what of Roric? Does he love you?”

“No.”

“Does he know
I
love you?”

“I don’t know. But even if Humbert told him, it’s made no difference.”

He lost sight of her then, his eye blurred with stinging tears. “I’ll kill him,” he said thickly, feeling his hand move to his dagger. “I’ll kill them both.”

“And kill yourself? Don’t you be a fool.”

“You’d have me do nothing?” he demanded, smearing his face dry. “Stand by as Roric fucks you without love, and do
nothing
?”

“No,” she said, her voice like ice. “I’d have you fuck me and put your son on his precious Falcon Throne.”

Stunned to silence, he stared at her. “You’re mad,” he said at last.

Now she was smiling, not with joy, but wintry hate. “I’m not.”

“Lindara, it isn’t possible. You
can’t
—”

“But I can,” she said, still smiling. “And believe me, I will. I can turn Roric’s seed to salt and he’ll never know, or even suspect.”

He breathed out, slowly. “How?”

“Babies and birthing are women’s business. There are potions, and certain charms.”

“
Sorcery?
”

Her cold smile widened, baring her teeth. “That’s what men call it. Women call it something else.”

“Whatever you call it, if you’re discovered it means death!”

She shrugged. “I won’t be discovered.”

“You don’t know that! Lindara—”

“Poor Vidar. Are you frightened?”

He’d never heard her so cruelly mocking. “My love—”

“Don’t call me that!” she spat. “If I was
your love
you’d have claimed me from Humbert weeks ago and this wouldn’t be happening!”

She blamed
him
? “Lindara—”

“What’s it to be, Vidar? You mean nothing to Roric and Humbert.
I
mean nothing. Will you fight them with me? For I must fight. If I do nothing to avenge myself then I deserve—”

Raised voices, approaching. Laughter. A rhythmic drumming of hooves.

Lindara spurred her horse back a pace. “We mustn’t be seen.
Go
. I’ll find you later, for your answer.”

As she urged her horse into a canter, abandoning him, Vidar kicked his feet free of his stirrups and slid to the damp, leafy ground. Scooped a handful of sticky mud and dirtied his face, his russet doublet, the side of his hunting leathers and his horse’s knees. A moment later Roric appeared between the trees, flanked by Humbert and Aistan. Seeing him, they slowed their horses to a halt.

“Vidar!” said Roric. “We wondered where you were. Never say you were unseated!”

What was his pride, next to Lindara’s safety? He winced, not needing to pretend any physical discomfort. Hunting was a torment. “Alas.” A slap on his horse’s neck. “The beast stumbled.”

“Are you much hurt?”

Oh, so now the bastard would feel his pain? “Not to speak of.”

“You missed two fine kills,” said Humbert, jubilant. Dried blood smeared his sleeve, flecked his beard. “The court will eat well tonight.”

Aistan, also blood-flecked, frowned. “Vidar, can you ride?”

To answer, and to hide the sudden burn of fury, Vidar re-mounted. Never mind that he was clumsy, that because of his hip he had to hop and clutch and haul. Settled into his saddle, with a blank stare he dared them to say a word.

“My lords,” said Roric, “I’d speak privately with Vidar. Ride ahead to the hunting lodge and make sure those boar are dealt with as they should be.”

Humbert cleared his throat. “If it’s all the same to you, Roric, I’d like to find my daughter. Aistan knows what he’s about when it comes to boar. Don’t you, Aistan?”

“Fine,” said Roric. “I’ll see you both at the lodge.”

“Is something wrong, my lord?” Vidar asked, all friendly deference, once they were alone. It was vital that Roric never suspect his seething hatred. “That shite Ercole’s not raising a riot, is he?”

Roric shook his head. “He knows better. Vidar, I’ve news for you. I doubt you’ll like it.”

“Tell me,” he said, as the late morning’s filtering sunlight turned to
snow on his skin. “Is it Harcia? Do Aimery’s Marcher lords cause trouble on the eve of your acclamation?”

“I could almost wish they did,” Roric murmured. “Vidar, I’m wedding Lindara.”

Even though he knew already, even though he’d braced himself to hear the familiar words, it was like being spear-skewered a second time.

“I’m sorry,” Roric added. “Humbert tells me you’re fond of her.”

“
Fond?
” He laughed, feeling sick. “My lord–Roric–I
love
her.”

A stricken look in Roric’s eyes. “Oh.”

“Can you say the same?”

“Lindara is dear to me.”

“So you can’t,” he said, hearing his voice crack. “Roric—”

Roric nudged his horse closer. “It’s a matter of state, Vidar. Of what’s best for our duchy.”

He could easily smash Roric’s earnest face to blood and bony splinters. “Why Lindara? Clemen is full of women. Fuck, the
world
is full of women.” Another strangled laugh. “For you, at least. For a duke. For me there’s only one. Choose someone else.”

“Vidar…” Roric rubbed a gloved hand across his face. The gesture left a smear of boar’s blood in its wake. “I would, if I could. But my choices are more limited than you want to believe and I
must
put Clemen’s welfare first. So for our duchy’s sake you’ll let Lindara go… and I’ll wed her.”

He wanted to shout
You arrogant shit, she doesn’t love you
!
She loves me!
But he couldn’t. The truth would put Lindara in danger. His only choice was deceit. To play the obedient courtier and let Roric think he’d won. But he didn’t dare surrender without any fight.

“Is this why you haven’t restored what’s mine?” he said, hearing his voice grate. “Have you kept me noble in name only so Humbert would never take my suit seriously?”

Roric flinched. “No! Vidar, I promised you’d have all you’re owed, and you will. You’ll have more. I’ll grant you your choice of a ducal estate, and a seat on the council. Your name will be a byword for courage and honour far beyond Clemen’s borders.”

In other words the bastard thought he was a whore, to be bought. “I risked my
life
to sit your arse on Harald’s throne.”

“And I’m in your debt for that,” said Roric. “But would you truly ask me to put you before all of Clemen?”

Silence, save for the natural sounds of Bingham forest and the quiet
clinking of their horses’ bits. His breathing unsteady, Vidar let Roric see the depth of his pain. “You know how I must answer.”

“Then what else is there to say?”

“You can tell me one thing. When you asked Lindara to marry you… did you know my feelings?”

“No.”

“And if you had known?”

“I truly am sorry, Vidar.” Roric smiled, sadly. As though his sorrow mattered. Then he held out his hand. “I hope one day you can forgive me. And I hope you’ll take that seat on the council. I need all the good men around me I can find.”

Vidar stared at the drying bloodstains on Roric’s gold-embroidered leather glove. More than anything he wanted to slap the offered hand aside, reject Roric’s insulting bribe. But a seat on the council would keep him in Eaglerock, near Lindara. Which was imperative if he was to fall in with her mad plan.

A plan that now tempted him like a sweet sugar plum.

Slowly he let himself be clasped wrist-to-wrist. “All right. I’ll take that council seat, Your Grace. As for a ducal estate… Coldspring leaps to mind.”

“Coldspring,” said Roric, not quite hiding the wince. “You have excellent taste, Vidar.”

“In all things.”

Roric’s grasp tightened. “And what of forgiveness?”

“Treat Lindara well. Make her happy. I’ll not forgive her tears.”

“Thank you, Vidar,” said Roric, releasing him. “I won’t forget this.”

Shaking, he watched Harald’s bastard cousin ride away.