The River's Gift (7 page)

Before
her thoughts went any further, the tent-flap was pulled aside and Lord Lyon
shoved a round of cold bread and a cold rabbit-quarter at her without any kind
of greeting or warning. She took it reflexively and stared at him with
stinging eyes.

"Break
your fast, Lady Ariella, and let us be up and away!" he said so loudly
that she winced. "We have far to go, and the sooner we are upon the
journey, the sooner we will reach home!"

"Aye,
soonest wedded and soonest bedded," called one of his men, and another
guffawed as Ariella held the hastily proffered food with one hand, stood up,
and shook herself free of the bedclothes. She had gone to sleep fully dressed,
so there was little for her to do to "make ready"—but no sooner had
she stood free of the blankets than one of the men bustled into the tent and
bundled up her erstwhile sleeping-place, carrying it off to stow in a pack
somewhere. She clutched the bread and meat, trying not to cry, wondering what
to do next, and the tent began to teeter above her as other men pulled up its
stakes. She hastily got out of the way, only to find herself seized by the
waist and swinging through the air as Lord Lyon hoisted her into her litter
again.

"You'll
find better provisioning here today, my Lady," he said as he closed the
curtains on her. "We won't be stopping till nightfall, so make yourself
free of it when you've a mind to refresh yourself."

She
was still clutching the bread and cold meat; he had not even given her the chance
to take or refuse the crude breakfast. In the gloom of the horse-litter, in the
farther corner she made out a pale bundle among the furs and traveling rugs. As
the mules started forward with a jerk, she pulled it toward her.

She
wrestled the knots holding it shut with chilled fingers while the litter swayed
and jounced between the two mules. The white cloth finally parted beneath her
numb hands and fell open, and by touch and scent she recognized the vague
shapes as cheese, apples, more bread, and a leather bottle, carefully stoppered
shut. She levered the stopper out and sniffed cautiously; it held wine, rather
than the herb tea or water that she would have preferred. She didn't think her
aching head would be well-served by drinking it.

For
that matter, her stomach wasn't particularly enamored of the greasy,
half-burnt meat, the strong cheese, or the stale bread. As her head continued
to pound, she huddled miserably into the furs and wondered what would become of
her.

Slow
tears slipped down her cheeks and dropped onto the fur. She choked down a sob,
which lodged in her throat and remained there, a cold ball of ice that resisted
swallowing. Never had she felt so alone, so helpless, and so deserted. How
could her Papa have left her to this?

She
jumped, holding in a gasp, as the sound of voices just behind her startled her.

"Have
you seen anything?" That was Lord Lyon's booming voice, and she shrank
instinctively away from the sound.

"Wolf
sign, nothing more.
No sign of Faerie—"

"Quiet,
you fool!" Lord Lyon snapped. "Don't you know better than to speak of
them out loud?" His horse snorted and the harness jingled. "You're
sure you haven't seen anything?"

"Absolutely
sure."
The man laughed.
"Not that they would come anywhere near
this much iron and steel.
Why are you so concerned? You've never fretted
about meeting them on the road before."

"There
are rumors—" Lord Lyon growled. "Rumors my young bride has had doings
with them, and she's got a fey look about her to back those rumors. She's
comely enough for them to want her, and I've heard they don't look kindly on
those who make a claim on maidens they've taken an interest in. I'm not minded
to risk the loss of so fine a manor and lands when I'm so close to taking
possession of them, and I've no intention of finding myself in some magical
battle just because one of them wants her back."

The
other man laughed again. "Well, you'll have plenty of iron, steel, and
holy men between you and their wiles once we're back at Lyon Castle. And besides
all that protection, you'll have all of your men alert and standing between as
well. Nothing will get in— or out."

"Meaning?"
Lord Lyon asked a
trifle suspiciously.

"Meaning
that if they try to call her outside your protection—or she takes a notion to
try to run—we'll be there to make certain she won't get far." The man's
matter- of-fact tone sent cold threads of fear down Ariella's back. "Then
it'll be up to you to make her see reason—or get her with child so she'll have
other things to think of, and they'll lose interest in her."

Lord
Lyon snorted, and Ariella shook at the thought that he might decide to
anticipate the marriage vows, given that bit of advice. "That'll happen as
soon as the
blessing's
pronounced," he replied
arrogantly. Then, before she could overhear anything else, someone shouted up
ahead and their horses trotted off.

Her
head spun with disconnected images and fears, making her feel sick with
anxiety. All she could do was cling with both hands to the edge of her cloak
and weep silently into the darkness.

But
by the time they stopped for the night, she had found a touch of courage
somewhere. Perhaps it had come from that overheard conversation—for if Lord
Lyon was afraid that her Faerie friends were following, well, perhaps they were!
She made up her mind that she would try to escape and take her chances in the
forest.

After all, I've nothing to fear from the
animals!
she
reminded herself.
Only from humans.

So
when Lord Lyon lifted her out of
the litter into the night-shrouded camp, she clutched the bundle of uneaten
provisions to her. Those, she would certainly need!

Silent,
she walked obediently behind him. Silent, she entered the tent. Silent still,
crouching on her bed of furs and blankets, she waited for the noise and voices
outside the tent walls to die out.

She
was cold and stiff by the time the last voices died and the flickering
firelight lending false warmth to the tent walls faded somewhat. Then, when everything
was quiet and even the crackle of the fire had turned to the hiss of coals, she
moved.

But
she did not raise the flap in the front of the tent. Instead, working
stealthily, she worked at the canvas at the back, until she pried up two of the
stakes holding it to the cold ground, giving her enough of a gap to squeeze
out.

She
raised the canvas—pushed her bundle of provisions out and followed it on hands
and knees—

And
found
herself
nose-to-toe with a pair of large, black
boots.

She
looked up; looking down at her was one of the coldest pair of eyes in one of
the stoniest faces she had ever seen.

The
man said nothing; he only continued to stare down at her. Her mouth went dry as
dust, and still he did not move. Finally, after a long, long time, she pulled
her head back into the tent, leaving her bundle of food behind. After another
minute or two, someone hammered the stakes she had pulled up back into the
ground with heavy, angry blows.

She
waited, sleepless, for the rest of the night, fearing punishment, anger, she
knew not what. Dawn crawled into the camp, gray and dingy; the noise of men
rousing began.

Then,
finally, the tent-flap jerked open, seized by a rough hand, and Lord Lyon stood
looking down at her. She started to shiver, teeth chattering in her fear.

He
held out a leather tankard. She stared at it.

"I think," he said, in a false,
warm voice, "That you are in need for your physik, my Lady." He
thrust the tankard at her.

"Drink,"
he ordered in a suddenly changed voice, a voice that warned that if she did not
drink, the brew would be poured down her unwilling throat.

With nerveless, shaking hands, half
spilling the potion, she drank, and she recognized the bitter taste. Lord Lyon
took back the empty tankard as she dropped it. A sudden dizziness overwhelmed
her.

Then
her eyes closed of themselves; she felt him lift her up and carry her, and she
knew nothing more until nightfall.

She tried to refuse to drink again, but she
was given no choice. After four dreadful days and nights, marked only by drugged
haze, chill, sick fear, grief, and a growing desperation, she thought there
would be no end to the horrible journey. Then on the fifth morning, she was
not drugged—as the morning passed, then midday, the last of the drug wore off,
and she regained her wits somewhat. Finally the mules stopped, and for the
first time it was in the middle of the day. She remained huddled in the litter,
afraid to look out, but gnawed with an anxious need to know what was happening.

The
decision on what to do was taken out of her hands. That now-familiar leather
gauntlet shoved the curtains aside, and Lord Lyon's voice rang out with hearty
cheer that she knew now was all too false.

"Come
out and look upon your new home, sweeting! We are here at last!"

He
pulled her from the litter without giving her a chance to move her own stiff
limbs,
then
set her down on the roadway with a
smacking kiss on her forehead.

"There
you are, my Lady!" he crowed, waving his hand with proprietary pride.
"Lyon Castle!
I'll wager you've never seen
its
like before!"

That
much was certainly the truth. Her cozy and welcoming home was nothing like
this.

Lyon
Castle was as grim and imposing as the tall men that guarded it, a huge pile of
stone and iron that loomed gray and cheerless against the overcast sky. Armed
men patrolled the top of the crenellated wall surrounding it, and more armed
men stood watch on top of towers at each corner of the walls. No welcoming
lights gleamed at the windows, because there were no windows, only mere defensive
slits in the thick rock walls. A formidable portcullis, just now drawn up,
defended the entrance with fangs of blackened iron. It made the entrance look
exactly like the open maw of a terrible monster. At her feet a moat full of
dark, chill water encircled the castle and its grounds, with the drawbridge now
down and extending from the road where she stood to the entrance. There was no
crowd of welcomers standing on the other side of the bridge, only another pair
of dour, armored guards in slate- gray surcoats, one on either side of the
entranceway.

If
her legs had been steadier, she would have turned and run at that moment. But
her knees trembled and threatened to give way under her, and Lord Lyon's firm
grip on her arm seemed impossible to dislodge. He marched cheerfully towards
the fangs of his portcullis, drawing her with him, and his men marched behind,
their spurs ringing with each step.

Once
inside the entrance, she heard the portcullis groan as it was lowered into
place behind her, chains clanking and clattering until it dropped into position
with a final, echoing thud.

The
entrance was a long, dark tunnel beneath the walls, lit by a pair of smoking
torches. It ended in a bare little courtyard open to the ashen sky, at a huge
wooden double door with massive iron hinges, half of which swung open as they
approached. More guards waited inside, and Lord Lyon urged her onwards as she
felt the walls closing in around her like a trap.

The
entryway, dark and ill-lit by more torches, was nearly as cold as the road
outside. Huge chairs of dark wood, elaborately carved and uncompromisingly
uncomfortable, stood against the wall, which was not even softened by so much
as a single tapestry. A staircase descended to this stone-walled entryway, and
three women, the first Ariella had seen in four days, moved quietly down it
towards them.

The
woman in the lead was older than Ariella, though not as old as Lady Magda;
sleek and sensual, black of hair and gray of eye, with a perfectly sculpted
face that showed not a trace of emotion. Gowned in a velvet of deep blue, bound
around with a silver-chain chatelaine belt, with a silver crucifix at her neck
and a thin silver band binding her hair, Ariella knew she must be a woman of
rank—or at least, importance. The two younger girls behind her, fresh-faced,
brown-cheeked maids with brown hair, wearing simple chemises and woolen smocks,
were clearly servants.

"Lady
Katherine! I put my bride gratefully into your hands!" Lord Lyon called
out without bothering to hide his relief. "Lady Katherine, this is the
Lady Ariella, my distant cousin. Ariella, this is Lady Katherine, my chatelaine,
and stepdaughter to my father's oldest and nearest ally, Count Andrew of
Loderdale."

Neither
of the names meant anything to Ariella. As Lord Lyon stalked off down a
hallway, leaving Ariella standing there alone, Lady Katherine looked her up and
down without losing a whit of her cool composure.

"Well,"
Lady Katherine said, her voice just as unemotional as her expression, "you
must be chilled and weary, Ariella. Let me show you to your chamber."

That
was the last thing that Ariella wanted, but it would do her no good to protest
at this point. She simply let Lady Katherine lead the way back up the stairs,
trailed by the two maids, who whispered to each other behind her back.