Authors: Mercedes Lackey
She
walked through a dim world of shadows and sorrow. On a day gone chill and
gray, Lord Kaelin was buried. Overnight, it seemed, all the light and joy had
gone out of the universe,
the
trees turned to leafless
skeletons, the sky to endless slate-colored clouds, and the wind bit with teeth
of ice. People came and went, strangers she didn't know. They sat her down in
her father's study,
then
discussed her fate as if she
wasn't there.
"She
fades more with every day," Lady Magda whispered to her maid on the
morning of yet another dreary day, as both of them cast furtive glances out of
the corners of their eyes to where Ariella sat, listlessly, in the
window-seat.
"Things
will change when
he
comes," the pert maid replied with a knowing wink. Ariella rubbed her eyes
and wondered dimly who "he" was. There had been a great deal of talk
about some man she had never heard of. The Abbot had explained it to her, they
said. Something about Swan Manor . . . that as a woman she could not inherit,
but that . . . something . . . had been arranged with her nearest male
relative, a cousin. She licked her lips and stared out the window at the
leafless trees tossing their skeletal branches in the wind, clawing the sky
with bone-thin fingers. She only hoped that her cousin, whoever he was, would
make these people leave her in peace. She only wanted to mourn and to see
Merod. She longed for Merod with a need that was near to starvation. Merod
would know what to say, how to help her ease her loss, how to make her see
beyond all this sorrow.
"Here,
child, let me tidy you," Lady Magda was saying, and Ariella let herself
be drawn from the window- seat, let them comb and braid her hair, put it in a
silver net, and arrange a fine veil over it. Just as they finished primping her
as if she was a giant doll, one of the servants appeared in the door of her
room.
"He's
here, Lady Magda!" the girl said excitedly. "He's waiting in the
great hall!"
Still
fussing with the veil, Lady Magda drew Ariella to her feet and pulled her along
by the hand. "Come, child, it's time to meet your cousin. Let's have no
more sulks, but only smiles."
Smiles?
What did she have
to smile about? But Magda wouldn't hear a word she said, so she didn't even try
to contradict the old biddy; she simply let herself be drawn along in Magda's bustling
wake to the great hall, where candles flickered uneasily in the drafts, and the
room seemed suddenly too small to contain all the huge and armored men who
crowded into it. Strange, dark faces beneath coifs of chain turned to stare at
them as they entered at the door.
"Here
she is!" Magda sang out. "Here's your little maid, Lord Lyon!"
Before
Ariella could wonder who Lord Lyon was, the sea of tall, grimly dark men
parted, and a single golden figure strode out of their midst.
He
alone of all of them was bare-headed, and his hair was as brilliantly sun-hued
as the grain at harvest. His chainmail armor had been washed with gold, and it
glittered in the candlelight. Over it he wore a surcoat of brilliant scarlet,
with a seated lion embroidered proudly on the front. He was taller by half a
head than the men around him, with piercing black eyes, a jutting chin, and a
firm mouth, which just now was smiling as he held out both hands towards her.
"Lady
Ariella! We meet at long last!" he boomed in an overwhelmingly loud and
deep voice as he seized both her hands in his, hands which engulfed hers
completely. "They told me you were the image of your blessed mother, and
they spoke truth! Truly the Wild Swan of Swan Manor is the loveliest maiden in
all the
world!"
Everything
about him was—much too large, too overpowering. Ariella stared at him in
confusion, trying to make some sense out of what he said. He bent to kiss her
hands and she looked down at the top of his head with its sun-gold curls
cascading down the back of his neck, wanting to pull her hands away from his
proprietary, too- firm grip and not daring to. He looked up, and caught her
gazing at him; she glanced away in confusion, feeling heat mount in her cheeks
as he straightened again, towering above her.
"Ah,
shy, sweeting? No matter. A little shyness is a proper thing in a maiden."
He turned his head and looked past her at Lady Magda. "I have no cause to
regret our fathers' pact, cousin Magda. Your lady is all the prize that rumor
claimed her to be. I shall be glad and proud to be the man who tamed the Wild
Swan."
Pact?
Prize?
Ariella finally reclaimed her hands and twisted them together as she tried to
make something of the perplexing words. What pact? Was there—she tried to
recall—something that the Abbot had said?
The
man was still speaking, although Ariella had lost the first few words. ".
. .
be
on our way," he said to Lady Magda.
"Immediately.
We have much to do."
"Oh,
surely you'll stay a fortnight at least," Lady Magda protested. "The
child has only just buried her poor father! And surely you'll wish to look over
the Manor!"
There
was steel beneath the man's voice, and his brows creased together in a faint
frown. "I fear that is hardly possible," he replied. "I have my
own lands to see to, after all, and I must assemble a gathering of guests and
witnesses before the snow flies to make our pact binding. My steward will take
care of everything necessary here— you, of course, will remain as chatelaine to
see to the domestic affairs. I trust that the Lady's gear is packed and ready
to be taken?"
"Well,
y-y-yes," Lady Magda stammered. A single wave of his hand dismissed any
other words she might say. "Then get your Lady's cloak, have her litter
prepared, and we will be off!" he said imperiously. "My steward will
take charge here for me, and he will take the room that was Lady Ariella's.
Obey his orders as you would mine, for he will be reporting directly to me. We
have far to travel before night comes upon us!"
Pact?
Ariella thought
with growing dismay.
Steward?
She looked about her for help, but
there was no one she knew nearby. She was completely surrounded by tall,
dark-visaged men in armor whose slate-gray surcoats swallowed up the light of
the room. Before she knew what she was about, Lord Lyon had swept her cloak
about her shoulders and fastened it at her chin, then gathered her up in one
muscular arm and half-carried her out of the great hall, through the front
door, and into the cold wind outside.
The
horse-litter that Lady Magda used stood ready just outside the door, two sturdy
mules bearing its weight, and Lord Lyon picked up Ariella as easily as a baby
chick and deposited her inside, shutting the curtains on her protests. Tangled
in her skirts and cloak, still dizzy with the Infirmier's bitter potion, she
tried to disentangle herself in the chill darkness of the horse-litter, but
before she could even get one foot free, the mules moved forward with a lurch
that sent her crashing into the cushions. "Wait!" she called,
struggling with cloak, furs, and cushions. "What does all of this mean? I
don't want to leave!
Stop!"
But
no one paid her any attention—in fact, she wasn't certain anyone heard her, and
soon the mules were moving at a pace that sent the litter swaying and
jostling, so that she could hardly get a full breath.
She
had never traveled by litter, and between her drug-hazed mind and the lurching
of the litter, it was all she could do to keep herself from being knocked senseless,
much less escape from the stuffy, cold, cramped little box. Where was she
going? Where was this man taking her? And most important of all,
why?
Her
head had cleared a little, but in place of the dazed and dizzy feeling, a
headache had begun just behind her eyes. It was quite dark when the mules
finally stopped moving, firelight flickered in the gap between the curtains,
and a hand clad in a thick leather gauntlet shoved the curtains aside.
"We've made camp, my Lady," said a brusque and unfamiliar male voice.
"I fear that a tent is the best we can offer you."
She peeked out of the litter cautiously as
the man extended a hand to help her down out of it. They were in the midst of
an unfamiliar wilderness of huge pine trees that moaned and sighed in the cold
wind, swaying back and forth as if they were about to pull up their roots and
dance. The litter had halted beside a roaring fire, with a small tent on the
opposite side. Behind her, she heard the sounds of horses stamping and chewing;
before her, men laid out bedrolls beside the fire on the bare ground, while one
skewered rabbits on a spit, preparing to prop them over the flames. She tried
not to look, swallowing hard.
Lord
Lyon strode out of the shadows and brushed aside his henchman's hand, putting
both hands on her waist and lifting her down out of the litter. "A rough
welcome, my Lady, but you'll have a better at Lyon Castle," he proclaimed
as if to a multitude, gesturing at the fire and the tent. "I am sorry that
your woman wasn't fit for such a harsh journey, but you'll have maids a-plenty
waiting for you at home, and I'm sure you can fend for yourself for a few
days."
"Home?"
she managed. "I was home! Why am I here? Where are you taking me?"
He
looked down at her with a patronizing smile. "You are coming with me,
sweeting. Surely your Abbot explained it all to you, did he not?"
She
put a hand to her aching forehead and blinked, trying to think through the
growing pain and the sick feeling in her stomach. "I—I'm not sure. They
gave me something to drink—things were very confused. I remember—the Abbot did
talk to me, but I can't recall what he said—"
"And
in your grief, you were not thinking of anything else, of course," he said
soothingly, still with that superior smile. "Well, it is simple, Lady
Ariella. Your father held Swan Manor without a son to inherit from him. As a
woman, you cannot inherit any property. You have your dower-portion, of course,
but no property. Had you wedded while your father was still alive, Swan Manor
would have gone to your first-born son, with your husband holding it in trust
for him, but since you were still a maid—" He shrugged. "As your
nearest male kin, I was to inherit the Manor if your father died before you
were wed, but neither your father nor mine cared to think of you going to the
charity of the Church or making some hasty and imprudent alliance in that case,
so they made a pact that if you had not found a husband by the time your father
died, and I had not found a wife, then I would wed you, thus keeping Swan Manor
in your bloodline and saving you from being displaced. It was all arranged a
very long time ago, and your father probably never wanted you to bother your
pretty head about it."
Simple?
Simple?
She stared at him, her head and heart
pounding together, too utterly appalled and shocked to say a single word.
"I
must admit that I was quite well pleased to find my bride to be so
comely," he continued with an expression she could only think of as a smug
smirk. "I find myself with a very fine bargain, and I am sure you are
hardly displeased with the sight of your intended husband!" His grin
widened and he puffed out his chest a bit, and some of his men laughed out
loud. "As to where we are going, we travel to my own estate, where we will
be properly wedded in the sight of witnesses and kindred." His expression
turned a touch threatening. "I will have this done properly. I would not
have it rumored that your hand and land should have gone elsewhere, that our
kinship is too close for matrimony, or that our union is no true marriage.
There will be no reason to protest that this union is invalid."
By
this time he had led her, step by step, to the door of the tent. Now he pulled
the flap aside and held it open for her. "And now I will leave you to your
well-guarded and well-deserved rest, my Lady. I am sure so delicate a maid as
you must be fatigued by the journey. One of my men will bring you something to
eat, and you may sleep
when you
will, knowing that we guard you as we would any precious object."
A
slight nudge sent her stumbling into the tent, and he dropped the flap shut
behind her, leaving her in a canvas shelter illuminated only by the firelight
filtering through the fabric. With a little moan of pain and incredulity, she
sank down on the pile of bedding at her feet, drained of strength and will.
She
woke in the morning, certain it had all been a terrible nightmare, only to
find that the nightmare had not passed with the coming of daylight. She opened
her eyes to find herself staring at a canvas roof, head aching, bundled in
blankets that smelled of smoke and horses. Around the tent outside, men tramped
about, making thumping and clattering noises; she heard shouting, harnesses
jingling, and horses stamping and neighing. Her
head
throbbed abominably, but her mind was clearer now.
Too
clear, perhaps, for she could see no way to escape from this trap. She did not
know where she was, she could hardly run off on foot into a strange forest with
no weapons and no provisions. It was unlikely that with so many alert men
about, she would be able to steal a horse and escape, and even if she could,
where would she go? She didn't even know what direction to travel to return to
Swan Manor, and if she did find her way home, Lord Lyon would only come to take
her again. She could run off to the forest and hope that she could elude him
there—but she shrank from the idea of all those armored men with their iron and
steel rampaging about near her Faerie friends.