Dragon Wife (3 page)

Orwenna rose from the table, regretting that her oatcakes would cool before she got a chance to eat them. She went into the yard, curious to see who was galloping up at such a furious pace. Her father was due back from his latest voyage, but he generally didn’t bother with messages.

The rider reigned in his sweat-damp horse and jumped off.

“Is the Lady Orwenna at home?” he asked, clearly mistaking her for a servant.

Orwenna straightened her posture, smoothing a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

“I am Lady Orwenna.”

The messenger blinked then recovered.

“Milady.” He swept a quick bow. “Your father sends urgent word. He requires you to meet him at Whiterock as soon as possible.” He reached into a leather satchel, slung over his shoulder, and pulled out a letter, offering it to Orwenna.

Baffled, she took it from him, noting the crest of her father’s signet ring pressed into the sealing wax. It was from him, no question, though why he would want her at Whiterock was a mystery.

“Did he say anything else?” she asked, reluctant to open the letter.

“No Milady.” The messenger cleared his throat. “Except he did mention, if you don’t mind me saying…he did mention extra payment if I rode here quickly like.” He eyed her eagerly. “It’s only taken me three days, all the way down the coast road from Baltha. No one could ride it faster.”

“Indeed.” She tried to keep her irritation in check. “Did he say how much ‘extra payment’ you could expect?”

“He just said ‘generous’, Milady. That’s all. Generous.”

“Wait here a moment.”

Orwenna went inside, slipping the letter into her pocket. How on earth was she to know what to pay this man? She retrieved a seemingly appropriate number of coins and took them to the messenger. By the pleased look on his face, she was sure it was too much. Well, the blame could hardly be laid at her feet. Her father should have been more specific.

“Thank you.” He bowed low. “It’s been a pleasure Milady.”

“Good day to you.” She gave him a quick nod then retreated to the kitchen.

“What’s all that about?” Ayf asked, mid-bite. He and Leor were seated at the table, having come in through the side door. The stack of oatcakes looked noticeably shorter.

“I have no idea,” Orwenna answered sharply, “but apparently I’m to leave for Whiterock, immediately.”

Tyna frowned as she turned strips of sizzling bacon in a pan.

“Whiterock?” she asked. “Whatever for?”

“I won’t know till I read Father’s letter. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

Orwenna hurried from the room. She couldn’t explain it, but a hard knot was forming in her stomach. If she had to open the letter, she wanted to do it in private.

Once in the library, she closed the door and went to the window seat. This was her haven, with a glorious view of the bay and deep shelves of books lining every wall. Fascinating and beautiful objects were scattered over tables and sat propped in corners, brought back from her father’s voyages.

They gave the room a feeling of enchantment, as if she’d stepped out of mundane reality and into the mesmerizing world of stories. Troubles never seemed quite as dire in the library.

She tore open the wax seal and began to read.

Orwenna,

I arrived at port this morning and am leaving upriver for Whiterock this afternoon. Meet me there as soon as possible. I have found a husband for you, and I want the king’s blessing before Bellesmar. If we are prompt in this, Rollin can return home with us after the festival. That would be most convenient, and it is his preference.

Your Father,

Lord Darius

Orwenna stared at the scrawled words on the page. Could she have read them wrong? She tried again, but they said exactly the same thing. The ink blurred before her eyes as her chest tightened. He’d found her a husband, just like that, and wanted her married at Bellesmar. What the blazes was he thinking? Didn’t she deserve some kind of warning before her life turned upside down, and who was this Rollin person anyway?

She crumpled the letter and threw it at the wall. It bounced off a Tackenyan shield and landed in the open, upturned mouth of an onyx lion. That’s how she felt, like someone had just tossed her into a lion’s mouth. It was about to chew her up and spit her out a married woman.

Damn her father! Damn his inscrutable decisions, and damn his callousness. Fighting down panic, she stood and paced the room. There had to be options. It was just a matter of understanding the situation clearly, then formulating a plan.

Thinking like this helped calm her. There wasn’t any cause for despair. Not yet. She would pack her things and leave for Whiterock, just as her father ordered. But once she was there, once she could talk to him face to face, this nonsense would be resolved.

****

Biri squealed when she heard the news.

“I’m going to Whiterock, Miss? Really? I can’t believe it. I’ve always wanted to see the castle there. Always!” Brown curls bounced around her face as she skipped across the bedroom.

“Settle down, and help me pack.” Orwenna’s tone was harsher than she intended. It was just that Biri’s enthusiasm shone in sharp contrast to her own mood. She wished she were doing anything else, even mucking out the stable for a month straight. That would be preferable to what awaited her in Whiterock.

“Aren’t you even a bit excited, Miss?”

“I’m afraid not. But that doesn’t mean you have to mope along with me.” She forced herself into kindness. “I’m sure Bellesmar at Whiterock will be lovely.”

“Bellesmar! We’re going to be there for Bellesmar. Oh, Miss!” Biri went off into new flights of ecstasy at this news.

Orwenna pressed fingers to the center of her brow and rubbed, trying to slow the headache that was looming. Maybe it was a mistake to take Biri with her. The girl was so young and giddy. She was new to maid’s work and hadn’t yet mastered all aspects of the job. Bringing her along might be more trouble than it was worth.

On the other hand, she couldn’t show up at court without a maid. It would seem outrageous, almost barbaric. That would alienate her further from her peers, and she was already viewed by many as odd. This was partly due to her behavior and partly a product of her lineage.

There were those who still described her mother as a witch. Being the king’s sister was never enough to quell the rumors or make Lady Eirgren’s use of magic palatable. It had relegated her to the fringes and forced her to marry a lesser lord with only small holdings. Despite her beauty and rank, no one better had wanted her. Right up to her death, the bitterness of that fact ate at her.

Orwenna might not enjoy court life, but she didn’t want to be shunned like her mother. So far she’d been discreet in her magical practices and made an effort to act appropriately. Having a maid was considered a basic necessity, the lack of it a sign of scattered wits or poverty. Biri would have to go.

There were things a maid was useful for. Orwenna comforted herself with this thought. The current style of gowns laced up the back, making it difficult for women to dress themselves. Hair arrangement also required finesse, which she lacked.

Biri possessed a flair for these tasks, more so than for any kind of housework. Her presence would be a help. If only she wouldn’t chatter on so.

“Is he very handsome?” Biri asked, interrupting Orwenna’s thoughts.

“Who?”

“The man you’re to marry.”

“Oh gods!” Orwenna huffed in exasperation. “I’ve never met him, and I can’t say I care if he’s handsome. I suppose it might be nicer than him looking like a pig’s behind. But the fact is, I don’t want to be married, one way or the other.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned.

“Biri! Stop giggling and help me pack.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Right…should I take the blue velvet or this amber satin?” She lifted two gowns off the bed and held them up for Biri to see. She couldn’t think clearly. Her mind was crackling with too much anger and anxiety. Biri had a knack for these things. She could pick.

“Oh, you must bring both, Miss. The blue matches your eyes so prettily, and the satin will bring out the color and shine of your hair. You’ll look like a princess.”

Orwenna smiled in spite of herself. Biri could be sweet, even if she was feather-brained as a chicken.

****

They arrived at Whiterock in the evening. The setting sun shone on the pale granite towers for which the castle was named, making them glow. All around, the fields were green with spring, and the town was decked in ribbons and wreaths, anticipating the coming festivities. Biri was quite breathless at the sight of it. Even Orwenna, in her nervous funk, had to admit the scene was beautiful.

“It’s so big!” Biri exclaimed, as they approached the castle. “What if I can’t find my way around? What if I get lost and…”

“Hush, Biri. You’ll be fine. There are dozens of servants everywhere. All you have to do is ask one for help. Now please, be quiet and stay close.”

Orwenna was met by the chief steward, a portly fellow with a red face and heavy ring of keys hanging from his belt. He gave men in green and white livery orders for the handling of her luggage then beckoned her to follow. They made their way through a maze of torch-lit castle corridors before, at last, coming to her quarters.

The room was five times larger than Orwenna’s bedchamber at home, with a vaulted stone ceiling and narrow paneled windows. The dim vastness of it seemed to drain any warmth radiating from the fireplace. Somber tapestries hung along two walls, a coat of arms and crossed spears on another.

“Biri, light some candles, will you.” Orwenna couldn’t bear the cavernous gloom. It felt as if she was being swallowed alive.

“Shall a supper be brought up?” the steward asked. “Or would you prefer to join the rest, eating in the hall?”

“Supper in my room,” she answered quickly. “Just make it something simple, bread and cheese, a little dried fruit perhaps.”

“Very good.” He hovered by the door.

“Was there something else?” Orwenna tried to keep her voice civil, but fatigue and homesickness were overwhelming her.

“Would you like me to inform Lord Darius of your arrival?”

“I suppose you’ll have to, but if he wants to see me, he can come here. I’m in no mood for another trek through the castle.”

The steward’s eyebrows lifted at her bluntness, but she was past caring. Misery had settled around her like a cold grey shroud.

“I will see to it immediately.” He bowed and left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Orwenna walked over to the massive curtained bed and flopped down on it. What she really wanted was a good cry, to let out all the tension that had built inside her. Unfortunately Biri was close by, and her father might walk in at any moment. She didn’t know how long it would be before she had privacy.

“Would you like me to unpack?” Biri’s voice sounded small and unsure. Perhaps she was feeling a touch of homesickness too.

“Yes, that would be good.” Orwenna pushed herself up. “Here, I’ll help.” It was better to focus on something useful. Wallowing never got a person anywhere.

By the time they were done unpacking, supper had arrived, and the food tasted marvelous. The bread was still warm from baking, crusty on the outside and fluffy inside, just as it should be. The cheese and dried apricots complemented each other perfectly, accompanied by a bowl of lightly roasted almonds.

Orwenna relaxed in a chair by the fire, sipping a glass of white wine, and feeling much improved. Food could work miracles, especially if you hadn’t eaten for hours beforehand.

“Are you ready for an adventure?” she asked Biri, who gratefully shared the meal with her.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then why don’t you take these dishes back to the kitchen. It shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

Biri looked dubious. “You wouldn’t like to come with me?”

“No. I’m afraid I have to wait here for Father. He’s bound to show up sooner or later, and trust me, you want to be gone when that happens.”

“Oh, Miss. Don’t make his Lordship angry over this. Getting married can’t be so bad. Everyone does it.”

Orwenna leaned forward and patted Biri’s hand.

“I appreciate the thought. But I have to do things my way. Now go on to the kitchen, and take as long as you like. They’ll probably have treats left over from serving in the hall.”

“Yes, Miss.” Biri rose and made a lopsided stack of the dishes.

As she left, Orwenna wondered what the odds were of her dropping something before she reached the kitchen. Almost a sure bet, based on past experience.

The room was quiet, with Biri gone. There were no sounds but the crackling of the fire and her own soft breathing. Her eyelids drooped, made heavy by the wine and long days of travel. She was almost dozing when a sharp rap on the door jolted her awake.

Lord Darius walked in without waiting for an invitation. His movements were as brisk and efficient as everything else about him. His face showed no particular emotion.

“I’m glad to see you made it here promptly,” he said as a greeting. Orwenna was used to this. There had never been warm words or embraces between them, but up until recently she had hoped they shared a measure of respect.

“You made your expectation clear, Father.”

He nodded, taking the seat opposite her.

“It is fortunate timing, this happening so close before the festival. I’ve always wished your mother and I had wed on Bellesmar. Perhaps then we could have conceived a son.”

Orwenna’s lips pressed into a thin frown.

“I didn’t realize you were superstitious,’ she said. “I always took the blessings of Bellesmar to be nothing but tales.”

“They are part of a tradition which dates back centuries,” he answered stiffly. “A young wife should seek all available aid in bearing healthy sons.”

“Well, of course.” She didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in her voice. “What else could a young woman be good for? Healthy sons…that is the highest calling.”

“You sound peevish,” he remarked. “It’s unattractive, and you already have enough working against you. Be sure to take a sweeter tone when you meet Rollin tomorrow.”