Hawkmistress! (13 page)

Her heart sank as she remembered the moment in the galleries. I was only testing you. Now I see you are a good girl. So, she thought, if she had liked Dom Garris well enough to kiss him she would have been deprived of marriage, as if it were a prize for good conduct! But since she had showed her loathing, she was then worthy of his attentions? Her eyes burned, but she would not cry here before her father.

“Father, I hate him,” she said, pleading, “Please, don’t make me marry him!”

“Romilly,” said Mallina, “You will be Lady Scathfell! Why, he’s Heir to Scathfell, and perhaps even to Aldaran itself some day! Why, the folk of Aldaran were of the Hastur-kinfolk!”

The MacAran gestured the younger girl to silence.

“Romy,” he said gravely, “Marriage is not a matter of whim. I have chosen a good young man for you.”

“So young he is not,” she flared, “he has buried three wives, and all of them have died in childbirth!”

“That is because he married into Aldaran kindred,” her father said, “Any horse-breeder will tell you it is unwise to cross close kindred so often. You have no Aldaran blood and can probably give him healthy children.”

She thought of Darissa, not much older than herself, swollen and shapeless with bearing children. Would she be like that, and would those children have been fathered by Dom

Garris, with his whining voice and damp flabby hands? The thought made her flesh crawl.

“No more talk,” said her father firmly, “All silly girls think they know what man they want, but older heads must make the decision as it is best for their lives. I would not have you married before harvest time - I will not have my daughter hustled to marriage - but at the harvest you will marry Dom Garris, and that is all I have to say.”

“So while I thought you were having a sale of horses and hawks,” she said bitterly, “You were also making a sale of your daughters! Tell me, Father, did Dom Garris give a good price?”

She knew by the unlovely flush that spread over her father’s face that she had caught him on the raw. He said, “I’ll hear none of your impertinence, my pert young mistress!”

“I doubt it not,” she flung back at him, “You would rather trade in hawks and horses because they cannot talk back - and you can give them what fate you will!”

He opened his mouth to reply; then gave her a heavy glance.

“My lady,” he said to Luciella, “It is your task to bring my daughters under control; see to it, will you? I will dine with the steward; I’ll not have this brangling at my family table.” He rose and strode out of the room.

“Oh, Mother,” Romilly wailed, crumpling and throwing her head into Luciella’s lap, “Do I have to marry that- that-” words almost failed her, but finally she came out with, “that great slug? He is like something with a dozen legs that crawled out from under a piece of rotten wood!”

Luciella stroked her hair gently, puzzled. “There, there, child,” she murmured, “It will not be so bad as you think; why, didn’t you tell Dom Alderic that a horse should not be judged by his ugly coat? Dom Garris is a good and honorable man. Why, at your age, I had already my first child, and so had your own dear mother, Romy. There, there, don’t cry,” she added helplessly, and Romilly knew there was no help for it; Luciella would never defy her father. Nor could she. She was only a girl and there was no escape.

Alone in her room, or riding alone over the hills with Preciosa on her saddle, Romilly pondered what she could do. It seemed that she was trapped. She had never known her father to alter a judgment given - he would not hear of forgiveness for Ruyven, for instance - or to change his mind, once made up. He would not break his agreement with Dom Garris - or had it been made with Gareth of Scathfell himself? - though the heavens should fall. Her governess, her stepmother even, could sometimes be teased or argued out of a punishment or a judgment; in all the years of her life, her father had never been known to go back on what he had said, even when he knew it was wrong. Far and wide in the Kilghard Hills, the word of a MacAran was like the word of Hastur; as good as another man’s signed bond or sworn oath.

What if she should defy him? It would not be the first time. Something inside her quailed at the thought of his rage. But when she countered her father’s rage with the thought of the alternative, confronting Dom Garris and the memory of lust in his eyes, she realized that she would rather that her father beat her every day for a year than that he should deliver her over to Dom Garris. Didn’t he know what the man was like? And then, with her heart sinking, she realized that The MacAran was a man and would never have seen that side of Garris of Aldaran; that, Dom Garris showed only to a woman he desired.

If he touches me, I will vomit, she thought, and then she knew that whatever her father’s anger, she must make a final appeal to him.

She found him in the stable, supervising a stableboy in poulticing the knees of a black pony who had fallen in the yard. She knew it was not an auspicious moment, for he looked cross and abstracted.

“Keep up the poulticing,” he directed the boy, “Hot and cold, for at least two hours, and then treat the knees with karalla powder and bandage them well. And see he doesn’t lie down in the muck - make sure he has fresh straw every few hours. Even with all we can do, he will be scarred and I’ll have to sell him at a loss, or keep him for light work on the farm; if his knees get infected, we may lose him altogether. I’m putting you in charge - if anything goes wrong, I’ll have it out of your hide, you young rascal, since it was your careless riding let him fall!” The stableboy opened his mouth to protest, but The MacAran gestured him to silence. “And don’t give me any back-talk - I saw you running him on the stones! Damned young fool, I ought to put you to mucking-out and not let you exercise any of them for forty days!” He turned his head irritably and saw Romilly.

“What do you want in the stables, girl?”

“I came to find you, father,” she said, trying to steady her voice, “I would like a word with you, if you can spare the time.”

‘Time? I have none this morning, with this pony hurt and perhaps spoilt,” he said, but he stepped out of the stable and leaned against one of the rail fences. “What is it, child?”

But she could not speak for a moment, her throat swelling as she looked at the panorama behind her, the mountains that rose across the valley, the green paddock with the brood mares near their time, placidly grazing, the house-folk washing clothes in the yard, over a steaming cauldron poised on the smouldering fire of little sticks … this was all so dear to her, and now, whatever came of this, she must leave it … Falconsward was as dear to her as to any of her father’s sons, yet she must leave her home to be married away, and any of her father’s sons, even Ruyven who had abandoned it, could stay here forever, with the horses and the home hills. She swallowed hard and felt tears starting from her eyes. Why could she not be her father’s Heir in Ruyven’s place, since he cared nothing for it, and bring her husband here, rather than marrying someone she must hate, and living in a strange place.

“What is it, daughter?” he asked gently, and she knew he had seen her tears.

She swallowed hard, trying to control her voice. She said “Father, I have always known I must marry, and I would gladly do your will, but-but-Father, why must it be Dom Garris? I hate him! I cannot bear him! The man is like a toad!” Her voice rose, and her father frowned, but quickly smoothed his face into the forced calm she dreaded.

He said reasonably, “I tried to make you the best marriage I could, Romy. He is nearest Heir to Scathfell, and not far from the lordship of Aldaran of Aldaran, should the old man die without children, which now looks likely. I am not a rich man, and I cannot pay much of a marriage-portion for you; and Scathfell is rich enough not to care what you can bring. Dom Garris is in need of a wife-“

“And he has worn out three,” said Romilly, desperately, “And goes again to many another girl of fifteen….”

“One reason he asked me for you,” her father said, “was that his other wives have been weaklings and too near akin to him; he wanted new blood for the house. If you bear him a healthy son, you will have great honor, and everything you could possibly wish for.”

“And if I do not I will be dead and no one will have to care whether I am happy or not,” she cried, her tears starting forth again. “Father, I cannot, I will not marry that-that loathsome man! Oh, Father, I am not trying to defy you, I would willingly marry almost anyone else-Cinhil, or-or Dom Alderic-“

“Alderic, hey?” Her father took her chin in his big hand and tipped up her face to look at it. ‘Tell me the truth, now, child. Have you been playing about in a way you should not? Dom Garris will expect to find you chaste; will he be disappointed? Has that arrogant young Castamir sprig been trifling with your feelings, girl? A guest under this roof-“

“Dom Alderic has never spoken a word to me, or done anything, which he could not have done in full view of you and Mother,” she flared indignantly, “I named him only because I would not find him loathsome, nor Cinhil, nor any healthy kind young man somewhere near my own age! But that-that slimy-” words failed her, and she bit her lip hard so she would not cry.

“Romilly,” said her father gently, still holding her face between his hands, “Dom Garris is not so old as that: it is not, after all, as if I had tried to give you to Lord Gareth, or to any man I knew to be evil-tempered, or a drunkard, or a gambler, or one who was a wastrel of substance. I have known Garris all his life; he is a good, honorable and wellborn young man, and you should not hold his face against him, since he did not make it. A handsome face will soon be worn away, but honor and good birth and a kindly temper are the things I want for my daughter’s husband. You are only a silly young girl, and you can see no further than a man’s handsome face and grace at dancing; which is why fathers and mothers make marriages for young girls, so that they can see a man’s true worth.”

She swallowed, and felt shame overcoming her, to speak of this to her father, but the alternative was worse. She said, “He-he looks at me in such a way - as if I were naked - and when we were dancing, he put his hands on me-“

Her father frowned and looked aside and she knew he was embarrassed too. At last he sighed and said, “The man is wanting a wife, that is all; when he is wedded he will not need to do so. And at least you know that he is not a-” he coughed nervously, “he is not a lover of men, and will not desert you to hold hands with one of his paxmen or a pretty young page-boy or Guardsman. I think he will make you a good husband, Romy. He may be awkward and not know how to make himself known to you, but I think he means you well and you will be happy together.”

Romilly felt the tears breaking and spilling. She said, feeling her voice break hi sobs, “Father-oh, Father, please… anyone, anyone else, I swear I will obey you without question, but not-not Dom Garris-“

The MacAran scowled, biting his lip. He said, “Romilly, this matter has gone so far I cannot honorably draw back. The folk of Scathfell are neighbors, and I am dependent on their good will; to break my word at this point, would be an affront to their honor which I could not recover in a lifetime. If I had had any idea you felt like this, I would never have given my word; but done is done, and I have pledged it in honor. There’s no more to be said, child. You are young; you will soon grow used to him, and it will be well, I promise you. Now cheer up, don’t cry; I promised you a pair of fine blacks, broken with my own hand, for a wedding-present, and I am going to make over the small farm at Greyrock to you, so you will always have something, a place of your own. And I have told Luciella to send to the markets in Caer Donn for fine stuff for a wedding-dress, so you need not be married in homespun. So cheer up, dry your eyes, and decide for yourself which of the blacks you want for a wedding-present, and you may ask Luciella to have new dresses made for you, three-no, four new outfits and everything to go with them, all kinds of petticoats and feathers and bonnets and gewgaws such as girls like, no girl in the hills will be better outfitted for her wedding.”

She bent her head, swallowing hard. She had known it was hopeless, and he had given his word to Dom Garris and to Lord Scathfell. He would never draw back now, and it would be useless, no matter what she should say. He mistook her silence for agreement and patted her cheek.

“There’s my fine, good girl,” he said awkwardly, “I am proud of you, child - would that any of your brothers had your strength and spirit.”

“I wish I had been your son,” she blurted out, “and that I could stay at home with you always.”

Her father took her gently into his arms. “So do I, girl,” he said against her hair, “So do I. But it’s for man to wish and the Gods to Give, and the Bearer of Burdens alone knows why he gifted only my daughter with those things a man wants from his sons. The world will go as it will and not as you or I would have it, Romy.” He patted her, gently, and she cried, holding on to him, cried hopelessly, as if she would never stop.

In a way, she thought desperately later, his sympathy made it worse. If he had stormed and shouted at her, raged and threatened her with a beating, she could at least have felt that she had a right to rebel. Before his kindness she could only see his point of view - that she was a young girl, that her good parents and guardians were doing what they thought best for her, and that she was silly and thoughtless to speak out against their caution for her.

So she tried to seem interested in the preparations for her wedding which, so The MacAran said, would be at the harvest. Luciella sent to Caer Donn for spider-silk for her wedding-gown and fine dyed stuff, crimson and blue and violet, for her new dresses, and had ordered so many petticoats and camisoles and fine underthings that Mallina was openly jealous and sulked while the sewing was being done.