Hearts in Cups (3 page)

"True enough, but
I doubt that those facts will change the minds of those who consider you a
viable alternative to the inevitable anarchy that will ensue if Percamber dies
without an acknowledged and agreed upon heir."

"I hate
intrigue," she spat vehemently.

"I don't
particularly," was his equable reply.

She laughed derisively.

"I like games-playing,
which is all it is actually,” he said. “Plots within plots. You're a bit too
honest, if you want my opinion. You'd hate the court at Challis."

"No doubt."
She smiled and leaned back in her chair. "Any suggestions for the coming
fray?"

He drew his brows
together in thought. "First, you have to decide where your own feelings
lie. How do you feel about the regency? About Lord Percamber? What are your
feelings for, or about, the missing prince? Do you want the throne yourself?
What can you do? And what will you do?"

She mulled this over.
"I really haven't thought much about those things," she confessed.
"Up until this point I was prepared to let events take their own course.
Naturally, I accept and support Lord Percamber, both politically and personally.
He has been an excellent Regent and I have always been most comfortable with
him. I don't have any personal feelings for Prince Brian. The handfasting
ceremony was so long ago that I hardly remember him." She paused, trying
to recall the event. All that remained of the experience was the impression of
very tall people in splendid dress milling about.

"And the
throne?"

She shrugged. "You
know that I don't want the throne for myself. I am quite content with running
my own House."

"It's more
complicated than that!" he protested.

"True. And if what
you say is correct, then I cannot afford to wait until the initiative is taken
away from me."

"No, you
can't."

"Tell me Ian, are
you ever ambitious in a grand way?" she asked with a sigh of frustration.

"Me?" He
laughed quietly. "No, not really. I like my comforts and I like being on
the fringe of power, but real ambition is entirely too tedious. I am content to
advise you, as best I can, from behind the curtains."

"Sometimes I wish
that you were not my cousin," Hollin said smiling down at her lap.

"Me too," he
replied simply.

There was a stillness
in the room. At last, Ian rose and bent to kiss the top of Hollin's head.
"When you decide how you are going to deal with your fellow
council-members, send for me. Remember, I'm always here for you, Holly."

She raised her smile to
his face. "I know that. Let me brood by myself for a few hours, then come
dine with me this evening if you're free." Ian sketched a brief bow and
left her alone in the sunlit tower.

Three hours later
Hollin was awakened from her ruminations by a quick knock on the door followed
by the appearance of a stout, pink-cheeked woman. Dame Edwinna Heath had been
principle lady-in-waiting to Lady Morwen ap Lir, Hollin's mother, and had risen
to become chatelaine of Castle Lir upon Hollin's succession to her mother's
coronet. Like a great mother-hen, she viewed the residents of the castle as her
chicks, to be continually fussed over. At times Hollin, who cherished her
privacy and solitude, found Edwinna's ministrations suffocating, but she
recognized in the woman an excellent manager with a genuine desire to be
helpful.

"Well, well, well,
there you are my dear, your grace!" Dame Edwinna bustled in, speaking in
her usual breathless fashion. "I was getting quite worried wondering where
you had got to. Have you eaten? Good, good, yes Alaric said that food had been
sent to you, though the silly man forgot to say where you were, and of course,
when I went to ask him, he had disappeared too. Rumour is out that you are
going to leave for the council session earlier than planned. Oh dear me, well
don't you fret, I'll see that all the arrangements are made. Will you be having
Benedict ride with you?" Sir Benedict Heath was Edwinna's husband and
Castle Lir's seneschal.

"Yes, Edwinna, I
will be leaving early, and yes, Benedict will be riding with me." Hollin
was nonplussed by the woman's chatter. "Lord Ian will act in my stead
while I am gone." Edwinna pursed her mouth into a small moue of resignation
at this news. "You and Alaric will see to the daily running of the castle
and Ian will act as my steward."

"Yes, your
grace." Edwinna managed a short curtsey.

"Please go now and
tell Benedict to join me in an hour to discuss the arrangements for the
journey. Send a message to Griswold as well. Tell him to meet me in the
training court later this afternoon. I want to get some practice in before I
leave."

"Yes, your grace.
Will you be having anything to eat?" Edwinna asked solicitously.

"Not now. That reminds
me, I'm dining with Lord Ian tonight. Please have dinner served in my rooms.
Tell the cooks to keep it simple." Hollin rose and went to her desk.
"That is all, you may go," she said picking up the first page of a
sheaf of documents.

"Very well, your
ladyship." Edwinna curtsied for the last time and swept out of the room.

The sound of steel on
steel echoed off the stone walls in the late afternoon. Lord Ian's hawk moved
restively as Ian dismounted near the mews. The falconer moved forward and deftly
removed the bird as a groom caught the horse's bridle and led him away. Pulling
the heavy leather gloves off, Ian handed them to his personal attendant. As the
clash of metal continued, Ian grew curious and moved into the archway leading
to a small courtyard used for individual sword practice. Several men stood at
the mouth of the archway peering in, but they moved aside with quick bows as
Ian strolled over.

Standing in the shadow
of the wall, Ian observed his cousin in tunic and breeches, her braided hair
coiled around her head, engaged in a bout with Sir Griswold, Swordmaster of
Castle Lir. Swordplay was not an activity that many women participated in, and
her costume would have scandalized many outside her own castle, but she had
shown an interest and an aptitude as a child, and her father had seen fit to
indulge her by instructing her himself.

The swords clashed
again and Ian marveled at the display. The man's weight, length of arm and
experience were formidable and Hollin's skill was hard pressed; only her
extraordinary reflexes and agility kept her out of her opponent's range. Back
and forth they moved across the yard in a deadly dance of attack and retreat.
Ian crossed his arms and quietly leaned against the wall. Finally, an
excellently timed riposte slipped under her opponent's defense and lightly
touched him on the chest.

"Well done!"
he roared at her, raising his sword in salute.

"Luck," she
gasped, returning the salute and removing her face shield.

"Never disparage
luck, your grace," he replied as he doffed his own shield. "Sometimes
luck does you better than skill, though to my mind 'tis best to have
both." She laughed and, seeing Ian against the wall, waved her sword in
greeting.

"You'll soon be
besting Griswold two out of three matches," Ian chuckled as he pushed
himself away from the wall.

She laughed again and
Ian felt an odd pull in his chest. "I doubt it," she said, and wiped
the stray hairs off of her face. "As I have just explained to Griswold, my
skill is generally surpassed by my luck."

"Nay
mistress," the older man admonished gravely. "Your father was a
swordmaster and your grandfather, the baron, is still a good man with the
blade. 'Tis in the blood I tell ye. Even young Ian here is a handy man with a
sword when pushed to it."

Ian grinned.
"Grandfather certainly has retained his strength to a remarkable degree. I
watched him best six young knights-in-training the last time I was visiting
Medicat Hall. Fought them first and then proceeded to drink them under the
table."

"Aye, a wonderful
man is Sir Alister," Griswold rejoined with a glint in his eye. He had
served the de Medicat family all of his life. First as a page to Alister de
Medicat and later as a knight. When Alister's son, Courant de Medicat, had
married the heir to House Langstraad, Griswold had followed him to Castle Lir.
He had trained Courant, and eventually taught Hollin and Ian. After the deaths
of her parents, Hollin had made him Lir's Master of Sword.

Hollin grinned at Ian,
then saluted both men and exited through one of the smaller archways connecting
the practice yard with the rest of the castle complex. Ian exchanged a few
words with Griswold and then made for his own quarters to change his clothing.

Ian's apartments had
been given to him by Hollin when she became Duchess of Langstraad. He had been
grateful, for it finally gave him a permanent and private place of his own and
ensured that he would be able to avoid long stays on his grandfather's estate.
The rooms were well-appointed and fastidiously clean, aside from a few books
lying on or about a large chair beside a window. He entered his bedchamber and
was undressing when he heard a sound from the adjacent room. The door was slyly
pushed ajar and a young woman sidled through the doorway with her hands behind her
back.

"Hello my
lord." She swayed slightly as she advanced towards him.

"Well, well."
He examined her with a slow smile. She had piled her tawny-coloured hair up
onto her head exposing the nape of her neck as well as quite a lot of her bust
and shoulders.  The impression that she initially made on men was one of
wonderful softness and pliability coupled with a childish desire to please. It
had not taken Ian long to discover that her ingenuousness was contrived and
that she could be more than a little unscrupulous when she wanted something.
She did however satisfy some rather basic needs in Ian, and he considered it a
fair trade for the gifts and minor privileges that she demanded in return.

 "Was the
hunting good?" she asked while running her fingertip over his bared chest.

"Could have been
better," he replied cheerfully.

"Nasty
hawks." She began to wrap her arms around him. "Shall we send for
supper in bed then?"

"Sorry my girl,
but I'm dining out tonight."

"Again! Who is it
this time?" He read suspicion as well as disappointment in her voice.

"The lady of the
castle, as a matter of fact." Ian was clearly amused and let her know it.
"By the way, have you seen Evan skulking about? I need to wash up."

"No, I
haven't," she relied with asperity. "How would I know where your
manservant is? I'm not a serving wench!" This last remark was delivered
with a flounce of her skirts as she sat down on the bed.

"No, just the
delicious daughter of the head-cook." Ian pushed her gently onto her back
and pinned her there.

Kathryn glared up at
him. She was sensitive on the subject of her family origins. Using her own wits
and feminine charms, she had found her way into the bed of the highest ranking
lord of the castle, which in her eyes made her almost a lady; and she was determined
to stay there.

 "It's been
so long since we've had a whole night together," she implored, changing
her tact. "You went off to visit your grandfather and left me alone for
weeks and weeks... Can't you send word that you are ill or something?"

Ian looked thoughtfully
into her very round, dark eyes and briefly speculated on just how alone she had
been while he was away. And then he smiled. He was hardly in a position to feel
offended. If his cousin indulged in abstinence, his was an equal indulgence. Rolling
off the bed, he stood up and stretched his arms over his head. "I'm going
to call for Evan now because I really do need a wash. I promise to try not to
be too late returning tonight." He briskly pulled her to her feet and
planted a kiss on her lips. "Be in my bed by the tenth bell, I should be
back by then." He swatted her bottom agreeably as she rolled her eyes and
headed for the door.

Chapter 2

In
her bedchamber, Hollin of Langstraad watched the sun set behind the dark
mountains. A small fire burning in the grate of the fireplace dissipated its
heat into the room as the chill of an early spring evening crept in through the
window. The room itself was spacious and comfortable, with deep-piled rugs
strewn on the floor and vivid tapestries hung on the walls to guard against the
damp as well as to beautify. An enormous four-poster bed with curtains of green
velvet embroidered with gold thread dominated the right side of the room. Large
chairs, small tables and a variety of chests, cupboards, bookshelves and
oddments were arranged in an orderly fashion throughout the bedchamber. It was
a room that combined both the luxury entitled by its occupant's station with
the simplicity of her personal tastes.

Wearing a white silk
chemise under a plain overdress of blue-gray wool, Hollin stood with her hair
unbound before the window like a flower catching the last of the sun's rays
before the dusk. With the fading of daylight, she lit a taper from the fire and
used it to light a lamp of burnished silver on one of the tables. She ran a
slender hand through the coppery mass of hair, pulling it away from her face
and letting it fall to her waist. She picked up a glittering object from beside
the lamp and a brilliant gleam refracted from her hand, sending shafts of rubine
light dancing about the room. Her forehead creased in a frown, Hollin gazed
into the facets of the large ruby set in its ring of gold: her betrothal ring.
By this red stone her life had become entwined with a man she did not know. Two
years after the handfasting ceremony he had left the Pentarchy on an
ambassadorial expedition and was away for a long time, eventually returning
briefly only to leave again for less obvious reasons; though it was generally
rumoured that he and his father did not get along. While all this had been
happening, Hollin had been a young girl growing up in the fastness of her
family's duchy, far from Pentarin. Then, at an all too early age, she had been
forced to endure and cope with the deaths of her father and sister during an
outbreak of plague, followed by the death of her mother not many years later.
Against the tapestry of her own emotional turmoil and grief the death of King
Gwydian and the appointment of his father-in-law, Lord Percamber ap Morna, as
regent were distant events. Important no doubt, but of little immediacy to her
and her world.