Shana Abe (36 page)

T
he Christmas celebration at Wolfhaven was a huge success.

It had taken frantic planning, a scrambling together of people and resources that had Solange half mad by the end and wondering why anyone would bother with such a thing at all. But it was worth it, she knew.

She knew it that morning when she attended the Cristes Maesse in the little chapel and listened, as enthralled as everyone else was, to the priest who had married her speak in his calm voice of peace, and joy, and hope.

She knew it when she saw all the people who made up Wolfhaven sit together and laugh and sing, regardless of class, regardless of history.

She knew it when she heard the familiar and dear songs of Christmas being played by any who could find an instrument or carry a tune, aided by the jongleurs.

She knew it when she saw the children screeching with delight over their gifts of wooden toys, from dolls to miniature lances.

She knew when she could sit back and smell the spices from the wild boar and goose, the pies, the fresh breads mingled with the clean scent of pine boughs.

She knew it as she watched the Yule log burn and pop in the grate of the main hall, illuminating the cheerful faces around her, warming the entire room.

And she knew it most of all when she sat beside her husband, her lover, and felt his quiet happiness become her own, saw with his eyes the joyful gathering of his people in his home, each and every one of them a testament to his life, to his successes.

He looked magnificent, wearing his black tunic with the silver wolf, and although the color was not typically festive, she wore her own to match it. It seemed appropriate enough that they would wear the heraldry of Lockewood to mark the event.

They sat together at the main table. The feast was long past, but the celebration continued late into the night, sometimes with dancing, sometimes with shared tales of the season. Solange kept a close watch over Damon; it was a constant delight to see him, even still. And tonight he laughed with the others, joined in the
conversations, and even refilled drinks when the serving maids were busy exclaiming over their gifts.

At Solange’s persistent urging, Mairi came up to the main table and sat beside her. “You are a fortunate woman,” she said in a quiet voice.

Solange didn’t have to ask what she was referring to. “I know. More fortunate than I deserve, no doubt.”

“I must wonder about that, my lady. I find we usually get what we deserve in this life, eventually.”

“Do you really think so? A rather sobering thought. I would hate to think I deserved getting dunked in the creek this afternoon.”

“Ah, but you have proven me right, Marchioness! You received exactly what you deserved. Anyone could see the branch was not nearly strong enough to support your weight.”

“Anyone but me, you mean. Well, I could not help it.”

“You could have. Jane should not have shown you the nest.”

“Jane was perfectly correct in coming to me, and I told her so after I had dried off and changed. If she hadn’t told me of the birds, they would be dead by now, since their mama died. Thank goodness I was able to hand them down to Jane before the bough snapped. And I got only a few scratches in the fall.”

Mairi shook her head. “It was a foolish risk, Solange. You might have been far worse off than getting a few scratches, you know. They were only birds.”

Solange gave a delighted smile. “Yes, but now we have three of our very own hawks! Even you must confess, my dear, that the men were rather pleased
with the outcome. Three young hawks to train. Godwin was ecstatic.”

“But your husband was not.”

As if he sensed their conversation, Damon paused in his discussion across the room with a group of his men and threw the two women a considering look. Both of them smiled at him in return. Solange picked up her goblet and continued.

“He will be fine. He didn’t really mean that I couldn’t go out any longer.”

“Hmm. As I recall, he seemed very serious indeed about it.”

“Yes. He meant it at the time, I know. He was a trifle upset.”

“A trifle?” interrupted Mairi. “His scowl could have melted stone! Women and children ran for cover, even the men found somewhere else to be while he was yelling.”

“But he’ll be fine, you’ll see,” said Solange. “He was worried about me. That’s all.”

“I believe you are right about that. He
was
worried about you. He cares about you a great deal.”

“Yes.”

Knowing that was what gave Solange the courage to face her furious husband that afternoon in her room, when he had stormed in while she was still drying off from her plunge into the frigid creek. Knowing that he did care, that he
loved
her, made her patient during his lecture, made her quiet while he vented his worry and fear through anger, and finally made her grateful when it was over and he hugged and kissed her and then begged her to be more careful.

He was getting better, she thought.

“Which brings me back to my original observation.” Mairi nibbled at a sugared plum. “You are a fortunate woman, Marchioness.”

“Yes, I am.”

But did she deserve it? To accept that would mean that she had somehow deserved to have Redmond as well. And nothing could convince her that she had been bad enough to deserve that.

For a while, yes, for too long a while she had halfheartedly believed the things he had told her: that she was a poor wife, that she didn’t realize how lucky she was to have him, that she was ungrateful and unwilling to try to please him. He was so convincing, so sincere. And she had tried harder and harder to please him, no matter how strange his behavior, no matter how demeaning his demands. He told her that she was weak, and in response she had tried to prove herself strong, only to have her efforts mocked and held up as an example of her weakness.

He would tell her that he loved her but then went on to prove his love was only a reflection of that twisted thing inside him, false and hollow as sin.

If she had known as a small child that there could be such a man waiting for her in her future, would she not have tried to change that path, to change herself in some way? Solange thought so. She hoped so. There would be no going back, of course. Perhaps that child could never have been convinced, anyway, of the evil that lurked in the heart of a man so fair in appearance. He had never quite been able to hide the flatness of his eyes, though he had managed the rest well enough.
The curly yellow hair, the slickness of his smile, were a bright disguise to what she knew he really was.

Solange sometimes wondered not how she survived Redmond, but rather how she survived her childhood without the knowledge of human nature that Redmond later provided. Had she been that isolated, that unassuming?

She was unable to be her own judge. Those days at Ironstag had long ago taken on a faded quality she had never fought to revive. She had kept the memory of Damon alive, yes, but the rest of it had been welcome to leave her. After the first few weeks at Wellburn she had wanted nothing to do with any of it. The contrast between the maiden Solange and the Countess of Redmond had been too great to bear. Something deep inside her had told her quite strongly that if she chose to cling to the girl she had been, she would surely die.

And she had not been ready to die.

She had killed the girl instead. Well, she actually did not quite manage to kill her completely, for the girl still showed up in various drugged dreams, especially during that long, long year in bed, wishing, hoping, pining …

But when she was herself, Solange abandoned that futile path and steeled herself to become a changed woman. It took time. It took too much time. More than that, it took anger, and fear and loneliness, and made them her allies, and she thought that was perhaps her greatest victory.

There came a day when she had been able to stand up and look into a mirror, and see a strong person
there. That person was trapped, yes, and afraid, certainly, but with good cause. She was not weak. And she was not a bad person. She did not deserve this.

On that day Solange said no to Redmond for the first time. It had seemed to gain her nothing; no was a word that the earl had been astonished by, and eventually had laughed off. But she had said it nevertheless. It was a tiny thing of power and it braced her in some way she didn’t even fathom. From that moment she grew, and she continued to grow no matter what he did to her. None of that sordidness could touch her again, even if they struck her, even if they tied her down, even if they forced her to do things.

Solange blinked and became instantly surrounded by the goodwill of Wolfhaven once more. The agreeable noise of the crowd filled her ears again, the music, the laughter.

“Solange? My lady, are you well?”

Mairi was looking at her with concern. She had put her hand on Solange’s arm.

“Oh, yes, I am fine. Silly of me, I became lost in thought while staring at that torch there. It has quite blinded me, I fear. I don’t suppose you have another handkerchief about you?”

Mairi reached into her sleeve and pulled out a linen square. Solange began to laugh. “You are always prepared, aren’t you?”

“A handkerchief is an excellent thing to keep close by, I find. Do wipe your eyes, my dear, before your husband sees you weeping and assumes I have put you out. For although you seem able to handle his fearsome
temper, I think to have him yell at me would make me faint on the spot.”

“He would not yell at you. But he might raise his voice somewhat.”

“So you say. I for one would prefer not to find out. There, you look much better. Quite restored. Do you wish to talk about it?”

“Why, no, there’s nothing to discuss.”

Mairi adjusted the hem of her sleeve. “Perhaps not.” She kept her eyes down. “But I could not help but notice that the torch is not near enough to us, my lady, to warrant such tears, even if you were to stare into it for half the night.”

Solange had no reply to that; it was perfectly true. Around the room, one by one, voices became lifted in song, a lilting and surprisingly delicate harmony emerged. She saw Damon join in, adding his baritone to the lot. She could hear him above all the others. “Mairi, do you ever miss your husband?”

The other woman sighed, then looked around the room absently. “Yes, I do sometimes. Richard was basically a good man. He could be kind and caring. Occasionally he would lose his temper. It didn’t happen very often. I suppose I most like to remember him in a happy way.”

“How long were you married?”

“Four years. We did not see each other much after he joined Edward’s army. He would go off on the campaigns and I would stay in London. I was very sorry that he died in battle. I don’t like to think that he suffered.”

“I’m sorry,” Solange said.

“No, it’s fine. It’s been long enough so that I can talk of it without feeling lost. It’s odd in a sense, we were matched from childhood, but neither of us really knew the other. Both of our families served on the same estate, both held the same rankings on the estate, so that was considered enough.”

“Did you … want to marry him?”

Mairi gave a little laugh. “What girl doesn’t want to be wedded? He was handsome and likable. Our parents, of course, arranged it.” She paused. “I don’t think I ever loved him, however. I don’t think he ever loved me. But we muddled through.”

Solange nodded, lost again in her own thoughts. Mairi ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass.

“Do you ever miss the earl?”

Solange lifted her head. “No,” she said. “I never, ever miss him.”

Mairi nodded sadly. “It’s like that sometimes.”

That was all there was to it, thought Solange. It was just like that, for some reason. There was no sense in lingering over past injustices, because nothing could be done to change them. In fact, she knew she had a great deal to be thankful for, and some of that knowledge could indeed be put at the feet of Redmond.

If she had not experienced Redmond as a husband, for example, she might never have fully appreciated the gift of Damon now. Oh, she would have loved him no matter what. That would never have changed.

But perhaps she would have thought nothing of a husband who treated his wife so tenderly. Perhaps it
would have seemed simply normal to have a man be strong and gentle all at once. She might never have given a second thought to the fact that Damon could lead an army to victory after victory, yet still care enough about a trio of helpless baby birds to ensure that they were tucked safely away in a warm nook of his castle.

It would have seemed perfectly natural that a man with a reputation as a fearless fighter would also be a dedicated healer, willing to help any man, woman, or child who came to him.

She might have thought all men were as good as he. She might have never known there was anything other than his goodness in the hearts of husbands. He would have been all of her world, all of her experience, and so maybe it was better that she knew enough of the other side now to appreciate him.

Maybe.

It had to be. Because this was what she had, for whatever reason. She would make the best of it.

Damon sang the last bars of the song to her, locking her eyes with his own. When it was finished, he didn’t move away from his friends. But he was watching her, and he was smiling.

It was enough.