Hearts in Cups (35 page)

"I will do what is
commanded of me," she stated dully. "I will allow myself to be
married to the Duke Regent of Langstraad."

"Very wise of you,
my dear girl," the dowager approved warmly. "Do not worry, I promise
that the idea will grow on you with time and that by the actual wedding day you
will be as excited and lovely a bride as anyone could imagine!" The words
had a hollow ring to them and Angharad's answering smile was not even
half-hearted.

"I have disturbed
your rest enough for one night," Angharad said in the same dull tone.
"I'll take my leave now, Grandmother. Good-night to you." She bent
forward and placed a dry kiss on the wrinkled cheek.

"Let me ring for
someone to see you back to your room." The old woman began to rise from
her chair.

"There is no need,
I know the way quite well. You need not worry; I will go directly to my
room," she added with a defeated sigh.

The door closed and the
old woman collapsed back into her chair. Her mind began to agitate with concern
for her grand-daughter until she firmly pushed her worries aside. The first
step had been taken and the girl had come round to accept the inevitable. She
might not like the idea, but she had begun a compromise with it. Getting her
married would do her a world of good; she would stop fretting about that
unfortunate young man in Pentarin, she would be reconciled with her parents,
and she would be taken to a new environment in which to live and make her own
peace. Smugly pleased with herself, the Dowager Duchess of Creon rang for a cup
of hot milk to be brought to her before she retired to her bed.

In the morning, wearing
fresh clothing, her hair brushed and the traces of her tears washed away so
that only a faint pink swelling about her eyes and nose betrayed last night's
emotional storm, Angharad d'Aurilac went to inform her parents that she
acquiesced to being wed to the new Duke Regent of Langstraad. Her father was
delighted, telling her that he knew she would be reasonable after thinking it
over. The duchess said little, a small smile hovering at the corners of her
mouth as her husband praised their daughter's capitulation. Saying that he
would have a letter sent to Sir Alister that very day inviting him to come to
Gwenth to finalize the contract and the details of her dowry, Branwilde
dismissed his daughter with a kiss to her cold brow and she returned to her
room in the nursery to lament her decision in private. According to her father,
if all went well, she would be married within a month.

Chapter 16

The eleventh-hour bells
rang dolefully into the night air. Fog had rolled in off the sea at sunset and
now drifted in veil-like wisps about the walls of Tuenth's ducal castle,
Rengard. The peals were slowly swallowed by the darkness, leaving only the
distant booming of the sea to be heard by the men patrolling the battlements.
The night had crawled forward another quarter of an hour when lights began
appearing in windows and the shouts of servants and the pounding of shod feet
reverberated in the halls. At the doorway leading into the duke's private study
a tight knot of people stood, looking into the room with mingled expressions of
fear and horror. An older man wearing a leather surcoat, his cloak fastened
with a large silver and enamel boss depicting the red stag of Tuenth, pushed
his way roughly into the room. Giles Benet, Seneschal of Rengard Castle, dropped
to his knees before his lord's dead body and loudly demanded an accounting from
those present.

"If you please,
m'lord." A small, thin man nervously fingering the edge of his servant's
tabard stepped forward into the room. "I was making my rounds, seeing that
all was taken care of and put away like, you see. I usually go into his grace's
study the last thing at night to make sure that it's tidy for him in the
morning. But tonight when I come here, I see a light coming from under his
door. I knocked but as was no answer I tried the door, you know, thinking that
maybe his grace had forgot to sconce his lights, but when I opened the door
there he was lying on the floor with blood all around him. I was frightened so
I screamed and ran for help. The guards outside heard me calling and come back
with me."

"What's all this
commotion? What is going on?" An imperious, adenoidal voice rose from the
rear of the crowd. People stepped aside as a young man came forward. "Sir
Benet, I demand..."  The rest of his demand was swallowed
convulsively as he stared at the body lying at the seneschal's feet. "Oh
no, what has he done?" the young man whispered, his eyes wide with fright.

"Lord Torval,
perhaps you would like to sit down in the next room." Benet briskly got to
his feet and surveyed the onlookers. "Guards! I want everyone here taken
to the guardroom at the end of this wing of the castle to be detained for
questioning!" Uneasy glances were exchanged among the crowd but none
dissented and they dutifully went with their escort.

Benet turned to find
the duke's son still standing in the doorway, his eyes riveted to his father's
prostrate body. "Here man!" He called to one of the guards who
remained in the hall. "Take his lordship into the next room and have
someone fetch a glass of strong spirits. Go along with him, my boy; I'll be
with you in a moment." Numbly, Torval followed the man who came forward
and took him by the arm.

With the young man
gone, Benet summoned the sergeant-of-the-watch. An older man with tears in his
eyes returned to the room and presented himself. Yes, he had been on duty as
the senior guard for the whole of the evening. No, he had neither seen nor
heard anything untoward during the watch. No, there had been no strangers in
this part of the castle; no one had come or gone all evening. He had no idea
how anything like this could have befallen the duke. After interrogating him,
Benet ordered the body to be removed from the study.

While this was being
done he questioned the other guards, but to no further effect. When the body
was carefully removed he locked the study door, posted a guard and made his way
to the room into which Torval had retired. There he found the young lord, a
dazed expression on his face, sitting in a chair, a glass of amber liquid
perilously held with a lax hand. The face he lifted when Benet entered was
filled with incomprehension. Benet sent the guard out of the room and sat down,
facing Torval, with a stern expression.

The young man shared
the long boned body of his brothers but his hair, a reddish-yellow, was a
bleached version of their richer, darker russet colour. Everything about him
was a paler, weaker version of his brothers' presence and good looks. From long
acquaintance, Benet knew that he lacked both Hywell's character and Blaise's
intelligence, but that he was not a complete fool. Torval did not speak as
Benet took his seat but instead sat mute, waiting for Benet to speak first.

"My lord, I know
that this has been a terrible shock, but I need to ask you a few questions; if
I may?"

"Why did he do
it?" the young man blurted out unexpectedly.

"Who are you
speaking about? A few minutes ago, in the other room, you said that someone had
done something. Who were you speaking of? What do you think he did?" Benet
asked the questions forcefully, his own nerves beginning to tingle.

Torval seemed to be
shaking off his dazed mood. He stared Benet in the eye and replied,
"Hywell."

Benet nearly jumped out
of his chair at this reply. "Please explain yourself, my lord!"

"I came by earlier
this evening to talk to father about a new hound in the kennel. I got to the
door, but as I was about to enter I heard shouting from the other side. It was
Hywell and father; they were arguing violently. Hywell wanted to do something
and father wasn't letting him. I didn't want to intrude so I started to leave,
but as I left I heard father shout something about "only when I'm
dead," and then Hywell shouted a reply that I didn't quite catch, followed
by a loud crashing sound and more arguing. I went back down to the kennels and
a short while later I heard a horse cantering out of the mews and when I looked
out I saw Hywell riding towards the main gate.

"I thought it was
odd that Hywell would be leaving like that, so late at night; but then I
thought that he probably wanted time to cool off after his fight with
father." He paused and a haunted look came into his eyes.

Masking his shock,
Benet stood up and began to pace. "The first thing we must do is see if
your brother has returned, and get his story."

"But you don't
understand," Torval interrupted with an agonized voice. "The dagger!
I recognized it. It's his...Hywell's! He bought a new dagger when he was in
Pentarin at the council session. He showed it to me when he returned. It was
specially commissioned for him when he was there and had a hunting scene in
ivory inlaid with silver on the hilt. There could not be two such knives!"

"You are certain
of this?" Benet hissed, no longer able to conceal the fear and outrage
beginning to overwhelm him. Parricide was one of the most heinous crimes that
could be committed, and to have it occur within a Great House was treason
beyond imagination.

"We must find your
brother," Benet spoke with careful deliberation in an attempt to maintain
a hold on the situation. "We must also corroborate your identification of
the knife and check with anyone else who may have heard or seen either your
father or your brother this evening." He went on enumerating the various
points that needed to be checked and Torval continued to nod in speechless
agreement.

By the next morning the
news of the Duke of Tuenth's death had filtered out of the castle and into the
seaport city below it. The duke's eldest son and heir was missing, vanishing in
haste in the darkness of the night, leaving behind a unique dagger. Lord Blaise
was questioned and he, with a distressed expression, affirmed that the dagger
was the one his brother had commissioned in Pentarin. A guard was also found
who saw Lord Hywell going into his father's room earlier that evening and another
guard who saw Torval leaving the main building heading in the direction of the
kennels followed shortly by Hywell. The stable grooms did not see Hywell take a
horse but one was missing, his, and the sentries at the main gate saw his
lordship leaving just before the eleventh hour bells were rung. In consequence
of the damning evidence, soldiers were sent out in pursuit of the ducal heir.

The funeral for the
Duke of Tuenth was held a few days later. His stunned and grieving widow, on
hearing the evidence against her son, collapsed into hysteria reviling Hywell's
name. Lord Torval, now treated as the heir-elect, seemed to act as if in a
stupor, so that his younger brother Blaise was forced to take charge in his
name on several occasions. With the duke buried, his barons converged on
Rengard Castle to advise and debate the fate of the Great House. In the
continued absence of his elder brother and especially with the unproved but
assumed blood on Hywell's name, they recommended that Torval, as next in line,
take the ducal coronet.

"But Blaise,"
Torval argued with his closest advisor. "We might have overlooked
something or made a mistake. Hywell might not be guilty!" Harassed and
miserable, Torval sat down on the step and buried his face in his hands.

In the warm afternoon
sunshine the two remaining elder sons of the Duke of Tuenth stood on the tower
battlement of the east wall. From where they stood they could look down the
steep cliffs to the thriving port city and out to where the sea lay flat and
placid in the sun. They had ventured here together to escape the importuning of
the assembled barons and to talk in peace together.

Keeping his contempt
off his face and out of his voice, Blaise placed his hand on his brother's
shoulder. "Torval, neither of us wants to admit it, but we both know that
Hywell killed father. There could have been no one else. Now the duchy and our
House need you to accept your responsibilities. You must proclaim yourself duke
and order a death warrant for Hywell. He has foully murdered our father and he
must pay for it. Be strong and resolute in this matter Torval, or you may be
forced to deal with a rebellion within your own borders!"

Fearful, Torval looked
up into his brother's face. "Surely our barons are loyal. They would not
rebel, would they?"

"They want to see
justice done," Blaise said tersely, "and you must mete out that
justice and do so now."

Torval's shoulders
sagged and he spoke in a resigned voice. "If you think that it is the
right thing to do, than I will do it." Diffidently he added, "After
all, he is your brother too. It is as painful for you as for me."

Blaise nodded soberly.
So far, he was pleased with the unfolding of his plan. Hywell's argument with
his father had been perfectly timed and arranged. He had poured poisonous words
into both their ears and waited for the result. Using his own resources, he had
followed Hywell and waited for the argument to commence. Torval's arrival on
the scene was unplanned and could have been disastrous, but instead it was an
unexpected boon. Waiting until Hywell had stormed out, Blaise had quietly
slipped into the room and shoved the dagger between the old man's ribs on his
left side, giving the knife a good twist. His father never even saw his
assailant as he crumpled forward onto the floor. Blaise prided himself on his
coolness and self-control in returning undetected to his own room and remaining
there, feigning sleep, until his brother and Giles Benet came to tell him of
the deed.