Hearts in Cups (38 page)

Dressed in the gold and
green colours of Langstraad and wearing his own ducal coronet, Ian de Medicat
paced the length of Creon's hall. The slightness of his stature was negated by
the sumptuous raiment and the trappings of his office, all of which he wore
with his own brand of dignified elegance. Behind him walked his two chief
vassals, his grandfather Sir Alister de Medicat and the Lady Idris ap Morna,
both with their attendant spouses. After them trailed a dozen or so cousins of
various ranks and a contingent of minor nobility from Langstraad intent on
seeing their new regent wed and enjoying themselves with the feasting and
entertainment concurrent with the event.

Reaching the foot of
the stairs Ian stopped and waited as the Duke of Creon rose and bid him
welcome. There followed a series of speeches, formalized by long tradition, in
which the father of the bride ritually quizzed the bridegroom. This
interrogation was followed by the verbal recitation of the bride's dowry, after
which the bride herself was escorted into the hall by her cousins, under the
ever watchful eye of Lady Varenna. For his part, Ian saw a female form swathed
in yards of white and gold fabric. Her hair was unbound but a veil of gold
tissue was cast over her face, held in place by an intricate crown of open
goldwork laced with flowers. She seemed to him to be more of an elaborate
package than a living human being. For an instant he wondered if this would
have been what Holly would have looked like in her place. Ruthlessly, he
extinguished the thought and concentrated on the next phase of the ceremony.

Vows were extracted
from each of the participants, starting with the sponsors. The Duke and Duchess
of Creon spoke their vows of confirmation and affiliation, pledging to deliver
their daughter and her dowry into her new husband's hands. Then the Baron de
Medicat and his lady committed themselves to seeing the bride to her new home
and installed with full honours to her new position. Finally Ian publicly
accepted the Lady Angharad as his wife, promising to fulfill the marriage
contract endorsed by his grandfather and her father. Lastly, in the smallest of
voices and with much prompting, Angharad also publicly consented to the
marriage. More chairs were brought in and Ian and Angharad ascended to take
their places on the nuptial chairs, set between her parents and his
grandparents.

In a never-ending line,
everyone in the hall approached those seated to present their gifts and
good-wishes to the newly wedded couple. The bride, still behind her golden
veil, sat impassively while the parade marched by and left the polite amenities
to those sharing the duty with her. Most of the guests simply assumed shyness
on her part and took no offense at her silence. Beside her, Ian made
automatically correct and gracious remarks while puzzling over the enigma at
his side. When the last of the guests had presented themselves, the bridal
party rose and led the guests into the banquet hall for the livelier
festivities. Ian offered his arm to escort his bride, but she ignored him and
proceeded by herself. He shrugged and kept pace at her side until they were
seated together at the banquet table.

It had grown dark
outside, but fires in fireplaces, wall torches and candles illuminated the
great feast within. The Duke of Creon would not have it said that anything was stinted
in the wedding festivities in honour of his only daughter, and so the food was
abundant and the entertainment lavish. Music poured out from the minstrel's
gallery while acrobats and poets circulated among the guests. Great platters of
roast meats and fish, breads and cakes, fruits and sweetmeats and a never
ending supply of mead and ale were constantly offered to the assembled guests.
A great din of merrymaking soon filled the hall as the guests set to enjoying
the duke's hospitality. The dowager duchess began the meal with stolen glances
of trepidation at her grand-daughter's mute, stationary form, but after a few
glasses of wine she gave it up. The child was safely married and must now make
her own peace with her situation.

Beside his golden
statue of a bride, Ian partook sparingly of the delicacies offered. To all
appearances, he was relaxed and sociable. He made pleasant remarks to all who
approached him, watching and listening appreciatively to the entertainers who
passed by. By ignoring the reticent behavior of his bride, his own affability
compensated for her rudeness.

Gazing out of her
golden shroud, Angharad barely masked her feelings of anger, betrayal and
abject misery. Before her eyes, people seemed to be enjoying themselves as a
way of tormenting her in her unhappiness. Now that she had been handed over to
a stranger, her parent's attention turned completely from her. Wild thoughts of
vengeance swept through her and she clenched her hands to suppress her
imagination. She was all but oblivious to the man at her side; her involvement
was completely within herself. At one point Sir Hildreth's face loomed before
her, his lips moved and she heard her name being spoken. So startled was she
that in a moment of blind panic she suddenly imagined that she had been married
to the decrepit old man. Steadying herself, she fought her own way back to
reason as he turned and left. She almost began to think normally again when she
felt hands at her elbows and a woman's voice telling her to rise. Her mind went
blank as she realized what event was being thus signaled. Trying to subdue a
fit of trembling she let herself be led from the hall, surrounded by a group of
babbling and giggling girls.

They escorted her to a
room that she did not recognize, obviously decorated specifically for this
occasion. A large four-poster bed hung with curtains and made up with feather
mattresses and white embroidered linen dominated the room. With much tittering,
she was unwrapped from her ostentatious wedding clothes. She then stood in her
thin chemise shivering violently as she was offered useless advice. Her mind
had gone numb and, like a rabbit caught with nowhere to run, she was bereft of
all independent action. A voice she thought belonged to her grandmother was
telling her things that she did not want to hear as more hands reached out to
guide and pull her to the bed. Placed in its center, her head pushed back onto
the pillows and her hair spread out in an aureole over the unmarred whiteness
of the pillow, they bid her a variety of wishes and left her to her fate. A
scream died unborn in her throat as the door closed and she was left alone in
the dimly flickering light of the candles.

Back in the banquet
hall, a servant whispered to the duke who spoke to Sir Alister, who, with a
breath flavoured with much ale, told his grandson that, "the little minx
is made ready for you, my boy." Ian nodded absently, as if he had not
really heard, and finished the wine he was drinking. He had not liked the look
of the girl's departure. She seemed completely terrified of what was to come
and he was looking less and less forward to their upcoming interview. He was
neither a prude nor a lecher, and though he had enjoyed many women, they had
always been as eager as himself. It was not that he expected the girl to love
him, as he certainly did not expect to love her, but it was not impossible to
have a pleasant time without love being involved.

His grandfather leaned
over to repeat his information and Ian replied curtly, though quietly, that he
understood and would go when he was ready. Sir Alister's reply was a shade more
salacious than Ian had the patience for and he pointedly ignored him as he
lifted his glass for more wine. When another glass had been drained, Ian felt
that any more procrastination on his part would provoke comments he had no wish
to hear. Summoning a servant to act as guide, Ian bade his father-in-law a
good-night. Lord Branwilde's nod was courteous but Ian detected a certain
constraint in his manner. Possibly all fathers felt this way about sending a
man to their daughter's bed, he reasoned with a shrug. Several well-wishers
stood and offered to keep the bridegroom company on the way to his bride's
room. Politely but firmly, Ian declined their assistance.

The corridors, once out
of the general vicinity of the banquet hall, were dim and deserted. Soon he
could no longer hear the boisterous roar of the wedding guests, only the soft
steps of his own and his guide's footsteps. A manservant he recognized as Evan
was waiting at a door for his lord's arrival. Word had apparently run before
them. The guide was dismissed and Evan relieved his master of the crown and
long velvet cloak, embroidered with gold and gems for ceremonial use. Ian did
not speak but indicated the door before which they stood. Evan nodded and gave
him a nervous smile. Dismissing Evan, Ian opened the door and entered.

Closing the door firmly
behind him, he found himself in a small antechamber with another door before
him. The door behind him had a bolt which he fastened quietly; what was coming
was going to be difficult enough and he was in no mood for over-zealous guests
to come barging in. Taking several deep steadying breaths, he lifted the latch
and entered the bedchamber. Before him a large room lay dimly lit by two silver
candelabra. The walls were paneled in a dark walnut, and a rug of many colours
and beautiful design lay on the floor. Large, carved armoires stood against the
walls and in the middle of the room rose an immense bed. His attention became
riveted to the center of the bed where a young girl sat shivering, with a
desperate, half-mad expression on her face. His bride hardly looked in the mood
for an enjoyable tumble amid the sheets, he reflected wryly. He started to move
forward but froze when she spoke in a low, passionate voice. "If you lay a
hand on me, I shall scream the castle down!"

Ian stopped to
consider. "I shouldn't bother," was his equable reply. "They
have put us where no amount of noise or commotion will be heard by
anyone."

Her eyes continued to
burn at him with feverish intensity. "Do not come nearer, I have a knife
and I will use it if I must." From beneath the sheets, she drew forth a
small, ornamental blade that was more apt to break than do much harm.

Casually Ian surveyed
the room until he found a comfortable chair. Paying no attention to the
hysterical girl, he went over and dragged it closer to the bed. Taking his seat
in it, his concentration returned to the girl. She had not moved but was
watching his every move with distrust.

"Now, suppose you
tell me what is going on?" he suggested.

She became confused,
caught off guard by his lack of aggression. The knife was fingered as she
shifted her grip and pulled the sheets tighter to her. "I will not be
raped," she stated at last.

Ian raised his thin,
dark eyebrows. "I have no intention of forcing myself on you," he
said quietly. "However, I was under the impression that you had agreed to
this marriage."

"Agreed? I was
forced to yield to my parents demands because there was no alternative! I was
told that if I did not submit to you, I would be given to an even more
loathsome creature. They felt that because I had disgraced them I could be
given to whomever they chose, with or without my consent, and with no regard to
my wishes." Her words came out in tones of extreme bitterness and she
looked very young.

 "My parents
have always seen me as a possession and when I tried to leave and live my own
life they sent soldiers who dragged me back to them in shame. I have lost all.
There is no love and no happiness for me. Everything is in ashes!"
Bitterness had given way to tears, so that she now knelt weeping on the bed.

Ian was beginning to
comprehend why she had seemed so distant and aloof during the ceremony. This
was far more difficult a problem than he had anticipated, and he knew that he
had to do something to resolve the situation here and now. She still clutched
her flimsy knife and, while he assumed that she could not use it to advantage,
she could wound herself with it. As she continued to cry, her hair falling in
such a way as to partially block her view of him, he quickly launched himself
out of his chair and onto the bed, where he wrested the knife easily from her
startled grasp. She reacted predictably by screaming and wildly flailing at him.
Immediately he backed off the bed and returned, as nonchalantly as he could
manage, to his chair. She had pushed herself up against the headboard and was
regarding him with her fearful, demented stare.

"I have never
raped a woman before, and I do not intend to start with you," he said
somewhat testily. "I will tell you though, if you are as crazy as you are
acting you need not worry, because I will hand you right back to your father.
Alliance be damned! I am not having a mad-woman hung around my neck!"

The sting of his words
seemed to act as a restorative to Angharad's senses. She looked down into her
lap for several minutes and when she again raised her eyes to his they had lost
their terror. Her voice was stronger and quieter when she next addressed him.
"I am not mad, my lord, but I have been misused and you have been
misled."

"May I ask why, if
you were against this marriage, did your parents pursue and champion it? And
why did you go this far in the charade?" His exasperation was evident
though he continued to speak mildly.

With a deep, shuddering
sigh, Angharad related briefly and frankly the story of her doomed elopement
and subsequent banishment to her grandmother's care, only to be recalled to her
father's court and faced with marriage to him or to a man three times her age
whom she detested. By the time that she finished telling her story, he could
see that her body had lost its stiffness and was relaxed into a more normal
posture. Looking at her now, Ian detected the beauty inherent in her small, fine
features which had been hidden by the contortions her overwrought state had
produced. The eyes were still smudged shadows on her face, but they no longer
rolled with an excess of white. Pity she was so unamenable, he thought to
himself, but there it was. Feeling that since she had unburdened herself to him
of the reasons she was opposed to this match, he felt obliged to explain why he
was so inclined to marry her.