Children of Enchantment Page 8

  He walked into the room and stared in astonishment. She had indeed been busy over the winter. The outer chamber, once nursery, then schoolroom, had been completely refurbished. Instead of the scarred table and mismatched chairs which had served his boyhood needs, a massive desk, ornately carved, dominated one end of the room. Behind it was a high-backed chair thickly padded and meticulously covered in leather. It looked like the sort of chair one could sit in comfortably for a long time. To the side was a smaller desk, with another chair, this one not as ornate, nor as elaborately covered, more serviceable and obviously meant for a scribe.

  The scarred wooden chest which had once held his toys and more lately his ragged maps and tattered scrolls had been replaced with a cabinet fronted in precious glass which could only predate the Armageddon, and within it, he could plainly see long wooden chests and fine-tooled leather rolls.

  Before the hearth, a new rug woven of costly shades of red and purple and black covered the floor, and fat cushions invited him to lounge in comfort. A low table place to one side of the hearth held a flagon of wine and two goblets.

  Through the door which led into his bedroom, he could see that the hangings and the coverlet of his bed had been replaced as well. Everything was so new, so strange, he felt as though he did not quite belong. He took a few steps, peered further into his bedroom, and turned to see Gartred on her knees before the hearth.

  “Will you take a cup of wine, Lord Prince?”

  He did not reply. She poured a little of the dark red liquid into a goblet, and as she did so, he noticed it was one of the silver ones used at the king’s table. He took the proffered goblet dumbly, still too amazed by the transformation of his rooms to speak.

  “Well, Lord Prince? What do you think of my efforts?”

  “I don’t know what to say. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble—it’s—“

  “Still nothing like the King’s suite.”

  “But I didn’t expect—“

  “You didn’t expect everything to be the same as when you left?” She cocked her head and gave him another long-eyed smile. “Not after all—everything that’s happened.”

  “Yes.” Automatically he took a sip of wine. The taste lingered on his tongue. “I suppose it has.”

  She rocked back on her heels. “Shall I light your fire, Lord Prince?” Suddenly Roderic noticed how the late afternoon sun illuminated the fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, how the line of her jaw was marred ever so slightly by the shadow of a jowl. She’s old enough to be my mother, he thought. Suddenly he understood the source of his discomfort. It was not the surprise of seeing his rooms so suddenly altered, nor the shock of seeing the change which had affected all the court. It was the behavior of the woman who knelt before him, her breasts threatening to spill out of her low bodice, her eyes shadowed by cosmetics, her lips artificially reddened. She’s my father’s consort, he thought; she might as well be my mother.

  He banged the goblet down on the nearest available surface and gestured to the door. “No, lady. If you will call for my servants, I won’t require anything else of you.”

  She rose to her feet, her full lip pursed in a pout. “But if there’s anything you do require? Anything at all?”

  “Perhaps there is one thing more. I didn’t see Peregrine Anuriel outside—“

  “Peregrine is about her duties, Lord Prince.”

  The rancor in her voice startled him, and her words did not ring quite true. “Surely her duties are not so demanding they would keep her from welcoming us all home?” He watched her face, suddenly wary. Gartred had never evinced any interest in him before.

  Gartred’s eyes narrowed. “There is no need to waste your time with an orphaned waiting woman, Lord Prince. Any lady in Ahga will be more than happy to keep you company—any lady at all.”

  The note of invitation in her voice was unmistakable. He took a step backward involuntarily. “I doubt I’ll have much time to enjoy a lady’s company. Any lady. Now, if you will order my bath? And send someone to attend me?” He bowed an unmistakable dismissal.

  “As you say, Lord Prince.” With another low curtsey calculated to display a vast expanse of bosom, and a loud swish of her skirts, she departed. The odor of her perfume lingered like the memory of a bad dream while he bathed and dressed, and clung to his skin for the rest of that long, long day.

  It was very late when he finally returned to his rooms. A fire burned in the grate, and a cold supper of cheese and bread and apples lay on a plate before the hearth. He barely glanced at it. On his desk lay a pile of rolled parchments, demanding his attention. He fingered a few and his head gave another throb at the thought. Some required a reply, some only his signature, others a prolonged consultation with Phineas. He had been Regent of Meriga for one day, and already he understood why his father had so loved to escape to the comparative peace of their summer residence at Minnis Saul.

  He walked into his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the wide bed. The quilts and the hangings were new, and he fingered the soft fabric, woven in dark shades of soothing greens and blues. The pillows were high and plump, covered in fresh white linen cases and scented with lavender. He wished he could bury his head among them and give himself up to sleep, but he knew he would only toss and turn if he went to bed. He was still restless after all the events of the day. The afternoon had been completely given over to conferences with Phineas and the other Senadors who comprised Abelard’s council: the lords of Arkan, Mondana, Kora-lado, and Tennessey Fall. Two or three of the Senadors had requested private audiences; these, on Phineas’s advice, he had granted. He’d had a brief, troubling conversation with his brother Phillip.

  Phillip resembled Abelard so closely that Roderic had felt his heart leap when his tall blond brother had strolled into the same beneath the reek of her perfume. Abruptly he had excused himself when the dancing began.

  His head felt heavy on his neck, and the blood pounded in a slow throb in his temples. He slumped against the soft leather chair and picked up the first letter which came to hand. He broke the thin seal and scanned it. It was a request from his sister Jesselyn for an escort into Ahga.

  Jesselyn. The name meant almost nothing. She had left when he was barely old enough to remember, dressed in the black robes of a priest, her mission to minister to the people who lived in the mountains between Ahga and the eastern ocean. But somehow her zeal had been misdirected, and she had become embroiled in a scandal which had involved Abelard, his old nemesis the Bishop of Ahga, and the Mutens. Jesselyn had been completely disgraced, placed under interdict, and forbidden to ever enter the “Holy City” of Ahga again. But now she sought to enter the temporal city, and he supposed he was within the bounds of his authority to override the Bishop’s decree. His headache intensified at the thought of having to deal with the Bishop and the priests. Even Abelard had avoided the whole pack of black-garbed crows, dismissing them with a contemptuous wave. But he had never overtly challenged them, either.

  And why, Roderic wondered, as he reread the letter. Why did she want to come home now? Didn’t he have enough to contend with? He scanned the letter once more. She was maddeningly vague—hinting that she had some incredibly crucial information. What kind of information in the name of the One and the Three could she possibly have discovered in the eastern wilds of the northern Pulatchian Mountains? Abelard hadn’t disappeared anywhere near there. He let out a deep sigh and threw the letter down. There was no help for it. He would have to provide the escort. And prepare to face the Bishop’s wrath once the word got back to her, as it most assuredly would. He had never met the Bishop, but her battles with Abelard were legendary. Surely with the King gone, he could assume that the Bishop would take up the gauntlet once again. It had been that kind of day.

  “Do I disturb you, Lord Prince?”

  Gartred’s voice shattered his reverie. He jerked upright. He had thought he had been firm but undeniable in his refusal of her favors. But he had no wish to antagonize her. She was not
only Abelard’s consort, but the First Lady as well, in charge of all the domestic cares a household the size of the court engendered.

  “Is there something you require of me, lady?” He pulled the chair closer to the desk, glad that its bulk was between the two of them.

  “I?” She gave a little laugh and a girlish shake of her head. “No, Lord Prince. You did not look yourself at the feast this evening—I thought perhaps you might need—“

  “I need rest, Lady Gartred. I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed.” Surely he thought, such an obvious rebuff would deter her.

  But Gartred only gave him another smile and advanced, the firelight softening the contours of her face, her dark eyes gleaming in the shadows beneath her lids.

  He straightened, pressing against the high back of the chair, feeling stalked. She was beautiful, he acknowledged, in the way a rose is in the last days of its bloom when the bud has fully opened, and the first petals have yet to fall. The flickering light effectively erased all the tell-tale signs of age the brutal sun had revealed.

  She leaned over him and gave his chair a playful little push. It spun on well-oiled castors to face her. He could smell the wine on her breath. She glanced over at the letter from Jesselyn lying face up by his hand. “A letter from the lady Jesselyn?” She read the letter before his wine-dulled reflexes could react. “So am I to expect visitors? You must let me know, Lord Prince. I would not want any of your needs to go unmet. Ever.” His eyes were level with her breasts. She seemed to offer them like plump, white pillows, where he might lay his head. She traced the line of his jaw with the tip of one finger, and it reminded him of her gesture on the steps outside when her little pink tongue had licked the wine drop from her finger. He stared, fascinated, spellbound. Despite his initial revulsion, his body was beginning to respond. It would certainly be easier, he thought, to succumb, to take her to his bed. He was expected to assume all his father’s responsibilities, after all. Why not a few of his father’s pleasures as well?

  He closed his eyes, forgetting all about Jesselyn and her information and the Bishop as Gartred pressed his face into her bosom.

  “I know how to soothe a King to sleep,” she whispered. “Your father was often restless at night.”

  A sudden image of his father entwined with this woman flashed through his mind. He pushed away from Gartred, and rose, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, lady. If I were to lie with you it would feel as though I’d lain with my mother. I think of you as the King’s—I cannot think of you any other way.”

  An ugly flush suffused her face, and she raised one thin brow. Her eyes glittered. “You don’t find me beautiful?”

  “Without question, lady. But you aren’t for me.” He gestured toward the door. “Please go.”

  Her bosom heaved with suppressed rage. “I suppose you’ll ask for that mewling, mealy-mouthed drudge. Don’t think you’ll find her. I’ll keep her so busy she’ll not have time for her brat, let alone you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Gartred realized her mistake. She clamped her lips together and flounced toward the door.

  He caught her by the wrist, quickly moving to block her escape. “What are you talking about? What brat?”

  “Let me go,” she hissed.

  “Tell me—has Peregrine borne a child?”

  “Let me go or I’ll scream. I’ll disgrace you before the entire court—I’ll tell them you tried to rape me—“

  “Scream away. We’re both fully dressed—“

  For answer she ripped the thin fabric of her gown with her remaining free hand from neck to waist. Her heavy breasts swung free, pendulous as udders, and she raised her hand to rake her long nails across his face. He caught her wrist and pinioned both hands behind her back.

  “Where is Peregrine? Answer me,” he said. Something which reminded him of Atland was beginning to beat in his blood, a desire to pin her down against the floor and take her brutally until she gave him the information. She stared at him defiantly. By the One, he thought, sickened, that’s what she wants.

  He dropped her wrists as though they stung and turned his back. “You will take that wrap, the one on the chair by the hearth, and you will cover yourself, and you will never come to me alone again.” He spoke over his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her moving to obey him. “Leave. I will deal with you tomorrow.” But even as he spoke, he knew he would not have the time to even think of Gartred for many days.

  She went with a last backward glare, and he waited until he heard the door of his antechamber close above his manservant’s quiet, “Good night, lady.” He closed his eyes. Old Ben would be discreet. When he was certain Gartred was gone, he opened the door and roused Ben. The old man leapt to his feet, looking guilty for having drowsed. “Lord Prince. How may I—“

  “Do you remember the girl among the consort’s women? Peregrine? The one with—“

  “The thick brown hair, and skin the color of honey? You brought her here often enough, Lord Prince.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  The old man stared up at him, clearly perplexed by the urgency in Roderic’s voice. He seemed to search his thoughts. “I—I do not know, Lord Prince. In truth, I haven’t seen her since the day word came that the King had disappeared. But my duties are different when you aren’t home, and I never thought—“

  “Never mind. You know the kitchens, the servants’ quarters?” The old man nodded and Roderic grasped his arm. “Good. Come with me.”

  “But—but—but where are we going at this hour?” stammered Old Ben, clutching Roderic’s sleeve.

  “To find Peregrine. And the child I think is mine.”

  Chapter Eight

  “My lady.” The soft voice from the shadows startled Gartred and made her jump, so that she knocked one knee against the rough stone of the battlements. The rain had ended and the wind had subsided, and she was too ashamed, too angry to return to her chambers and face the derision she knew she would see in her ladies’ eyes. Hadn’t they warned her? Hadn’t they hinted, gently and often, that Roderic would never take her? That with the King’s disappearance went the power she had exercised so long over all who dwelt in Ahga? She knew what they’d think, even if they didn’t have the courage to say it. She’d be lucky if he let her stay First Lady after tonight.

  Her knee throbbed. “Who is it?” she demanded. “Show yourself. How dare you frighten me?”

  “Forgive me, lady.” A tall dark shape coalesced out of the shadows, and in the gloom, she barely recognized Amanander. He stood still, almost unnaturally so, and she gave a little shiver.

  “Lord Amanander? Is it you?”

  He moved closer, so close his cloak brushed against her makeshift wrap. “Please. No titles, lady. I am sorry to disturb your thoughts.”

  She gripped the wrap closer to her throat, the fabric rough against her naked breasts. Pity this one wasn’t Abelard’s heir instead of that stoop shouldered, skinny boy. “You don’t disturb me, Lor— Amanander.”

  “You seem upset. Is there anything I can do?”

  Kill Roderic, she thought, and instantly quelled it.

  He chuckled, a low sound deep in his throat, and she had the unnerving thought that he had heard her. “No,” she managed. “Thank you.”

  “Do you enjoy the night, Gartred?”

  What an odd question, she thought, though she automatically tilted her head in the manner she knew men found most attractive and answered him in her deepest, huskies voice. “Only when I have someone to share it with.”

  She heard the sudden intake of his breath and felt the little thrill of power she always experienced whenever she had a man in her thrall. He touched her face. She expected warm flesh, but encountered something smoother and chillier than skin. He wore gloves, and the smooth leather sent a little unexpected shiver down her spine. She wondered what that leather would feel like against her nipples.

  He chuckled again and turned her around to face him. She had another unnerving th
ought that somehow he had heard that last thought too. He slid his hand beneath the wrap, caressing the round swell of her breast. She stared up at him, entranced, feeling her nipples tighten in anticipation. He brushed one finger against the hard tip, and she moaned, swaying as her knees went weak. What’s happening to me? she wondered. I’m behaving like an untried girl.

  He bent his head and gathered her mouth to his, his skin as smooth and as polished as the leather, the scent of him a blend of leather and soap and something metallic. He twisted her nipple between two fingers, rolling and tugging it, sending little sparks of pleasure through her body. His tongue was hot and probing, stabbing every corner of her mouth. She could scarcely breathe. Abelard had been demanding but never brutal. There was a hard insistent edge to his son that excited her, incited her. This is what it would be like to be raped, she thought, forced down on hard stone, taken like an animal, penetrated in every orifice, humiliated and consumed and totally possessed.

  Amanander drew back from the kiss. In the dark his eyes had an inhuman gleam, and Gartred felt more than a flicker of fear. “Whatever you wish, my dear.” He laughed again, low and cruel, and then he was on her.

  The kitchens beneath the great hall of Ahga were vast caverns, lit at that late hour only by rushlights set in sconces high on the walls. Sleepy scullions and kitchen maids stirred from their places beside the banked fires as Roderic and Old Ben passed by, and once or twice, a night-robed cook poked a sleep-swollen face from one of the cubbyholes which lined the walls. But no one emerged to challenge their passing, and Roderic hustled the old man through the kitchens and up the narrow steps into the quarters where the servants were housed.

  “Where is she?” Roderic hissed as they paused in the long, dark corridor where the rooms were only partitioned by flimsy curtains. The dusty smell of age was thick in the air, and Roderic realized abruptly that for the ones who served those who reigned in Ahga, there was little luxury and few comforts.