So would Caradoc, the man who loved her.
Well, ducks, said the voice in her mind. It's like this. You can't be your own woman here.
Tell me something I don't know.
All right, but if you can't be your own woman, what about being the woman of the best man around?
Can I get him?
There was a knock on her door.
Maybe you've got him, she thought. She knew what she'd say if that were him- Caradoc came in, kicked the door shut, and promptly knelt. Everything she'd planned to say went right out of her mind. For a man to kneel to a woman was to place himself totally at her mercy. He would listen to any insult from her, carry out any command, abandon kin or honor or life itself at her word. He was giving her absolute power over him, trusting that she would not abuse it.
He started to talk when she wound her fingers into his hair. She didn't remember most of what he said, because she was trying too hard not to cry. All she remembered was a phrase about "my kin are beginning to wonder where my wits have gone."
"Caradoc," she said, and repeated it until he looked up.
"Yes, my lady."
"No lady. Just Gwen." She took a deep breath. "Caradoc, you know they never found my husband's body, after the battle where he was killed."
"Yes."
"That is why I have not felt free to take another husband. I have not been sure that he was dead."
"But-more than a year?"
"Caradoc, he was-so full of life. Like you. If you died but no one found your body, how long would your kin go on wondering about you?"
He smiled for the first time. "Quite a while, I think. Particularly my aunt, who is sure I am doomed for hanging."
"It is the same for my husband. I have not until now been ready to think of another man."
The smile faded. "But-now?"
"I am ready."
Then she did cry. Fortunately Caradoc was there, with his arms around her and a shoulder for her to cry on, even if it was clothed in muddy sweat-fouled wool. Being in his arms felt so comfortable that before long she knew that if he led her to the bed she would go happily.
"No."
"No what?"
"No, I shall not ask for my betrothal rights tonight, or until I return from the war."
"But-you might not return."
"All the more reason for us to sleep apart until we know my fate. You are the mother of one child who will never see his father. Do you want to be the mother of a second?"
He was right, of course. But-"The priests of Yatar are said to know-"
"I will let no priest tell me when I may bed my wife!" He kissed her. "It will be enough to ride against Flaminius as your betrothed husband. My kin will swear to guard you if I do not return, or I will know why!"
Ah. This alliance made sense, more than any other. There was no man on Tran to whom Tylara owed more. While Gwen was unmarried Tylara could object to Rick working at the University; but Tylara do Tamaerthon wouldn't risk offending the man who'd rescued her from Sarakos.
Even if Caradoc were killed-no. I won't think of that.
And Les? Your baby's father?
But Les was a long way off, and Caradoc was here; and Gwen had been lonely a long time. Too long. She drew in a deep breath. "Very well. I accept it as you wish."
"Good. Now you can help me take a bath. Either that, or put me in the cellar so that my stink will kill the rats!"
11
Dughuilas dropped a handful of coins on the table without counting them, drew his cloak over his shoulders, and stepped out into the second-floor hallway. He did not look back. The girl was hardly worth it, and certainly not worth more than a fraction of the price the mistress of the house asked.
There must be something to be said for her, of course. Otherwise she wouldn't have been whoring long enough to have a maid of her own. The maid was a little blonde who would have been lovely but for her broken nose. Probably a war orphan, and Dughuilas suspected she'd have been more interesting than her mistress. However, old Echenia wouldn't let such things go on in her house, and that was an end to it.
Dughuilas tasted sour bile. The war would begin in less than a ten-day, and it was wrong. Far wiser to let the Romans tear each other like hungry stoats in a cage. Why couldn't Drumold understand that? Fascinated by that warlock son-in-law, the upstart.
And I must follow him! A coward, who has never proved himself in battle. Even in the Roman battle- yes, yes a great victory for the Lord Rick-even there he avoided combat. He raced for the pikemen rather than falling upon the Romans like a man!
Dughuilas shuddered at that memory. The Lord Rick shamed him before a whole army, firing his star weapon to startle Dughuilas and nearly bringing him off his horse. He'd felt fear-real fear-and of Rick, a man whose blood would turn to water if he ever got within sword's reach of a proper battle. He ruled from Tylara's bed, not from the saddle, and what sort of chief was that for a man to follow?
At least they'd had a scare at the University over the sky-machine! Whatever Corgarff might have said under torture, it shouldn't be enough to allow a trial of Dughuilas before the other clan chiefs. At worst, he could demand right of trial by combat against his accuser, and since that would be Lord Rick or perhaps Drumold, neither of them his match- Something struck Dughuilas hard in the side of the neck. It hurt like a rat bite, and when he put his hand up to the pain he felt blood trickling and the tip of a dart. Some child's prank with a crossbow. Curse Madam Echenia, she couldn't keep order in her own house! She'd get no more custom from him or his clansmen.
He took another downward step, but unaccountably his foot came down on empty air. He fell forward, swallowing a shout and throwing his arms out to break his fall. He didn't want anyone to see his clumsiness.
Pain shot up his arms and he didn't quite protect his head. He tasted blood where a broken tooth had gashed his tongue, but somehow it didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. In fact, nothing felt quite normal any more. His tongue seemed thick and swollen, filling his mouth. Now he tried to shout, but only a croak came out.
Poison.
Poison on the dart.
The High Rexja's men, a plot to ruin Tamaerthon! He had to live, to warn Drumold before it was too late-or could it be- He couldn't finish the thought. He rolled over to draw his dagger, but fell heavily on his back, his arms unwilling to obey. Above him the light from the candle on the stair landing shone on blonde hair. Another shape bent over him, and hands fumbled at his purse and sword. Dimly, as if from the bottom of a well, he heard leather tear and thongs snap.
Then a small hand in a glove clamped down over his mouth. He tried to bite, got a mouthful of leather, felt his stomach heave. Something cold struck him in the eye and he floated away on the pain until it and everything else ended.
"The dagger in the eye went straight into Dughuilas's brain," said Tylara. "Instant death. His killers took his purse, sword, and boots. They must have been well away before anyone found the body."
"Is it known who did it?" asked Rick, as his head popped out from the fur chamber robe. The messenger with the news of Dughuilas's death had arrived as he and Tylara were getting ready for bed.
"The maid to one of the women of the house has disappeared," said Tylara. "She may have been working with the killers, or she may have been slain as well. She was only a half-grown girl, so she could hardly have done the work herself.
"Beyond that, who knows? We know that both the High Rexja and Flaminius have spies among us. Dughuilas was a champion and clan leader, a bannerman. But more like, it was some enemy. He had enough, and all knew how he spent his nights before going to war."
She says the right words, but she does not seem upset, Rick thought. One of our officers dead… a man I never liked. "He was an important leader, and his clan will demand blood," Rick said. "A proven captain in war-"