“Temar, listen to me, I beg of you. I’m not about to marry you or anyone else!”
Temar blinked and shook his head to clear his confusion. “What are you saying?”
“I have no intention of getting married for quite some years, if at all.” Guinalle tried to give Temar back the necklace, but he refused to take it.
“Halcarion save us, why not?” Temar felt a hollow spreading in his gut.
“I have too much to do here, too many responsibilities, too many people depending on me. I can’t just drop everything to keep your hearth warm for you. My uncle needs me—”
“He can’t stop you marrying me, I won’t have it.” This made no sense to Temar. “You can still practice your Artifice, if that’s what’s worrying you. Haven’t I been studying what you taught me on the voyage, getting the tricks of it?”
“Artifice is much more complicated than you imagine,” said Guinalle tartly. She took a deep breath and spoke more calmly again. “That’s beside the point. Please try to understand. You say you want to marry me? You want me to bear your children?”
“I love you,” Temar protested. “I want to make a family with you. What’s wrong with that?”
“Are you planning to stay by the fireside and rock the cradle when my duties call me away? What if I die in child-bed?” Guinalle folded her arms, her face unreadable in the shadows as she pulled away from him. “This isn’t Toremal, with maidservants and wet-nurses for hire at every festival fair. Have you had much to do with babies and little children? Do you know the amount of work they are? Three of my sisters have families—I tell you, it’s not something I’m going to take on before I’m good and ready, not while every spare hand this side of the ocean has three tasks to do and four on market day!”
“I’ll help.” Temar was starting to get irritated now. “Anyway, you said in the summer that you could use Artifice to keep you from conceiving. We can still be married; I’ll wait for children, if you insist.”
“And have everyone counting the seasons and waiting for my waist to thicken? Whispering in corners when it doesn’t? No, thank you! For your information, I have better uses for my skills. Oh, Temar, please try and see it from my side of the river. I take it you’re planning to continue to lead the explorations for my uncle and Messire Den Rannion?”
“Of course, that’s my duty.”
“And what am I supposed to do if you get yourself killed on one of these expeditions? I was there when my uncle got news of that rock fall, when Frinn and Eusel were killed, Temar; I know the sort of risks you’ve been running. Saedrin save me, this is a dangerous enough place for the people staying by the shore.” Guinalle’s breath was coming quicker now though her tone stayed mostly level. “This colony can’t support anymore widows and orphans and I’ll be cursed before I’ll be packed off back to a proxy marriage with your grandfather as your only male relative. I can’t waste a year sitting around in mourning to make sure I’m not carrying your child before I’m free again.”
“No one would make you do that.” Temar’s voice rose and he quelled it with an effort. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I don’t think so. You’re the last of your line. In any case, my family do insist on the traditional observances, whatever you might choose to do.”
“Is this about family? Is that it?” Temar could not hide his outrage. “My Name isn’t good enough for you? You know very well D’Alsennin is an ancient house and—”
“If I wanted to marry some well-groomed stud from an impressive bloodline, I’d have my choice ten times over in Toremal.” Guinalle interrupted Temar acidly. “I’ve had fortune hunters after my father’s coin and rank since Drianon blooded me. Why do you think I study Artifice? Why do you think I asked to join my uncle here?”
A nasty suspicion reared its head at the back of Temar’s mind and grabbed his tongue before he could stamp it down. “You keep bringing your uncle into this? You’re not related by blood, are you, only marriage. He’s not planning to salvage the Den Fellaemion bloodline with a judicious marriage, is he? That would be very traditional.”
Guinalle gave Temar’s face a stinging slap. “Don’t be disgusting. You just can’t accept it, can you? You’re so full of yourself that you cannot imagine a girl not falling over herself to marry you!”
“You were quick enough to lie down with me this summer!” Temar scowled as he heard the pain in his own words, suddenly glad of the darkness hiding his face.
“That was different, that was fun, it was delightful,” Guinalle’s anger softened with contrition, “but I would never have done it if I had thought you would make so much of it. I’m sorry.”
Astonishment drove all other feelings out of Temar’s head. “Are you telling me it wasn’t your first time?”
“Oh Temar, I’m the youngest daughter of a long family. My older sisters were the ones who had to make sure they could stain their wedding sheets convincingly.” A faint giggle escaped Guinalle and a glimpse of moonlight betrayed a smile on her face. “You’ve obviously had little experience of virgins.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it of you,” spat Temar angrily. “How could you?”
“Oh really?” Guinalle took a pace toward him. “Tell me, what right have you to judge me? Temar D’Alsennin, the Esquire every chaperone warns their girls not to let him get them behind a curtain? You accused Vahil of garter hunting, didn’t you? What was your score last winter solstice? That was what you would get the girls to wager, wasn’t it? Against your hitting a rune bone with a throwing dagger at twenty paces? According to my brothers, you had the best collection in the cohorts and a fair few girls let you pluck their petals when you claimed your prize didn’t they? Your reputation precedes you, Temar, didn’t you know that? At least I’m discreet!”
Temar stood amid the wreckage of his hopes, furious with Guinalle, with himself, with everything. He opened his mouth but, before he could speak, Maitresse Den Rannion rounded the corner and halted abruptly at the sight of them.
“Maitresse, I’m sorry, I was just about to—” Guinalle lifted a hand toward her mouth before realizing she still had the necklace twined around her fingers.
“My dear, whatever is that?” The Maitresse reached for Guinalle’s hand and lifted it toward a lantern.
“Why Temar, how splendid!” Her eyes were alight with curiosity. “Are you celebrating Drianon’s festival with something important?”
“Temar was telling me of the discoveries his expedition made.” Guinalle tried to pass the necklace back to Temar but he stuck his hands stubbornly through his belt.
“It’s a birth festival gift for Guinalle.” He forced a semblance of a smile. “You were an Aft-Summer baby, weren’t you, demoiselle?”
Maitresse Den Rannion turned to him, open-mouthed. “Now isn’t that just typical! I was asking Messire Den Fellaemion if any of his household would be celebrating their year at the festival and he told me Guinalle was born in For-Winter! Here, my dear, let me take your lace, you must show off a jewel like that!” She unpinned Guinalle’s tippet before the girl could find a plausible objection and clasped the necklace around her throat. The gem shone rich and brilliant on the soft hollow of her throat. “What a handsome present to make, Temar.”
“I think the Messire is looking for you, Maitresse.” Temar pointed through the arch of an empty window to where Messire Den Rannion was waiting by the hearth, head turning this way and that.
“Oh, yes, I think you’re right.” The Maitresse tucked Guinalle’s lace briskly around her own neckline. “I’d better see what he wants.”
“I’ll go and find Vahil.” Guinalle began hastily to walk away from him but Temar followed. “You do that, my lady. I’ll get Elsire away from those silly girls, shall I? The music’s started so if I dance with her all evening that should give the gossips plenty to go on, shouldn’t it? That should protect your reputation, Guinalle. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone how hollow it really is!”