Duty: a novel of Rhynan (9 page)

“A shabby gesture.”

Irvaine pushed away from the table to pace. “It
indicated the true value of his allegiance. He led the invaders
across the border.”

Landry swore. “Sorry, my lady, please pardon my rough
tongue.” He bowed to Irvaine. “When do we march?”

“Summon your men and ask them to meet us west of
Wisenvale. We will not wait for them.”

“I shall do so immediately.” He strode for the door,
pausing just before it to bow to Irvaine. “My lord.” Then to my
utter astonishment, he bowed low to me. “My lady, I hope we free
your people soon.”

“Thank you, Sir Landry.”

He left. Silence settled over the pair of us. My
thoughts and prayers strayed to Loren.

“Are you feeling okay?” I jumped at the sound of his
voice, so loud in the small room.

Irvaine stood before me, a tower of familiarity in my
drastically changing world. How had he become so important to me so
quickly?

“I was just trying to figure out how you were going
to manage three hundred men when you only have half that with
you.”

“You forgot the caravan.”

I blinked at him in confusion.

“The rest of my men are coming with the caravan of
supply wagons.” He rubbed his face distractedly.

“I am not ready for this.”

His soft chuckle brought my chin up. “Those very
words circle my thoughts twice an hour, sometimes more.”

“How do you quiet them?”

“I ignore them. I was put in this position for a
purpose. I plan on doing the best I can under the circumstances.”
He offered me a hand. “Come, this is no place to eat. Let us wait
for Aiden and Antano in the hall.”

We met our meal in the passage. The servant women who
carried it led us back to the great hall. They settled us at one
end of the head table. Mutton, pork, and a rack of lamb roasted to
perfection lay on a bed of cabbage. Beet leaves, carrots, and a
selection of dried apples accompanied a fresh loaf of bread still
warm to the touch. My mouth watered at the smell.

We set to work on the bounty. But before I managed
more than a handful of bites, the outer doors burst open.

Five men tromped in the room. Rathenridge led them up
the center of the room. I spotted Antano near the back. Two hefty
men pulled a resisting Jorndar to the foot of the dais.

“Kneel!” Rathenridge commanded.

Jorndar spat at him.

Antano kicked the prisoner’s legs out from under him.
“Show proper respect to your superior, fool.”

Yelling curses, Jorndar attempted to gain his footing
again, but the two men restraining his arms kept him on his knees.
After a few moments of struggling, the guards simply pinned him to
the floor, face down.

“Sir Jorndar, you are accused of sedition against the
crown. How do you plead?”

“How do you think, idiot? Not guilty. You shame the
house of Loineir and Irvaine. Your mother should have smothered you
at birth. I demand my right to plead my case before the king. I
refuse to accept any ruling you hand down, pretender. You hold no
law over me.”

A twitch in the muscle below Irvaine’s left eye was
the only indication he heard Jorndar’s rant. He stood frozen in his
effort to contain the anger burning behind his dark eyes. His left
hand clenched his eating knife in a death grip.

Dissatisfied with the reaction of his target, Jorndar
changed his tactic. Straining his head around so that he could just
see me out of the corner of his eye, he grinned crookedly. “How
does it feel to be bedded by the son of a demon and a witch? Didn’t
know his mother was a witch did you? Watch him. He will remove your
soul and feed it to his master. He is well versed in the ways
of--”

Irvaine lunged forward.

I caught his arm, throwing my weight against his
momentum. “No.” My intervention spun him around so I encountered
the full blast of the fury behind his mask. He trembled with the
effort, but he didn’t turn back toward his tormentor.

Rathenridge unceremoniously laid his foot over
Jorndar’s face. The man’s ranting dissolved into a wordless
yowl.

I reached up to caress my husband’s face, anything to
distract him from the liar on the floor. “Whatever you want to do
to him, you will regret it later.” Thankfully it helped. He focused
on my features.

He closed his eyes, breathed in, and held it. He
rested his forehead against mine. His hands encircled my head,
thumbs resting on my cheekbones and fingers buried in my hair,
destroying the remains of my braid.

Antano spoke. “I request permission to throw him into
the dungeon, my lord.”

Without opening his eyes, Irvaine replied. “See that
you treat him humanely.”

“My lord?” Antano’s protest filled every tone of his
query.

“Give the king no reason to doubt my character,
Antano.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Irvaine waited until only Jorndar’s protests faded to
a distant murmur. “Thank you.” His dark eyes, still glinting with
rage, seemed to soften as they met mine, warming to a different
emotion.

“Not a bother,” Rathenridge replied, throwing himself
into the nearest chair and helping himself to some of the mutton.
“Just make sure that the next villain you send me out after has a
cleaner mouth. I have never heard so much talk about refuse since I
last ordered my men to dig privies.”

Irvaine smirked. He gently released my head and
retreated before turning to face his friend. “I appreciate your
longsuffering service, Aiden.”

“I haven’t even sworn allegiance to you and you are
demanding I track down a pompous fool and his foul-mouthed
minions.”

“Lord Jorndar is not a fool. He is not wise, but
never mistake him for a fool.” Irvaine pulled out my chair for me
as we resumed our places at the table. “How many of his men did you
detain?”

“Seven. Three discontented striplings, a middle-aged
weakling, and three ancients too old for the saddle. I wonder at
his choices for traveling companions.”

Irvaine pushed away his unfinished meal. “I am more
concerned about where his prime warriors are at the moment. If they
aren’t with him, he has them otherwise occupied.”

“Terrorizing the countryside and collecting
rents?”

“More likely serving a new liege lord.” Irvaine
rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. “Did you find the
records?”

“We confiscated a crateful of ledgers, rosters, and
lists. If they aren’t the missing records, I would be very
interested in what they are.” Rathenridge rose abruptly to his feet
and plucked an apple from the middle of the platter. “If you don’t
need me further, my lord, I wish to seek out my wife. I need sweet
conversation to distract my thoughts from the mire of Jorndar’s
ravings.”

“First, send word for all your able-bodied men to
meet us at Wisenvale. We will be riding out tomorrow.”

“They will be there.”

“Where did they put the records?”

“Delivered to your new study, my lord.” Rathenridge
offered a jaunty bow. “Ready and waiting for your perusal.”

“Then, be off. Say hi to Moriah.” Irvaine dismissed
him with a wave of his hand.

I waited to speak until the door blocked my view of
Rathenridge’s loping gait. “How long have you known him?”

“Aiden?” Irvaine glanced my way, but didn’t truly
focus on my face before returning to his thoughts. “Twenty
years.”

“Since childhood?”

“Hmm…” He nodded absentmindedly.

“You think Lord Jorndar is connected with the
invasion, don’t you?”

He nodded again. Leaning his forehead on his fisted
hands, he closed his eyes. “I think the root of this invasion runs
deeper than we suspect. I am going to have to get word to Dentin
and the king.”

“Who is Dentin?”

“He is the commander of the royal guards and general
of the garrison. He also keeps tabs on everyone’s whereabouts and
loyalties.”

“He sounds like the man to know.”

“He is. Giving him the task of security of the realm
was the best move Mendal made.”

I studied my husband with new eyes. “You are an
intimate of the new king.”

He eyed me over his clasped hands. “You just figured
that out? I thought the world knew.”

“Remember where you found me? We didn’t even know the
war was over, much less we were subjects of a new king.”

The left corner of his mouth lifted slightly and a
glimmer of amusement flashed in his eyes before worry clouded them
again. “Someday I will fill you in on all the details.” He leaned
back with a groan. “Right now a crate worth of documents awaits us.
I hope your recordkeeping skills are as good as you claim. It is
going to be a really long afternoon.”

I pushed back my chair. “Then we should get to
work.”

Irvaine signaled a servant. After requesting a second
chair be brought to the study, he offered me his arm.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A bathtub! I stared in wonder at the luxury. Not a
quick wipe down with tepid water from a bowl before the fire. The
metal tub came to my hips and steamed even in the radiating warmth
from the hearth. My aching joints and muscles called out in a
chorus of joyful anticipation.

“Where is my tunic, Jarvin?” Irvaine shoved the
bedroom door closed and promptly began undoing his armor.

My face burned as I hurriedly looked away.

“I laid out the best for you to choose from.”

“They brought the bath. Good.”

“The pitcher and basin you requested came too, my
lord. Lady Rolendis sent gowns and soap for Lady Irvaine. She also
included some of her husband’s personal effects so that you might
use whatever you wish.”

“Come and choose what you wish to wear, Brielle.”
Irvaine’s order was punctuated by the clunk of his chainmail
hitting the floor. I turned in time to see him pull his tunic over
his head with his back to me. Scars crisscrossed his shoulders,
faded with age, but deep enough to never heal completely. A gash
across the back of his left ribs spanned the length of my forearm.
A third, more recent, scar cut an angry crescent around his right
shoulder blade. Despite the obviously whole muscles moving beneath
the marred skin, I shivered to think of the events that had scarred
him.

A mixture of fear, nerves, and pity churned in my
belly. The indelible markers branded forever across his back spoke
of a man who had fought his way through life. I tried to reconcile
them with what I had witnessed of his character over the last few
days.

The rough, calloused hands that rubbed warmth into my
fingers were also hands that weilded a blade with skill and deadly
finesse. They were the hands of a father. I tried to envision them
cradling a child.

“Brielle?”

I blinked.

Jarvin had left. We were alone. Irvaine gazed at me
quizzically. I must have missed his question.

“Pardon? I didn’t hear you.”

“You should choose a gown and begin washing. We have
to be down in the hall in an hour or so.”

“Yes.” I nodded, but made no move toward the silks
cascading over the far side of the bed. Instead my mind wandered
back to the tidbits of his past I discovered today. I could see him
as a slender child with no father to protect him from the world and
with a mother to defend. I wondered how he had dealt with Jorndar
then.

“Brielle?”

“Hmm?” I pulled my thoughts together and focused with
effort. Exhaustion fought back.

“Are you going to make it through the meal?”

I jumped at the brushing of his fingertips under my
chin. When did he move? He now stood over me. The musk of his sweat
filled my nose. It was laced with a scent I could not name.

“Brielle, go to bed.” He eased my face up so our eyes
met. “I can face them alone if you need the rest. I know these past
few days have been difficult for you. They…” He hesitated. Raw
emotion tightened his features. “None of us have had an easy time
of it. I understand if you prefer to rest here instead of facing a
host of strange faces.”

After an afternoon of studying documents, consulting
with the cook, and supervising the organizing and counting of
supplies with Horacian’s help, I did long for bed. However, when I
looked into Irvaine’s face, I hesitated.

Dark circles and dirt ringed his eyes. New creases
marred the bridge between his eyebrows. The brackets around his
mouth deepened with worry as he scanned my face. Somewhere behind
those searching eyes he still faced the world alone.

“No. I can make it. I want to help.”

“I have Rathenridge.”

“You need me to show them your domestic side. I
represent hope for a peaceful future.”

He tilted his head. “Who told you that?”

I smiled up at him, hoping to cover up the weary
grief that swelled behind my words. “My mother epitomized nobility
and duty.”

“She was a wise woman.”

I nodded and turned away. He let me go. I walked
toward the tub, untying my surcoat. A few tugs at the laces and the
neck opened enough for my head to slip through. My belt followed,
the worn leather slipping easily through the buckle loop once I
untied the excess.

The scrape of wood on wood halted my undressing.
Irvaine dragged a screen across the floor. As tall as me and six
arm lengths wide, its elaboratedly painted panels blocked the tub
from the rest of the room.

He stepped back, studying the screen. “I will use the
water in the bowl; you take the tub. You need it more.”

“Are you saying I stink?”

He smiled. It wasn’t a laugh, but it lightened the
lines of his face slightly.

“No more than I do.” He walked toward the basin of
water resting on a heavy table along the wall.

Taking that as a sign to tend to my own washing, I
slipped behind the screen and began undressing in earnest.

The bath lived up to all my expectations. I didn’t
emerge from the water until my fingers resembled the walnuts my
father once purchased from a foreign traveler. My muscles no longer
ached and the tension in my back eased. My return to comfort
brought a fresh burst of energy. Familiar hunger grew urgent now
that pain no longer claimed my foremost attention.