Moth and Spark (49 page)

“Never. What about my sister? Which one?”

“Tai.” She came back closer to him and gave him a kiss. “She’s pregnant.”

“That’s why she looked happy,” he said, happy for her.

“She looked happy because she can keep her food down again,” said Tam tartly, nipping any comments about the blessed state of pregnancy in the bud. “And she’s not going to try to find someone to marry right away, so don’t even think about looking.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said honestly. Tai was a princess and did not need a father to provide for the child. She should at least be given her time of grief. “Am I allowed to know?”

“Yes, now. I’ve known for a month.”

That meant Tai must be further along than she looked. Or had there been a slight swell to her belly that he had not noticed? He said, “When is the babe to be born?”

“A few weeks after Midwinter.”

He counted. That made her four months along. “Good. There will be no doubt it’s her husband’s child.”

Tam looked appalled. “Would anyone suggest anything else?”

He hated to remind her now, but he was certainly not going to lie. Everything was political. “If it becomes known that she was held for a week in Mycene, yes. That’s the sort of vile rumor people most love to spread. But if she conceived two months before Ader died, it is clearly his.”

Tam shook her head and pressed against him. He put his arm around her, and she reached up to pull his hand over her shoulder. He could tell that it was a desire for comfort, so he did not move it anywhere else.

She said, “People can be so vicious.”

“They can,” he said. War had showed that yet again, not just in the bodies of the dead but in the subtler cruelties of young girls lifting their
skirts for a loaf of bread and taunts directed at a burned and disfigured man. It was nothing like dragons. “I’m afraid you’re going to have more than your share of such people to confront, Tam.”

“Ah, but I’ll also have you.”

“No regrets?”

“Not a one.” She gave him another kiss. It lasted until a bump and a swerve almost unseated them.

He said, “If we had taken the other coach we would have been more comfortable.”

“If we had taken the other one we wouldn’t have left yet.”

When they arrived at the manor, the night was as perfect as the day had been, cloudless with bright stars and clear noises of crickets, frogs, cows lowing far away. There was just enough of a chill to make it pleasant to stand close beside her with a cloak tossed over them both. A light came on in the house, and the door opened.

“Whose is it?” she asked.

Of course she would want to know every detail. He wondered if she was teasing him. He took her hand to lead her up the steps. “Mine,” he said. “I was thinking of giving it to you.”

She said drily, “You mean all your property didn’t pass to me automatically upon the marriage?”

“Now there’s a silly law,” he said. “When we get back you can use all your influence to try to convince the dukes to let it be changed. Father would sign. I didn’t get anything from you, did I? I didn’t even think about it. I should have married someone else.”

They were in the hall now. It was lit, the floor a lovely red-gold wood that glowed invitingly in the lamplight. The servants had taken heed of their orders and were nowhere to be seen.

“I think you got quite a lot,” she said, and slipped her arm around his waist under the cloak. One of her fingers went between his waistband and his shirt.

He pushed her against the wall and kissed her hard. He began to unbutton her shirt. Her hand went to his belt.

They stumbled their way past expensive paintings and fine sculptures to the stairs. By the time they reached the landing he could barely
restrain himself. Her hair was in disarray. His shirt was open to the waist and hers was halfway there. They continued upward and somehow found the bedroom.

He kicked the door shut. She reached over him to bolt it. Her breasts brushed his bare skin.

They made it to the bed, leaving a trail of abandoned clothing behind them.

They exhausted each other, but she fell asleep first. He propped himself against the headboard and watched her in flickering candlelight. She looked younger when she slept, her face relaxed from its usual intensity. He loved the curve of her shoulder, the fall of her hair. He kissed her forehead. Her breath stayed soft and even.

He blew out the candle and went to the window. He opened it enough that the curtains moved gently. Light from the kitchen shone on the garden. He could hear the servants talking. If he tried he would be able to hear more: the creaks as the boards settled themselves in with night, the small animals of darkness, the wind on the grass. There was no reason to.

He got back into bed and put his arm over her. Clever, beautiful, fearless Tam. He adjusted himself and closed his eyes. Once she had said to him that what they had was grace. Even now, married properly, rank bestowed, it still was. And always would be.

T
his book would not be what it is without the work and goodwill of many people. First and foremost I thank my husband, Adam Louis Hill, and our son, Benjamin, for their love, support, suggestions, and patience. Also: Andy Kifer and David Gernert at The Gernert Company and Emily Murdock Baker at Viking, none of whom let me get away with cheating; Patrick Arrasmith and Alison Forner at Viking, who made the book beautiful; Tom Williams, whose geology field trip to the Eastern Sierra helped me see the ending; Rachel Smith, for the awesome map; and Panna and Carl, for sharing Osa the black dog with me. Finally, I am indebted to Jane Austen, whose language I liberally borrowed.