Stormrider (20 page)

The mayor led Gaise to the group. Lowen saw them, and his eyes narrowed. His smile, however, remained fixed.

“Good evening, General Macon,” he said.

“And to you, sir. I trust you are well.”

“As well as one can be in these dreadful times.” He stepped aside. “You remember my daughter, Cordelia.”

“I do, sir.” Gaise felt his stomach tighten as he met her eyes. He bowed deeply. She made no attempt to disguise her contempt for him, her face remaining set, her dark eyes angry. An uncomfortable silence grew. Gaise could think of nothing to say. The fat mayor blurted out something meaningless, one of the other guests mentioned the weather, and the moment passed.

As soon as he could Gaise moved away from the group toward the long table on which a punch bowl had been set.

He felt foolish and a little angry. Filling a glass with cider punch, he sipped it.

“So, who are we challenging tonight, General?” asked Cordelia Lowen, appearing alongside him. “The mayor, perhaps?”

Gaise reddened but this time kept a firm hold on his temper. “I was rather hoping for an uneventful evening, lady,” he said, “though I am glad of this opportunity to apologize for my boorish behavior.”

Her expression softened, but only marginally. “I heard of your duel with Lord Ferson.”

“Despite appearances I am not a duelist,” he said. “Lord Ferson challenged me. I did not desire it.”

“People say otherwise,” she observed, reaching out and filling a crystal cup with punch.

“Really. What do they say?” he asked.

She sipped her drink. Gaise took a deep breath, determined to maintain his composure. It was difficult, though, in her company. He found himself staring at her lips, the tiny movement in her throat as she swallowed, the creamy beauty of her skin.

“Is it customary to stare at a woman’s breasts where you come from?” she asked.

Gaise’s head jerked up. He reddened, which made the small white burn scar on his right cheek stand out. “I . . . am sorry, lady. Truth to tell, I am not comfortable in the presence of women. I seem to develop two left legs and the manners of a village idiot.”

“Your mother must have been a ferocious woman to leave you so daunted by female company.”

“She was murdered when I was a babe. My father never remarried.”

“Then how do you overcome this affliction, General Macon? You are a mildly presentable young man and, I would imagine, have enjoyed the company of at least a certain kind of woman.”

Gaise was shocked. He looked into her green eyes and saw that she was mocking him. Yet it seemed to him that her manner was more gentle and that there was no malice in it.

“I have never sought the company of such women,” he said.

Her surprise was genuine. “Let me understand this, sir. You are unused to the company of polite women, and you do not frequent the company of the other kind. Does this mean, sir, that the legendary Gray Ghost, the dashing cavalry general, is in fact a virgin?”

“I am, lady,” he told her, blushing furiously.

“Do you not know how to lie?” she inquired. “All men do it.”

“Of course. But why would you wish me to lie to you?”

“It is not about lying to me, sir. In my experience men are boastful and full of vain pride. I can think of no man who would so easily admit to his inexperience.”

“It was not easy, lady.”

She looked into his eyes, then glanced away. “Perhaps you are one of those who prefer the company of men . . . in all things. It would not be surprising.”

Gaise laughed. “It would surprise
me
. If I was so inclined, lady, I doubt you would be having the extraordinary effect on me that you are.”

Now it was Cordelia who blushed. She recovered her composure swiftly. “That was very smoothly said, General. Especially for a man who professes to be uncomfortable with women.”

“I know. I cannot explain it.”

“I understand you come from the north. They say it is pretty there.”

“Aye, it is a beautiful land. Majestic mountains and lakes of exquisite beauty. Will you be staying long in Shelding?”

“We had expected to stay longer, but Father has received new orders. We leave in four days.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“I am not,” she told him. “I long to return home.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Enjoy your evening, General,” she said, and with a delicate bow of her head moved away from him.

Gaise finished his punch, which was overly sweet, and located the mayor. Thanking him for his hospitality, he explained that there were military matters to attend to and left the gathering. Jaekel and Bard were waiting outside.

Mulgrave was waiting back at the house. “How did it go, sir?” he asked.

At that moment Soldier bounded from the rear rooms, his tail wagging. Gaise knelt down and patted the overexcited hound. “Be calm, now,” he said. “Settle down.” Eventually the hound quietened. Gaise sat by the fire, the dog at his feet.

“It was interesting,” said Gaise.

“Was she there?”

“Aye, she was. She is enchanting, Mulgrave. And I barely stumbled in my speech.”

“Will you be seeing her again?” The question was asked too innocently.

Gaise looked up at his friend. “What is bothering you, Mulgrave?”

The swordsman shrugged and forced a smile. “This is not a good time to fall in love, sir. We are surrounded by enemies.”

“Fear not, my friend. She and the general are leaving in four days. He has fresh orders.”

“I thought he was to stay for a month to establish the depot.”

“So did I. But that’s the army for you, Mulgrave.”

“The army,” Mulgrave muttered, with a shake of his head. “What we are facing here, sir, is not about armies at war. By heaven, you’d be safer if you led the men to join Luden Macks. At least then you’d know the enemy would be in front of you.”

Cordelia Lowen stood patiently as the elderly maid struggled to unfasten the twenty small mother-of-pearl buttons at the back of her gown. Cordelia loved the gown, but it was so impractical. Without a servant at hand she would have been forced to cut the garment clear. She had made that point to her father when he had bought it for her.

He had laughed. “That is entirely the point, my dear. Peasants wear dresses that are easily removed. Only the rich can wear this gown.”

It still seemed stupid to Cordelia. The buttons were beautiful, but they could just as easily have been placed at the front of the gown.

“Can’t seem to get this one, my dear,” said Mrs. Broadley. “Sorry to keep you waiting so.”

“That’s all right, Mara. It is loose enough now.” Stepping away from the woman, Cordelia undid the buttons of the sleeves, then began to tug the gown upward. The old woman tried to help. After a few moments of useless struggle Cordelia suddenly burst into laughter. “This is not a gown,” she said. “It is an instrument of torture. Cut the damned button off.”

“Oh, no, my lady,” wailed Mrs. Broadley. “It will ruin it. Let me try one more time.”

Cordelia’s good humor faded as she heard the terror in the old woman’s voice. If the dress was ruined, she would be blamed for being too arthritic to unbutton it. That might be the end of her employment. She and old Broadley, her husband, had been with Cordley Lowen for almost twenty years, having served his father before that. Cordelia wondered what they would do when their time of service was at an end. Did they have money saved? If they did, it would not be much.

“I’ve got it,” Mrs. Broadley said, happily. “Stand up, my dear.” Within moments the garment was laid upon the bed, and Cordelia breathed a sigh of deep relief.

“I could scarcely breathe in that thing,” she said. “I felt faint the whole evening.”

“I expect you were the center of attention. All the men there were dumbstruck by your beauty.”

Cordelia moved to the chair by the mirror. Mrs. Broadley removed the pins from the young woman’s hair, allowing it to tumble to her shoulders. Then the servant took up a silver-backed brush. “Have you seen General Macon?” asked Cordelia as her hair was being brushed.

“Unpleasant young man,” said Mrs. Broadley. “I remember Mr. Broadley telling me of his rudeness back at the old house.”

“Yes, yes, but have you
seen
him?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“What do you think?”

“Of what, my lady?”

“Do you find him presentable?”

“It has never crossed my mind. He is handsome, I would say. He carries himself well, though I don’t know why he should march everywhere with an honor guard.”

“There was an attempt on his life. Luden Macks sent two assassins to kill him. He fought them and killed them.”

“That is what soldiers do, I suppose. Kill people,” Mrs. Broadley said primly. “He is a noted duelist as well. He shot that Lord Ferson.”

“No, he didn’t. Lord Ferson was not shot. Gaise did not kill him.”

“Oh, Gaise, is it? Best not to let the general hear you use his given name, my lady. Mr. Broadley says the general does not hold this soldier in high regard. He was very rude, you know.”

“I do know, Mara. I was there.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Would you fetch me my robe. I think I shall join the general in the study.”

Moments later, in a white evening robe, Cordelia Lowen descended the stairs. Her father, having shed his uniform coat, was sitting at his desk, reading. Cordelia entered the room and poured herself a goblet of mulled wine. It was too heavily spiced but still good upon the tongue. “What are you reading?” she asked.

Cordley Lowen glanced up. “Letters outlining the finances of the Southlands Company. Molion sent them by rider this morning.”

“I expect they say you are richer than ever, Father.”

“Indeed they do. It makes happy reading,” he said, though she noted that his voice sounded far from happy. “Did you enjoy the party?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It was better than I expected.”

“I saw you talking to young Macon.”

“He apologized for his boorish behavior.”

“He is young and impetuous. He did what he believed was right.” Cordley Lowen shook his head and gave a wry smile. “Indeed, he
was
right.”

Cordelia was shocked. How could such behavior be considered right? She sipped her wine and settled down into a padded leather chair by the fire.

Cordley Lowen glanced at her and sighed. “I don’t want to lose your love, my child.”

“You never will, Father.”

“Never is a long time. I have done well for the king’s forces, finding food and supplies, ensuring that shipments arrive and that the army is never short of powder and shot.”

“Of course you have. The king could not have found a better man.”

“To do this I have needed to bribe officials and perform many unsavory deeds.”

“Such is the nature of the army, Father. Why are you talking like this?”

“To finance those bribes—and to line my own pockets—I have double sold some supplies. Meats and produce paid for by independent officers were . . . diverted.”

“You did what you had to do, I am sure. Let us not talk about this, Father. Please!”

“I have become a thief, Cordelia. On a grand scale. Macon paid for supplies he did not receive. That is why he came to the house. That was the reason for his anger.”

“Why are you telling me this? I did not need to know.”

“I need for you to know, and I cannot really explain why. Not even to myself, really. I think, perhaps, it is because you are the one true person in my life. You are indeed the only object of true worth I will leave behind me.”

“Stop it!” she cried, running to him and throwing her arms around him. “You are frightening me with this talk.” She kissed his cheek. “You are just tired, Father. You need rest.”

Taking her hands in his own, he kissed them. “You are right, of course. I am tired, and I am becoming maudlin. But I have been foolish these last few years. My eyes are open now, though. By heaven they are. I don’t know how I could have been so blind.” He turned away from her and stared out of the window at the moonlit snow covering the small garden at the rear of the house. Cordelia stood quietly, watching his face, reading the pain she saw there. It was an unsettling sight. The one great constant in Cordelia’s life was the power that emanated from her father. He was always sure, always confident. He radiated purpose.

Cordley Lowen sighed and ran a hand through his leonine hair. “Gaise Macon could have killed me. I would have thought that the child of such a father would have done so without hesitation.”

Glad of the opportunity to change the subject, Cordelia asked: “His father is an earl somewhere in the north, is he not?”

“His father is the Moidart, Cordelia. Tales of his savagery abound, though I would hope that the worst of them have never been repeated to you.”

“I have heard of the Moidart,” said Cordelia, “and some of the legends surrounding him. I do not believe them to be true. No Varlish lord would behave in so despicable a manner. The king would not allow it.”

“There you are wrong,” said Cordley Lowen. “The area under the Moidart’s rule has a history of rebellion, which is why his disgusting methods
were
allowed by the king and his father before him. His treatment of the clans, the tortures, the dismemberments, and the hangings are sadly a matter of public record. Though they pale into insignificance compared to some of the atrocities being perpetrated now in this war.”

“Luden Macks has much to answer for,” said Cordelia. “He will be brought to account for them.”

Cordley Lowen said nothing for a moment. He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do not make judgments about matters which are beyond your knowledge, Cordelia. Not all the atrocities . . .” He faltered, then swore softly. This surprised Cordelia, for she had never heard her father use such language. “Dammit, girl, not a tenth of the atrocities can be laid at Macks’ door. Men, women, and children have been ruthlessly and horribly butchered by soldiers riding under the king’s banner.” He fell silent for a few moments, and she saw that he was struggling for control. He closed his eyes and took several deep, slow breaths. “Come the spring I shall resign my commission, and we will go back to Varingas. Possibly even cross the water and head east to the Middle Sea. You always liked the estates there, I recall.”