The Pool of Two Moons (26 page)

His mother was reclining on the purple cushions of her carved and gilded throne, regarding the rings which decorated nearly every finger of her hands. On either side stood long lines of soldiers dressed in long white surcoats over hauberks and chausses. Their surcoats and banners were emblazoned with scarlet fitche crosses. At their head was a Berhtilde. The heaviness of her clothing could not quite conceal the fact that her left breast had been cut off.

Iain's step faltered, but he recovered himself immediately. Trying to walk with stately majesty (and all too conscious he looked a fool), Iain came to the center of the room and bowed, saying to himself:
Right
foot forward, point left leg, bend right leg from the hips, flourish with left hand . . .

"My dear, your bow grows more courtly every day,"

his mother purred. "Ye begin to look more like a Mac-Foghnan. Make your bow to your bride." Iain stiffened. Straightening, he glanced quickly around the room and saw a slender, fair girl seated on one of the chaise longues against the wall. She was dressed in a humble gray gown, her hair covered in a gray hood. She looked more like a chambermaid at a country house than a banprionnsa. Seated next to her was a hard-faced woman with a distinct beard sprouting from her chin.

Iain bowed as gracefully as he could, keeping his face expressionless. The girl rose rather timidly and curtsied.

"Elfrida Elise NicHilde, I have great pleasure in presenting my son, the Prionnsa Iain Strathclyde MacFogh-nan, heir to the Tower o' Mists and all o' Arran. Elfrida is, o' course, daughter o' and only heir to Dieter Mac-Hilde, former Prionnsa o' Tirsoilleir."

Iain sensed rather than saw the stiffening of the soldiers' stance, the tension in the slight figure of his bride.

"Iain, your bride has traveled far to be with ye. She shall need to rest before the ceremony to be sure to be in her greatest beauty. The wedding shall be tonight, at seven o'clock. Make sure ye are ready." His heart beating rather fast, Iain bowed his head in acquiescence before sneaking another quick glance at his prospective bride. For months, since his mother had told him she had arranged a marriage with a NicHilde, Iain had had nightmares of a big strapping girl who would out-ride, out-shoot and out-wrestle him. The MacHildes were the descendants of Berhtilde, the greatest fighter their world had ever known, known for her ruthlessness and great strength. This NicHilde was small, with a pointed face and large, fearful gray eyes. Iain felt his nervousness dissolve and he risked giving her a quick smile while his mother was conversing with the bearded lady-in-waiting. To his pleasure she smiled back, her rather plain face lighting with sweetness and charm.

"M-M-May I show ye to your rooms, m-m-my lady?" he asked.

"Ye may," his mother replied, shooting a quick, shrewd look at them both. "Her rooms are your rooms, Iain. I am anxious an heir shall be conceived as soon as possible. I hope they are in presentable order for your new bride?"

Iain blushed, thinking of the tangle of ink-stained clothes, the table piled with books and papers, now all blemished with ink, his unmade bed.

"I gather they are no'," Margrit smiled. She turned to the bearded woman and said conversationally.

"They say blood will always tell. My son's father was naught but a minor laird, more interested in hunting and bedding serving maids than affairs o' state. I be afraid Iain has inherited his shortcomings." This time Iain flushed to the roots of his hair, his fists involuntarily clenching. Margrit smiled and cooed at them sweetly. "Flutter away, my wee doves. Elfrida, my dear, we shall have to find ye something more suitable to wear. Ye look like a serving wench. I shall send my seamstresses to ye. Meanwhile, Iain, try to keep your hands off her. She'll be yours in just a few hours, ye can deflower her then. We want to be sure she is still a maid when the wedding vows are made."

He was conscious of the girl's flush and downcast eyes and wondered why it was his mother was always so coarse when she professed to be so delicately minded. With another small bow, he held out his hand to Elfrida. After a moment of hesitation, she put her fingers in his. They were cold and trembled. He resisted the urge to press them reassuringly, and led her into the hall.

Not a word passed between them all the way to his suite. Iain vacillated between ideas of escape and a desire to reassure her. Only the knowledge his mother would send out the Mesmerdean to hunt him down prevented him from making a run for it then and there. He was red with embarrassment as he ushered her into his untidy sitting room. "I'm s-s-sorry, I d-d-did no' ken ye were coming." She put back her hood with both hands, revealing pale gold hair pulled severely into a black snood at the back of her head. Her face was so small and colorless the style did not suit her, making her eyes seem far too large. When he put out his hands to take her hood, she shrank away.

He searched for something to say. "Have n-n-none o' your family come to see ye be m-m-m-m . . ." He struggled for a moment, and at last forced out, "Wed?"

She shook her head. "I have no family," she said in a soft voice. "They all perished in the troubles. My mother died when I was born, my father soon after."

Iain cursed himself for maladroitness. He had been thoroughly taught the history and politics of every country in the Far Islands. He knew the royal family of Tirsoilleir had been overthrown long ago, the land governed instead by a council elected from the warriors and priests. Despite several successful insurrections by the MacHildes, the council had again and again overthrown the throne and had ruled unchallenged for more than twenty years. The heir to the throne, Dieter MacHilde, had died fifteen or more years ago, trying to break out of the prison in which he had lived all his life. Elfrida must have been only three, for she was eighteen now. She looked younger. He wondered if she had been born and raised in the same prison as her father. He felt pity swell his heart.

Immediately Elfrida looked up, and her soft, pale mouth set tightly. "I have been well treated all my life by the Fealde and the Council. They fed me and schooled me at the expense o' the people, and for that I am grateful. My life has been easy and pampered in comparison with many o' the righteous, and I give thanks and blessing to our holy God that I was permitted to live despite my witch-tainted heritage." Iain glanced rather wildly from side to side, then said loudly, "Here is something ye m-m-may enjoy, my lady." He quickly wound up a beautiful musical toy and set it to playing a dreamy waltz. Then he took Elfrida's hand in his, and whispered in her ear, "Ye m-must realize ye are in one o' magic's 1-1-last strongholds! Do no' let my m-m-m-mother hear ye speak o' being 'tainted.' She will be very angry, and believe m-m-me, ye do no' wish her to be angry with ye."

Elfrida shot a glance at him out of her wide gray eyes and whispered back, "Does she listen to ye in your rooms?"

"She listens everywhere," Iain murmured back.

Elfrida nodded. "I am used to that. I was always spied upon in Bride. Ye must tell me what I am permitted to say and do. Ye need no' fear I shall forget."

Liking his bride more by the minute, Iain led her by the hand to the window embrasure and they sat in the shelter of the sweeping curtains. "Ye m-m-must never disagree with or disobey her," he whispered. "Ye m-m-must never let your face show any emotion she does no' w-w-wish to see. Ye must keep your real thoughts to yourself, and that is hard for she can read your thoughts if ye are n-n-no' careful. She believes ye are strong in magic. Are ye?"

Her face was tense. "I do no' ken. I have never been taught. I ... know things sometimes ..." In Bride suspected witches were burned. Iain knew that and squeezed her hand. She did not squeeze back. "Ye m-m-must learn as fast as ye can. I will help ye when I can." She nodded, and he bent his head closer to hers. Her skin was marvelously smooth and fine, her scent faint and fresh. He felt his body clench with desire and misgiving, and drew away a little. She looked up at him, gray eyes luminous, and he said diffidently, "How do ye f-f-f-feel about this m-m-m-m-marriage?"

"I am grateful to the Fealde for negotiating such an advantageous marriage for me. I give thanks to our Holy Father for his blessing and forgiveness and pray that I may be found worthy." Again her voice was flat, as if she was repeating something learned by rote.

"Ye do n-n-no' wish ... ye have no ... ye are no' frightened? S-s-s-o far away from home?"

"I am glad to be free o' Tirsoilleir," she hissed unexpectedly. "No matter how awful it is here, it canna be worse than Bride!"

Iain was about to question her more when he became aware of the curtain lifting slightly in a draught. He said loudly, "Look, Elfrida, see how the swans fly? Do they n-n-no' look bonny?" Elfrida glanced up at him sharply, then twisted in her seat so she was looking out over the misty Murkmyre. Beyond the loch, the marshes were wreathed in gray, but against a clear sky two swans flew, the rose and crimson of their wings flaming in the light of the setting sun. Elfrida gave a genuine exclamation of delight and knelt on the seat so she could watch them disappear over the pearly, scrolled minarets of the Tower of Mists.

Iain held back the curtains and said with only a slight 4
4
tremor in his voice, "N-n-now I had best be leaving ye, my lady, for ye must be sore tired and w-w-wishing a bath and a rest. Please forgive me the d-disorder o' my rooms; I shall send up a chamberm-m-maid at once."

As he had expected, Khan'tirell had entered his room and was making a show of tidying up some of the scattered clothes. Iain said, "Ah, Khan'tirell, your t-t-timing as always is impeccable. My lady Elfrida is in n-n-need 0' assistance. I shall leave her in your good hands."

It gave him immense satisfaction to see the slight flicker of surprise on the Khan'cohban's face. For possibly the first time in his twenty-three years Iain had bested his mother's chamberlain and he had to struggle to keep his face free of expression. Once he had left the chamber, he allowed himself a small smile and then hurried through the grand corridors until he came to the tower where his mother's Theurgia was housed. No guard stood before the ancient, iron-bound door for Margrit was confident her involuntary students would not make another attempt to escape after their last disastrous effort. Iain easily manipulated the lock open and slipped inside. He locked the door behind him and turned to the room full of children with his finger to his lip. One never knew when his mother would be listening. The room was lined on all sides with books and scrolls untidily thrust into every shelf. A long table filled most of the room, much scarred with ink and scratches. On a sideboard was a loaf of dark bread, much hacked about by blunt knives, and cold water. Iain wished he had thought to bring some delicacy from his own plate for the children. His mother believed half starving her involuntary pupils was as good a way as any to keep them in subjection.

Most of the smaller children clustered around Iain's legs hopefully as he drew near the fire, and he had to shake his head and show his empty pockets before they let him be. Whispering apologies, he drew up a chair at the far end of the table where a taller boy was sitting, desultorily playing cards with three younger lads.

Douglas MacSeinn smiled at him, his seagreen eyes brilliant, and made a sign with his left hand. Immediately the other three boys slipped from their place and went to play a very noisy game by the window. Under the cover of their laughter, Iain whispered, "She's c-c-come." Douglas immediately knew who he meant, and thought,
Time to go . . .

I do no' think so,
Iain replied.
I
am meant to be preparing for my wedding now. I shall soon be
missed. I think we must wait still.

But ye canna be marrying the big bosomy blonde!

Iain smiled, and whispered, "She's blonde but no' so big."

"Ye've met her?"

"Aye. Her n-n-name's Elfrida. There are about sixty soldiers with her, and apparently another thousand m-m-making their way through the m-m-mists. It's madness! My m-m-m-mother must have sent bogfaeries to guide them through, for there is no chance they could have penetrated the m-m-m-marshes otherwise. I bet she is making them pay d-d-d-dearly for her assistance."

"A thousand! That's a fair few."

"I think from something Elfrida's w-w-w-woman said that a division o' a similar size is t-t-t-trying to cross the Great Divide, to strike at B-B-B-Blessem from Aslinn."

"Even if they set up ropes and ladders for the soldiers to climb, it'll be slow work crossing the Great Divide," Douglas said confidently. He had tried to climb the three-hundred-foot-high cliff face himself and knew it was no easy task.

"Aye, indeed, but who k-k-k-kens when they began?" Iain pointed out. "It is M-M-M-Midsummer's Eve now. They could have been crossing the Great Divide since the snow m-m-m-melted. That was when my m-m-m-mother signed the alliance, so their plans must have been close to fruition then. Easy enough for them to hide out in Aslinn, for f-f-f-few live in the forests now."

Douglas nodded, his face grim. "Ye're right. We have no idea, really."

"I'll try and find out f-f-f-from Elfrida."

"But she is Tirsoilleirean! Ye canna be confiding in her!"

"I think I could," Iain said thoughtfully. "But I will no' yet. She has no love for the F-F-Fealde, though, Douglas. Think about it. The Kirk deposed her family and kept her locked up in a p-p-prison all her life. All she wants is to be free o' them."

"I'd wager she wishes to restore the monarchy in Tirsoilleir," Douglas cried. "She'd be a banprionnsa then."

"M-M-Maybe so. Who kens? I think she'll b-b-be an ally though."

"Ye canna be telling her about our escape plans!"

Iain held his finger up to his lips to warn his friend to keep his voice down. "I will no' t-t-tell her," he whispered reassuringly. "No' yet anyway. After tonight, though, she'll be my w-w-w-wife. I'll have to tell her sometime."

"That soon! Tonight!"

"Aye, my m-m-m-mother does no' believe in wasting time. Besides, it's Midsummer's Eve—I believe she always p-p-planned for me to jump the f-f-f-fire tonight, she always holds hard to t-t-traditions."