Thornbear (Book 1) (24 page)

“One of her relatives is from the Southern Desert,” explained Gram.

“I thought she bore a faint resemblance to Sir Cyhan,” said his mother. “That would make sense then.”

The thought surprised Gram, for he had never considered any similarity between the two. She certainly had nothing of Cyhan’s rugged features, but there was something in the eyes…

“It must come from John’s side,” continued Rose. “I’ve met Marie before, and there was no hint of it in her features.”

“Marie?”

“Conradt,” said Rose with a nod, “her mother.”

His mother knew her mother.
Why am I not surprised?
“You met her mother?”

“When I was younger, yes. She had not married yet. She was from Albamarl originally; her father was a minor knight in service to the Airedales.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Twenty years,” she said immediately, and then added. “I must seem very old to you.”

Twenty years, and she probably remembers every detail.
“Do you know much about her father?”

His mother looked at him, her eyes shifting from their gaze on the past to focus on the present. Gram affected a calm appearance as he watched the girl dance, but his stance held a certain tension. He was nervous—and he had just asked a question about the young lady’s parentage. “The Conradt Barony is a very old one in Gododdin, but they have come down in the world since the time of King Valerius.”

The change in Gram’s posture answered her question, so she decided to go easy on her son.

“Still, she would be a suitable match for almost any young man in Lothion,” she added.

He relaxed a bit. “Would you like me to introduce you, since she arrived after you left?”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

He waited until the song had finished and then caught her just as Mordecai was taking his leave of her. “Might I borrow you for a while?”

She smiled and took his arm, letting him guide her toward Lady Rose. “I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be,” he told her. “She can smell fear.”

Alyssa laughed, “That’s terrible. You shouldn’t speak of your mother so.”

He smoothed his face, but gave her a knowing wink. They were within earshot now. “Mother, it is my pleasure to introduce Lady Alyssa Conradt. Alyssa, this is my mother, Lady Rose Thornbear.”

Alyssa curtsied, bowing her head deeply, “Lady Rose, it is an honor to meet you.”

Rose stepped closer, returning the gesture before taking both of Alyssa’s hands in her own. “Please be at ease. I am happy to make your acquaintance. The Countess and my son have both spoken highly of you.”

“They are too kind,” demurred Alyssa.

“I think not. I also owe you a debt for your treatment of Gram’s injuries. Elise tells me that your needlework is as fine as any she has seen,” said Rose.

Alyssa blushed.

“Tell me, how is Marie?”

Alyssa hesitated, taken unaware by the question, “She is well, milady.”

“You take after her a bit,” added Rose, “but you must favor your father more.”

“I didn’t realize you knew my mother,” admitted Alyssa.

“She never mentioned me?” Rose’s eyes were calm, but Gram recognized his mother’s expression. She was analyzing her opponent. “I thought I made a bigger impression. Well, no matter, perhaps she didn’t realize I lived in Cameron now. You will have to send her my greetings when you return.”

“I will indeed, milady,” said Alyssa. “Though I may be slightly cross with her for neglecting to tell me about such a good friend.”

“Don’t worry about it, dear,” answered Rose. “Marie was always a little forgetful. I’ll tease her about it in my next letter.”

“I would be happy to take it with me when I return,” offered Alyssa.

“Thank you,” said Rose. “Tell me, does your mother still sing? She used to have such a lovely voice.”

Why is she doing this?
Her words were friendly, but Gram knew his mother was testing her. He fought to control his frustration.

“She does,” said Alyssa warily.

“She told me you had an even greater gift,” said Rose. “Is that true?”

“I would not be so bold as to call it a gift, Lady Rose,” said Alyssa, “but I have some skill in that direction. I am sure I could not compare to my mother.”

Gram could sense a change in Alyssa. She had been growing tenser, but at the mention of singing she had relaxed. “I didn’t know you sang,” he said, breaking in.

“You never asked,” she countered, smiling.

“Would you honor us with a song?” suggested Rose.

“I wouldn’t want to disrupt the dancing.”

“Nonsense,” said Rose. “I’ll speak to the Countess; everyone would be pleased to hear a new voice. Come with me.” And with that she led Alyssa away, heading in the direction of Penelope Illeniel.

Gram was left staring after them.
What just happened? Did we win?
He wasn’t certain.

“You really like her don’t you?” said Carissa, returning to his side.

He winced, “Is it obvious?”

“If I can tell, then Momma must be scared to death,” she replied.

“Scared?” Gram laughed, his mother was only human, but he couldn’t imagine her being frightened by any woman. She was more intelligent than anyone he could think of, and high society was her battleground of choice.

“If you get married you might leave,” added his sister. “Wouldn’t you be scared?”

He hadn’t looked at it in that light. Gram looked at his sister again, seeing her in a new light. Not only was she more mature than he would have wished, she was too smart for her own good.
Just like Mother,
he thought. “Are you scared?” he asked her.

She tilted her head up, “Not yet. I think I might like her, but it’s too soon to tell. If I decide she’s a good match for my brother,
then
I’ll be a little scared.”

“And if you don’t like her?”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” His sister bared her teeth in a most unladylike fashion, her hand curled into a claw. She completed the gesture with a cat-like hiss. “I’m a Thornbear too!”

Gram almost choked then, amused and touched at the same time. “I pity your foes,” he said in mock seriousness.

“You wouldn’t need to pity them. If they hurt you, I would find them, and they probably wouldn’t survive the experience.” Carissa patted his hand affectionately.

“You are going to be a real terror someday,” he told her.

A hush grew as the Countess took the ‘stage’ in front of the musicians. “If you will listen closely, Lady Alyssa has graciously accepted a request for a song. Please give her your undivided attention.” With that Penelope Illeniel stepped down and Alyssa took her place.

She blinked at the crowd as all eyes turned on her. If she were nervous, it wasn’t visible. She smiled and then turned to the musicians, making sure they knew the music for her song. Then she faced the hall once more and waited, letting the music reach the proper point before joining it with her voice.

She was singing a song that Gram had only heard once before, when a talented band of troubadours had stopped at Cameron Castle on their way to Surencia. The musical accompaniment was a delicate piece, primarily played on the harp, but the central theme of the song involved a heavy drum beat, followed by a prolonged silence.

The reason the song was rarely performed was because it required a powerful voice and a range spanning more than three octaves. It was known as the ‘Aria Adamant’; a lengthy song that spanned the joy of two lovers and followed them until their tragic deaths in the middle of a war between ancient Dunbar and Gododdin. Some claimed it was based on a historical account, but even the historians knew not whether it had any basis in fact, only that there had been a war.

When she began to sing Gram realized that it didn’t matter. Fact or fable, the truth of the two lovers rolled across the still room as her voice took command of the empty space. No one moved, and some even stopped breathing, for fear of missing even the smallest part of the song’s opening.

Even her breathing contributed, providing dramatic pauses after long melodic passages. It felt as though every person in the room was in limbo when she stopped, fearful she might not continue—but she did. The war began, and the drums came in, providing a counterpoint to her song. Her voice deepened, dipping lower than Gram thought possible for such a slender woman, only to rise again as the song reached its violent crescendo.

The drums ended and their hearts stopped with them, until her voice returned, rising from the ashes of war like the sun over a long dead battlefield. It brought with it the hope of the lovers, finding one another on the field, to share their last moments, before the tragic end.

As the last notes died away and silence filled the room Gram could hear stifled sobs, but they were quickly drowned out as cheers rose up with loud applause. There were few dry eyes in the room and Alyssa herself appeared to have been moved by the song, her eyes glistening and her brow damp from the effort of her singing.

Chapter 22

It was a few minutes before everyone recovered from the effects of the song, but the musicians began to play again and soon people began to dance. Those that weren’t dancing could only speak of her performance and Alyssa was soon being shuttled from one group to the next, accepting their congratulations and casting the occasional apologetic glance in Gram’s direction.

He only smiled. He was happier than he could remember ever being.

“What did you think?” he asked his mother when she returned to him.

Rose lifted both brows in honest admiration, “She far outshines her mother’s singing.”

“Do you like her?” he asked, hopeful.

“I hardly know her,” she answered, “but there’s no doubting her beauty and talent. I do still have questions, but time will answer them.”

Gram had hoped for more, but he knew better than to press.

Rose watched him and then added, “You’re smitten aren’t you?”

He lowered his eyes, “Hopelessly.”

“Then I sincerely hope that she is everything she seems. I won’t forgive her if she breaks your heart. Would you be willing to grant your mother a dance?”

He agreed and they stepped out on the floor, mother and son, dancing a slow and stately pavan. It lasted for nearly ten minutes and when it was over Rose kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Gram,” she said then. “I hope you realize how proud I am of you.”

“I do, Mother,” he answered, embarrassed.

After that he left his sister with their mother and began making his way around the room, hoping to be reunited with Alyssa. He passed close to Perry and Robert Lethy during his journey, and they called out to him.

“She has the voice of a goddess!” enthused Robert. “You are a lucky man, Gram.”

“How so?” he asked.

“Don’t play dumb! She’s had eyes for no one else these past few weeks. Every man in the castle is dying of envy now!” said Robert, punching Perry in the arm. “Isn’t that right, Perry?”

Perry’s face lit with an angry fire. He answered with a simple, “Yeah.”

“I’d better get moving, fellows,” said Gram, excusing himself.

Before he could get away, Perry leaned close, “I hope you enjoy your whore. I certainly did.”

Gram stopped, feeling as though he had been doused with cold water. His mind replayed the words for him, but he couldn’t believe they were real. “What did you say to me?”

“You heard me.”

The music was still playing, but Gram could no longer hear it. His vision had narrowed to a dark red tunnel, with only one man at its center, Perry Draper.

“You going to start a scene in the middle of the ball, Gram?” sneered Perry. “Wouldn’t Mommy be disappointed in you then?”

“No,” he said, barely able to speak. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” Taking a step forward he shoved his antagonist so suddenly that Perry flew backward, crashing into Robert before falling to the floor.

He leapt up, swinging at Gram with a wild roundhouse.

A small step and a turn and the blow passed, only the inside of Perry’s arm struck Gram’s shoulder. Close now, his fist came up, and with his knuckles pointed he rammed them into the soft spot just below his opponent’s sternum. Perry folded and collapsed in front of him. Gram followed with a solid kick to the face, regretting for a moment that he wore only soft ball shoes rather than his usual riding boots.

Blood spattered the floor as Perry’s nose erupted like a red fountain.

People, men in the main, were closing on him from every direction.

Most fights between young men involve a lot of shouting and posturing, and frequently the combatants wait to be ‘held back’ by their friends, allowing the situation to be contained without losing face. Gram had no such intention.

Sir Cyhan stood less than ten feet away, but he made no move to interfere.

Robert Lethy put a hand on Gram’s shoulder, and immediately found himself flying.

Reaching down Gram pulled Perry back up, and then drove him to the floor again with a powerful downward strike. The squire landed and regained enough sense to begin scrabbling, trying to get some distance between them.

Lord Eric and Lord Stephen were moving forward, but Cyhan cautioned them, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

They ignored him, and Eric flung himself forward, attempting a flying tackle while Stephen approached from the other side to help catch them both afterward.

Gram stepped forward and spun, driving an elbow into Eric’s face and sending him to the floor before continuing into a stomp-kick that ended with Lord Stephen falling backward, clutching his mid-section.

“I warned you,” noted Cyhan, but no one was listening.

Gram was advancing on Perry now. The other man had regained his feet and fear was written on his face. Desperate, he drew his feast knife, holding it before him, but Gram was undeterred.

Someone screamed as they saw Gram lunge forward, heedless of the knife, but it missed him. Gram had deflected his opponent’s wrist, knocking the knife hand upward as he stepped in close. He slipped his arm into Perry’s, folding it at the elbow and forcing his antagonist into a tight arm-lock.