Jill Williamson: To Darkness Fled

The men talked until the food tray was empty and their stomachs growled for lunch. Achan decided to conclude for today. Sir Caleb would work on recruiting new men. Sir Gavin would send out scouts. And Sir Eagan would speak with Duchess Amal about a suitable priest.

Anillo arrived to see whether they would like lunch brought in, but Sir Caleb jumped to his feet. "Your Highness, I almost forgot you've not yet heard our good news. Sir Eagan, please, you tell him."

Sir Eagan reached for the scroll wrapped around a swatch of burgundy satin. He turned his piercing blue eyes to Achan. "Duchess Amal has accepted our offer."

"Which offer?" Achan could hardly keep up with all the tasks to be done.

"Your offer to wed her eldest daughter, Lady Averella."

A chill ran over Achan's arms. "Oh."

Sir Eagan held up the scroll and passed it to Sir Caleb, who passed it to Sir Gavin, who handed it to Achan. Achan unrolled it, hands shaking, and set the fabric aside. He anchored the top of the scroll with his cup and held the bottom with his fingertips. The neat and curvy writing took him longer to read than he would have liked with everyone watching.

Your Royal Highness, Prince Gidon Hadar, otherwise known as Achan Cham,

It is with great honor that I received your request for my daughter's hand in marriage. I must confess she had long ago pledged her hand to another. Time and recent events have changed that matter, however, and I assure you her relationship with her previous suitor has desisted peaceably with no harm to her virtue.

I vouchsafe to you my eldest daughter and heir, Lady Averella Amal, to wed once Armonguard has passed into your hands. As a token of this agreement, I have enclosed a sleeve from one of Averella's gowns. I chose one of the colors of Carmine so that when you wear this token wherever you go, people will know of our alliance.

Though this wedding be delayed, I pray Arman give you patience to endure until the day you kiss your bride. Until then, allow me to think of you as my son.

Lady Nitsa Amal, Duchess of Carm

Achan leaned back and released the scroll. It sprang into a tight coil against his mug. Well, that settled it. A lightheaded spell gripped Achan. He hooked a finger around the cord at his neck. Farewell then, Vrell Sparrow.

The knights burst into laughter. Laughter!

Achan looked up, eyes wide, heat warming his face. "Does anyone know what she looks like?"

Another bout of laughter.

"She's a very comely young woman, Achan," Sir Gavin said.

"As pretty as her mother," Sir Eagan added.

Well, that was comforting. He reached one trembling hand for the silky burgundy fabric and lifted it up. It was, indeed, a woman's dress sleeve. Made of thick satin, the sleeve was narrow around the arm but tapered into a pointed bell at the end. A single golden cord ran down the sleeve's edge. The scent of rose water made him think of Sparrow.

He supposed all women liked rose water.

He stared at it for a long time, then found his voice. "I'm to wear this?"

The men sniggered. Achan dropped the sleeve, refilled his cup, and downed the water in one long gulp.

Sir Eagan came to his aid. The knight walked to Achan's side and snagged the sleeve from the table. "You have never seen a knight wear a lady's token at tournament?"

Achan nodded. "I've seen them tuck handkerchiefs into their helm or tie them 'round their arm."

"That is what you will do with this sleeve." Sir Eagan threaded the fabric behind Achan's right arm, around his sling.

"He's naturally left-handed," Sir Gavin said. "It should go on his sword arm."

"Is he?" Sir Eagan said. "I should have guessed."

He gently tugged the sleeve from Achan's sore arm and, within moments, had tied it around Achan's left bicep. It hung bright against his light blue tunic, tied snugly so it wouldn't fall, a constant reminder of yet another yoke on his life.

Again he thought of Sparrow.

He met Sir Eagan's eyes. The knight smiled. "You look as though we have asked you to walk the castle in naught but your skin. 'Tis not so bad, Your Highness." He stepped behind Achan and rubbed his shoulders. Head bent down, he spoke softly in Achan's left ear. "Now, you are not only a hero to this land, you are a hero to one woman, which will tug at the heartstrings of every woman in Er'Rets, who will beg their men to go out and support you. For people are easily caught up in a great love story and are often eager to do their part in making it succeed."

And if the groom wasn't eager to be caught up in his own great love story, what of that?

Achan stood and handed the scroll to Sir Eagan. "Let us go eat, then, and tug at some heartstrings."

*

"How dare you!"

"I gave you opportunity to give me good reason."

Hot rage flashed through Vrell's body. "A day? One day? Mother! How could you do this to me? You have no right."

"I have every right. Averella, I have coddled you far too long. Not only can I see you love that boy, I know he cares for you a great deal. He respects you, dearest, enough to sacrifice his honor for a girl he thinks is a stray. I understand you are embarrassed, but I am convinced this is Arman's will. It is also the best possible match for uniting the people of this duchy and Er'Rets. It is far better than an arranged marriage, this-"

"— is an arranged marriage. Mother, you promised."

"Promised what?"

"That I could choose whom I would marry."

"No. I promised to consider your own choice for a husband. And I did consider allowing you to marry Master Rennan. But now that you both have relinquished your desires, and now that the perfect offer has come along, one from a good man, a man you love and who loves you-and happens to be our future king-so that you are marrying and choosing whom to marry, because you are too stubborn to admit your love, I am taking charge."

Vrell steeled her emotions. "I will not do it."

"You will leave your king standing at the altar? The man you love? You will disgrace him publicly in front of the whole kingdom? He already wears your sleeve. Averella, stop ranting about and act your age."

" My age?" Vrell could not stand it. She had been home less than a week and felt more trapped and suffocated than she ever had inside that disguise. She dug deep into a place she did not want to go, to concerns and questions she did not want answers to. "This is a nonissue if I am not your heir."

"Do not be absurd, dearest. You are the eldest. You are my heir."

"But if I am not the daughter of Duke Amal, I am not heir to Carm." She paused, watching her mother's porcelain skin pink, her sculpted eyebrows crumple.

"I do not understand you, Averella. What are you hedging about?"

Vrell stood tall. "I do not think Duke Amal is my father. My heart tells me you have deceived me in this matter. My heart tells me Sir Eagan Barak is my father. Do you deny it?"

Mother lowered herself to the sofa, put a hand to her cheek, and released a shaky breath. "What in all Er'Rets led you to believe such a thing?"

"Besides the fact that he and I have the same face?"

Mother stared at Vrell a moment then clutched her ashen face in her hands. Jagged sobs erupted from her, bringing tears to Vrell's eyes as well.

"I knew it." Vrell started to cry. "Mother, how could you allow yourself to…?"

A silence passed where both women wept. Mother caught hold of her composure first.

"I did not want to marry Duke Amal. My heart was broken and I was weak. I felt Arman had abandoned me. In my sorrow I turned from Arman and clung to the one my heart loved. And it only made me love Eagan more, which made everything harder. But I obeyed my father and married the duke. Months passed before I discovered I was with child. I had no way of knowing who…"