17

17

Konrad arrived early at the palace jousting grounds and soon retrieved the last of his kit, strapping it to Actaeon’s broad back. The tents, which had been set up to house the various bits of equipment, were mostly empty, though a few people were milling about, mostly servants and attendants. He expected the likes of Vawdrey and Orde were still lolling abed with their wives at this time.

He was just passing the last of the striped tents when he was hailed by Sir Douglas Farleigh, who came hurrying after him. Kentigern halted and wondered for the thousandth time why it was that Farleigh was always so damned pleased to see him.

“Well met, my lord!” the younger knight enthused, hurrying to his side. “I was sorry you did not attend last night’s feast.”

Konrad eyed him askance. “I rarely attend such functions.”

“True, but in light of your triumphant win …” the other trailed off.

Konrad shrugged. “I am sure there were revelers enough to fill the hall. I doubt my presence was missed.”

Farleigh stared at him. “A good many looked for you there, my lord. I was one such.”

Konrad blinked, taken aback by so plain a statement. He scratched his neck. “I am lately married,” he heard himself say in the manner of one making some sort of lame excuse. What was he doing?

Farleigh’s frown cleared in an instant, as though his words explained everything. “Congratulations, my lord! Your bride does not care for the clamor of boisterous knights, I take it, and I am sure none could blame her.” He looked suddenly wistful. “My own wooing, I confess, has been far from smooth. You have heard of Lady Constance Northcott?”

Konrad glanced about him, but there was no one in sight to stem Farleigh’s flow. “Er … no?” he said in lieu of anything else occurring to him.

“She is the most beauteous maiden in all Karadok,” Farleigh said fervently. “But she is very cultured and has many suitors.” He pulled a face. “Alas, she does not care to watch the lists.”

“Maybe you should find one that does.”

“One what?”

“Woman.”

“Oh,” Farleigh looked flummoxed. “Well, as to that …” He scratched the back of his neck. “After all, Kentigern, you said your own wife –”

“Aimee is not like that,” Konrad cut across his words. “She likes the lists. All this,” he waved a hand vaguely, “pageantry and so forth.” After all, she had worn his banner as a dress for all to see. And he had repaid her for that display of loyalty by giving the crown to another woman.

Farleigh plunked his hands on his hips and breathed out. “Where are you headed now, my lord?” he asked beseechingly. “Fain, would I have some speech with you.”

“Oh, yes?” It was not that Konrad was flattered precisely. It was more that he did not know what to do with himself this morning. Which was why, precisely half an hour later, he found himself sat in an accommodating inn looking across a table at Farleigh as the younger knight poured out his woes.

Konrad lowered his tankard and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The ale was good. Several platters were plunked down on the tabletop before them. He pulled the nearest toward him and tucked in as Farleigh listed Lady Constance’s virtues. He let the lad speak his fill, and there was plenty on his mind. Konrad had eaten most of the beef slathered in hot yellow mustard by the time Farleigh’s words had petered out.

“It amounts to this,” Konrad said heavily, pushing his trencher away. “What does she want from life? Have you asked her?”

“Oh, I know that alright,” Farleigh answered frustratedly. “She wants music, enlightened conversation and such like.”

Konrad blanched. “You think you can give her that?”

Farleigh shrugged a moody shoulder. “I don’t know,” he mumbled into his ale cup.

Konrad found himself reminded of that gods-awful family Aimee said she had spent time with. What was their name? Highcliff? Wycliffe? “You’d have to have to invite philosophers and poets to your table for after dinner speeches,” he warned.

“Vawdrey seems to manage alright,” Farleigh mumbled mutinously.

“What’s that you say?”

“Vawdrey’s wife is one of that set. Patroness of the arts and the like. He seems happy enough with her.”

Konrad reflected on this. “Vawdrey has an affable nature,” he said after a minute. “Besides,” he added gruffly. “They – er – want the same thing. Vawdrey and his wife. To be together. That means they find a way to make it work.” Farleigh’s mouth dropped open. “It’s true,” Konrad said with surprise, for he had never really thought about it before.

“So,” Farleigh glared into his ale cup. “You mean I have to make sure the lady returns my affections?” That had not been what Konrad had meant at all, but when he opened his mouth to refute this, words failed him. “That way,” Farleigh carried on, “she won’t care about me being an uncultivated dog.” His frown cleared. “Yes, I suppose that simplifies things.”

“Does it?” Konrad gazed at him in surprise.

“If I secure her affections, then our differences won’t truly matter,” Farleigh nodded. He reached into his tunic. “Tell me, my lord, what think you of this?” He withdrew his hand and held out his palm to show something that Kentigern first took to be a coin suspended on a gold chain, but on closer inspection turned out to be a disc decorated in colored enamel.

“What is it?”

Farleigh blushed. “A token for my lady,” he explained. “See, it shows a knight, depicted in armor. I thought it might make her look favorably on me.” He directed a hopeful look in Konrad’s direction. “Do you think it might soften her heart toward me?”

Konrad frowned and took another swig of ale. It seemed to him that if Lady Constance was not a fan of knightly pursuits, then such a present was unlikely to curry favor. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you ought to get her something she likes,” he suggested uncomfortably.

“Such as?”

“A book?” he suggested feebly, as Farleigh clapped a hand to his forehead.

“You mean commission a poet!” he yelled, drowning out Konrad’s words. “Of course! Why did I not think of that?” He fingered his hairless chin. “I could get him to pen me a ballad that pleads my cause!”

Konrad eyed him doubtfully before inspiration struck. “Why don’t you just ask Vawdrey how he won over his wife?” he suggested, with what he thought to be an almost staggering logic.

Farleigh cast him a horrified glance before lowering his voice. “Everyone knows Vawdrey seduced the Lady Eden,” he answered in hushed tones. “It was a huge scandal at the time. Do you not remember the queen demanded an account of it at court?”

“No, did he?” Konrad asked with a certain grudging respect. He knew Vawdrey was brave, but not that brave. Even he could tell the Lady Eden was a formidable sort.

“I could never disrespect Constance so,” Farleigh said virtuously.

“Hmmm.” For his part, Konrad was starting to think Farleigh’s cause was a hopeless one. “Where did you get the necklace?” he asked on impulse. He did not think Aimee possessed much by way of jewelry. In any case, she never seemed to wear much.

Farleigh brightened. “A goldsmith currently much in favor at court. He has premises in Bulwark Lane. Blyfield is his name.”

“He ever do any work resetting jewels?” Konrad asked, thinking of the sorry state of what remained of the Bartree jewels. They had been wrenched from their gold settings which had been donated to the Blechmarsh cause. His father had kept the precious stones back, though he had gladly handed over every piece of plate, coronet, ring, brooch, chain, or chalice about the place.

Farleigh shrugged. “As to that, I couldn’t say,” he admitted. “But it’s likely, if they are good enough quality.”

Konrad bristled, but realizing that Farleigh meant no offense, he let the implied insult pass.

He considered the matter as Farleigh wolfed down his share of the meal. He would pay a visit to this jeweler on Bulwark Lane. He should have thought of it before, of course. Women liked jewels and received them on betrothals and marriages. That Aimee had not had been an oversight on his behalf. Their meal finished, the two knights bade each other farewell, Farleigh thanking him fervently for his ‘advice’. Konrad suspected his intention was to seek out a poet forthwith.

Konrad turned his feet impulsively toward the house on Lime Street. Jakeman had retrieved the last of his banners and practice spears, and he had returned Actaeon to the ostlers himself before his meal. Making your way through the twisting streets and alleys of Caer Lyoness was far easier on foot. He would collect the pouch of jewels from his strongbox and take them to the goldsmith. After all, why should he not, he reasoned with himself. Aimee was their rightful owner now.

Letting himself into the house, he ran straight up the stairs to his own bedchamber. Throwing open the cabinet doors, he retrieved the key from around his neck and undid the big, studded strongbox he kept right at the bottom. It was a large, battered trunk, which had been with him for many years and contained all his most valuable treasures.

Ignoring the several bags of gold which Ankatel had bestowed on him and the shredded gown he had balled up in one corner, he reached instead for a leather pouch and tucked it into his tunic. Then he took out the uppermost bag of coins, which constituted his winnings from the previous day. It felt right somehow that it should be his own money which paid for Aimee’s finery. He relocked the trunk and closed the cabinet, turning around.

That was when his eye fell on the little velvet bag on his pillow bearer. He made his way toward it with some reluctance and tipped the contents of the drawstring bag into the center of his palm. Was she going to reward him every time he bedded her, he wondered impatiently. A gold signet rolled to its side, showing its oval cabochon of red carnelian. As suspected, it was carved with the Kentigern portcullis. Konrad rolled his eyes.

Did she not think he would have reached the grand age of thirty-one without possessing a signet ring? True, the one he had been given by his father on his twenty-first birthday had been stolen from his finger as he lay near death on a muddy battlefield. But he had inherited his late father’s own ring two years later. The thing had never fitted him, and he had to wear it about his neck, but even so, it was functional still for pressing into sealing wax.

It was not half so fine as this one though, he acknowledged, sliding it onto his finger with ease and lifting it for further scrutinization. For the first time, he noticed the gold border that circled the emblem was intricately carved with a lettering he had to squint to make out. With a muffled exclamation, he read the familiar words. Resilient Under Adversity.

When had she found out his family motto?He lowered his hand, staring blindly ahead of him. Could it be, he pondered slowly, that Aimee Ankatel had noticed he wore no signet ring upon his finger? Not at Kellingford, no, but later mayhap, when he had taken that meal at her father’s house? The idea that even then she had she been looking for ways to please him gave him the oddest sensation of tightness in his chest.

The thought of buying her gifts or betrothal tokens had not even occurred to him. In truth, he had not thought of her at all. But she had thought of him, he realized with uncomfortable clarity. Maybe constantly since he had caught her fancy. The thought was a strangely disquieting one.

He remembered the encouraging smiles, the frequent way she had touched his hand at their wedding feast, the hopeful look in her eye. She had not been so free and easy with him since, he did not think. That struck him now as all wrong. If the stark reality of the wedding bed had not been enough to kill Aimee Ankatel’s idealistic fancies, then his behavior at the palace had likely dealt the death blow.

His steps slowed as he recalled other things he would as soon not remember. Leaving her at the foot of the stairs to deal with the dismissal of the wedding attendants. He should not have done that. He had been irritated, harried by the heat and his responsibilities toward his own kinswomen. Not just that though, he acknowledged. He had blamed Aimee for the ostentation of their wedding celebrations.

It had been an embarrassing rigmarole for him to get through, but she had been a young and hopeful bride who had thought herself … what? In love with him? The startling notion caused him to stand stock still in the act of shutting his bedchamber door behind him. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. In truth, nothing else really made sense when it came to her selecting him for a bridegroom.

Why else would she have picked him over the many younger and handsomer knights paraded before her? Renlow for one, Farleigh was another. Both were far better suited for Ankatel’s beauteous daughter than he. They might not have a title, but what did that matter when you had as much wealth as Ankatel?

I do not love you anymore. He had no notion why Aimee’s words kept drifting back into his head.

He started down the passageway, squaring his shoulders to face the fact head on. She had seen him suffer a crashing defeat to Renlow. She had thought his subsequent actions demonstrated some nobility of character he did not possess. She had fancied herself in love with some chivalric figure and then, gods help her, she had woken to the reality she was wedded to an inconsiderate brute without a noble bone in his body.

Even then, he reflected, she had not despaired but tried to make things work and win his favor. She had welcomed his return to her bed. She had worn his colors to the summer tournament. And she had suffered for it. Not only that, he thought, she had demonstrated the value the Bartrees had always prized most highly. Aimee had shown resilience under adversity.

He dared not dwell on the pleasure he had drawn from her body the previous night. He should have been down on his knees apologizing, not slinging her over his shoulder like that. Gods! So lost in thought was he that he did not even register at first the voices drifting along the corridor. Then he heard masculine laughter and bristled all over. Who the hells was that in his house?

He advanced to the end of the passage and threw open the door to the oaken parlor. Freda, who was sat before the fire facing Gerold Ankatel, let out a startled shriek. Seeing who it was framed in the doorway, she sank back in her seat and pressed a thin hand to her meagre bosom. “Oh, Konrad!” she whimpered. “How you did startle me!”

“Kentigern,” Gerold Ankatel greeted him, rising to his feet. He eyed his son-in-law cautiously. “Is all well?”

Konrad recovered himself in an instant. “Your pardon, Ankatel,” he said, coming at once into the room. “I – er – did not realize this room was in use.”

“I am keeping Mistress Freda company this afternoon,” the other man responded easily. “As I find my daughter away from home.”

“Away from home?” Konrad repeated sharply. He shot a quizzical look at Freda.

“Oh – er – that is, Aimee received a personal invitation from the queen this morning,” Freda stammered. “A most gracious attention from her majesty.”

Konrad stared at his cousin a moment. “Oh?” he said testily. What the hells was the southern queen playing at, he wondered, taking such a particular interest in his wife.

“Indeed, she seemed very taken with Aimee yesterday,” Freda observed. “Really, she was speaking to her for an age. Nothing would do for her highness except to send everyone else away and have Aimee sit at her feet and tell her all about herself.”

Konrad felt a twinge of misgiving. All about herself? It seemed unlikely to him somehow that Queen Armenal would find the life of a merchant’s daughter so very fascinating.

“Well, well,” Ankatel’s chest puffed out. “The Queen of Karadok taking a fancy to my little Aimee! Mind, she’s a taking little thing, even if I do say so myself,” her fond father commented with pride. “Takes after her mother in that respect.”

“Mistress Ankatel must have been a very charming creature indeed,” Freda twittered and earned a beaming smile from the amiable merchant.

“Well, she wasn’t a lady, strictly speaking,” he conceded. “Her father owned some very fine vineyards in the east. But I have never found anyone to rival her. Not in my estimation.”

“Oh!” said Freda, who seemed almost brought to the brink of tears by these words. “Such sentiments do you credit, good master Ankatel.”

“Sit down, my boy! Sit down!” Ankatel urged. “For your cousin was telling me you were victorious yesterday, both in the melee and the jousting.”

Konrad lowered himself gingerly onto a seat. “Yes,” he agreed tersely. Seeing two pairs of enquiring eyes directed his way, he reached into his tunic for the leather pouch. “I just came back to fetch these,” he admitted and loosed the strings to show the jewels within.

Gerold whistled. “A pretty haul! They must have cost a small fortune, my lord!”

Konrad shook his head. “These have been in my family for centuries.”

Freda gasped. “Are they truly the Bartree jewels, Konrad?”

He nodded. “My father kept hold of them and nothing else.”

Freda’s face fell. “The diadem, it’s truly gone, then? And my aunt’s collection?”

“Long gone,” he confirmed. “Donated to the Blechmarsh cause. It would have been melted down.” He spilled the gems into his hand and pointed to three large green stones. “These are the emeralds from the diadem though.”

“Oh,” Freda sighed. “At least they remain.”

“I thought to get them re-set,” he admitted cautiously.

Freda clapped her hands. “For Aimee?” she said excitedly. When he nodded, she breathed, “What a wonderful idea, Konrad! She will be thrilled! Once I understood how things stood, I thought it such a shame that there was no family jewelry.”

“What do you mean?” Konrad frowned. “How things stood?”

“Well, er …” Freda flapped her hands around and turned very pink. “I mean, that Aimee has never owned any jewels, due to, um … her status.”

“Her former status,” Ankatel corrected her mildly.

“Yes, of course!” Freda said quickly. “And she owns that remarkably fine gold chain and such beautiful beads. The string she gifted to me and Trude are very fine indeed.”

Konrad opened his mouth to demand a clearer explanation, but seeing the meaningful frown his father-in-law was directing at him, he shut it again. What was he missing here?

“Are you heading in that direction now?” Ankatel enquired politely. “I could perhaps accompany you part of the way.”

Konrad agreed cautiously, and after the older man had taken a punctilious leave of a clearly flustered Freda, they started down the staircase together. It wasn’t until they were out on the street below that it occurred to him that his cousin might have been telling tales of yesterday’s marital strife. He shot a wary glance at his father-in-law, for the other still looked gravely thoughtful.

Side by side they started off down the cobbled street toward the city center. Konrad was just casting about for some opener to conversation when the other cleared his throat.

“Your cousin is a kindly soul,” Gerold observed. “It must be hard for her to navigate life among a family as such as yours. She is your sister’s companion, is she not?”

Konrad stared at him. “Yes,” he managed after a moment’s heavy pause. What the hells did Ankatel mean by that? A family such as yours? “I might remind you that you married your daughter into my family,” he pointed out with an edge to his words.

Ankatel waved this aside. “As to that, Aimee will have no problem with plain dealing. She does not shrink from brutal fact. Mistress Freda, however, is of an altogether different nature.”

Konrad grunted. He could not disagree with a plain statement of fact. “She’s always been like that,” he conceded. “For as long as I can remember.”

“A gentle creature,” Ankatel nodded. “You have never considered marrying her off? She has a … a sweetness a certain type of man might find agreeable in a wife.”

Konrad nearly missed his footing. “No,” he admitted, wondering what type of man would appreciate taking his meals with watery eyes blinking at him across that table, constantly on the verge of tears.

As though aware of his skepticism, Ankatel added, “Perhaps a man in the later stages of his life who no longer has an appetite for fire and fury but still has much to offer? A widower, for instance.”

Konrad was quite frankly flummoxed by the turn their conversation had taken. “No one has ever approached me about Freda’s hand,” he answered, frankly.

“Curious,” Gerold shrugged. “But then, the war … So many things were put on hold.”

Konrad made a noise of agreement, though as far as he was aware, the war had not put a stop to weddings, far from it.

“Jewels are used to denote a high-born status,” Ankatel said suddenly. “That was what your cousin was struggling to express. I could have bought my daughters many jewels, several times over, but if they could not wear them in public, what would have been the point?”

Konrad turned his head sharply. Oh. “Well,” he said, rallying. “I will see to it that she will have plenty hereafter.”

Ankatel nodded approvingly. “Quite right,” he beamed. “And if you are looking for suggestions, might I propose that you add two of the smaller gems to Aimee’s brooch?”

“Her brooch?”

“The one your cousin gifted to her.” It was news to Konrad that Aimee had received any such gift. As he hesitated to admit this, Ankatel took pity on him. “It was handed down from her grandmother. A betrothal gift, I understand. Is Freda your first cousin? If so, then it would have been your own grandfather’s gift to your grandmother, on the occasion of their betrothal.”

Konrad cleared his throat. “Freda is my first cousin,” he confirmed. He had not thought to give Aimee a betrothal token, but clearly Freda had. Probably the only piece of jewelry she owned. “It has jewels missing?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes,” Ankatel responded. “There are three eyelets along the base of the brooch. I already gave donated a pearl, but two vacant spots remain.”

“Perhaps you should come along with me,” Konrad suggested, feeling suddenly ill-equipped for his mission. “I know nothing of … women’s trinkets.” Perhaps, it suddenly occurred to him, he ought to have brought Freda along with him. He glanced back over his shoulder to see the house was still in view.

“An excellent notion,” said Ankatel, clearly guessing the direction of his thoughts and clapping a hand to his shoulder. “I am sure Mistress Freda remembers exactly what shape the Bartree jewels used to take.”