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Ardinéa

  Meredith Anne DeVoe

  ©1999 by Meredith Anne DeVoe

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  and visit her blog at www.blackbirchwoods.blogspot.com.

  Contents

  PART 1:

  TREAD UPON THE LION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1: THE FIRST FLOWER

  CHAPTER 2: MEETING BY THE BROOK

  CHAPTER 3: THE GHOST SONG

  CHAPTER 4: THE STING OF DEATH

  CHAPTER 5: TAMLYN'S WARNING

  CHAPTER 6: THE ELF-KNIGHT

  CHAPTER 7: THE TROUBADOUR IN LOVE AND WAR

  CHAPTER 8: A BROKEN HEDGE BETWEEN THE REALMS

  CHAPTER 9: TREAD UPON THE LION

  CHAPTER 10: LAUGHTER IN THE MORNING

  PART 2: THE FEY QUEEN

  CHAPTER 11: BETROTHAL'S KISS

  CHAPTER 12: BITTER WIND

  CHAPTER 13: SHADOWS

  CHAPTER 14: MEETING ON THE MOUNTAIN

  CHAPTER 15: THREE RINGS

  CHAPTER 16: BRYCELANDS

  CHAPTER 17: JOURNEYS, JEWELS

  CHAPTER 18: COME TO THE WATER

  CHAPTER 19: A BROTHER OFFENDED

  CHAPTER 20: WHAT GOD WILL JOIN

  CHAPTER 21: PEGHARA

  PART 3: SWORD OF THE SPIRIT

  CHAPTER 22: FALLING LEAVES

  CHAPTER 23: FROM WHENCE MY HELP

  CHAPTER 24: TO THE FOUR WINDS

  CHAPTER 25: RIVER OF GOD

  CHAPTER 26: AS SILVER REFINED

  CHAPTER 27: I WAS A STRANGER

  CHAPTER 28: MEETING IN THE MEADOW

  CHAPTER 29: TREE OF LIFE

  Part 1: Tread Upon the Lion

 

  Prologue

  Caer Aldene commanded the only crossing for many miles of the Briar River, the first crossing below its headwaters among the impenetrable brambles of the Cloud Mountains from which it tumbled. Its keep was casually sentried, for Briardene was a quiet land, this crossing having never seen attack and its turrets only rarely having been shot from. The town that clung to the bailey surrounding the castle spread like lichen, surrounded by rich farmland from which it took its living; furs, wool, flax, apples, grain, honey and more poured like a river from these dales in a good year, and in a bad one, few went hungry. Lord Gregory, Duke of Briardene, was loved in his domain.

  The River tumbled headlong from the tangled uplands. Her youthful ardors were not yet spent and it was a many miles before she settled in for a languid journey to the sea. Caer Aldene's single keep presided easily and prettily as a pretender to the spires that rightfully dominated the landscape-- the unreachable Cloud Mountains to the east. Wrapped in mystery and hidden often in a clinging mist, the twin peaks Primarda and Arvanne were gloried with the sunrise between them in the summer solstice, and home to strange thundering and lights in the summer nights.

  Chapter 1: The First Flower

  Margaret's sister, Hildreth, was impossible with pride. It was the morning before her wedding day, and all the inhabitants of Caer Aldene were in the castle yard to greet her fiancé's family.

  The illustrious band could be seen advancing over the plain from the west on horseback. Heralds came first, carrying streaming banners, lit by the morning sun. The bridegroom Herrick, with his father Lord Eldred, rode next, flanked by Herrick's brothers, by squires and knights, bravely attired, with swords and shields glinting. Next came Herrick's mother, Lady Anne Gay, her widowed sister Lady Phoebe, and their children, relations, handmaids and footmen, pipers and harpers, porters and nurses and grooms; followed finally by mules laden with luggage and gifts, and even milkcows, a herd of swine, and a flock of running geese driven by a young boy, and a small rear guard.

  After all this followed a great number of the villagers' families, tumbling after the spectacle, and some children forming a parade of their own, blowing pennywhistles in tune with the royal pipers, and riding on draft ponies, streaming scarves tied to sapling wands above them. All this mixed retinue obtained the bailey gate of Caer Aldene, where they were met with an equally splendid show of banners and all the inhabitants of the castle turned out in clean, bright clothing. All the young maidens had washed and rinsed their long hair with herb vinegar, and it flowed unbound and glinting down their backs. Each girl stood with narcissus and primroses in her hand. In their midst stood Lord Gregory with his daughter Lady Hildreth by his side, who looked self-consciously stunning, her blond hair sparkling and her green eyes wide.

  Margaret's younger sister's excitement could scarcely be contained, and Margaret had to answer a continual stream of questions, finally in exasperation crying out, "Varda, switch not about so, and let go my dress, please!" Margaret saw how Hildreth's eyes wanted to rest on Herrick, who was a proud sight approaching in the head of the procession; but Hildreth was determined not to stare and if at all possible to remain composed. But Margaret searched among the knights for Roald, for last summer he had visited and the two had teased and flirted. There! She picked him out by the sandy hair on his shoulders. There also was her brother Aelfred, who was a squire in Eldred's service. To suppress her excitement she found Hildreth's hand and squeezed it, Hildreth squeezing back and momentarily turning a beaming glance at her. Then both straightened up and put on their most stately manner, for the band had now arrived.

  Lord Eldred dismounted and drew near to Lord Gregory, their right hands clasped and left arms were thrown about the other's shoulders in a hearty embrace. Even Varda stood still and looked dignified while courtesies were displayed and welcome proclaimed, and then the nobles' horses were led away and the lovely crowd entered the Great Hall of Aldene. As goblets of honey mead were drunk, the talk grew to almost a roar in the Great Hall. War was discussed on the one hand, babies and marriages on the other...

  Aelfred introduced Margaret to his friends, boasting that she could ride a horse and shoot arrows with the best of them. The young people went out to test each other's skills with horse and bow… so the day passed, it seemed to Margaret, in a moment.

  A thousand tapers lit the Great Hall of Caer Aldene that evening, and the living hall as well, and each was filled with persons clothed and bejeweled, and liveried servants coming and going, and reels and dancing and wine. If Margaret could have been any happier, it was only because it was a sobering realization that the loss of her sister's company and friendship and even antagonism was going to change her world forever, after tomorrow. Yet perhaps the bittersweet undercurrent only sharpened the beauty of the spectacle in the Hall. The soaring flutes and viols and drums filled her heart as the dancers swept and leapt in time, smiling and sweating in the brave torchlight.

  Then she was interrupted in her thoughts by Roald, who touched her elbow. "Margaret, turn aside with me," said he, and guided her toward the side door. Her heart was beating hard, for it was there that last summer, he had stolen from her a kiss. He had so hopefully, tentatively leaned toward her, so softly brushed her lips with his... But when they had turned into dark of the rose garden, he was not at all tentative, but crushed her to himself, and his breath smelled of wine, and the large buckle of the belt with which he was girt poked her in the stomach as he arched over and pressed himself onto her. She cried out his name in dismay and pushed against his chest briefly before he straightened, and gaped at her. "Margaret, I am sorry, but ...what is the matter? I thought ..." She had been so surprised that now a flush of anger, embarrassment and confusion fought within her. These passed and left her staring at Roald, who now looked embarrasse
d himself, and a little unsteady on his feet. At that moment two menservants carrying candelabrae entered the garden followed by a laughing company of guests, and the moment had passed.

  Margaret and Roald returned to the Hall, Roald pathetically trying to outdo himself with courtesy and deference, and Margaret was grateful beyond words when her cousin Malva pulled her away to join a group of girls who were rehearsing the steps of a girl's dance. Roald stayed at a distance and Margaret realized that it was up to her to repair the breach, but was not at all sure that she wanted to. She hoped desperately to be able to talk with Hildreth but realized that her thoughts were far away; she shone in an assembly of nobles among whom she was to take her place the next day as the wife of Sir Herrick. Margaret sighed and tried to see how little was her problem. But at seventeen it is hard not to be ruled by the heart.

  It was Rivanone who came alongside her late in the evening. With a questioning glance Rivanone regarded Margaret, who felt under her gaze very like the girl who had so often lain on her shoulder and cried for her mother, Lady Varden, who was lost in childbirth years before. "Auntie, may I speak with you?" Rivanone smiled and led her aside to a servant's door, which led into a corridor with a door to an herb garden and an apiary. There they sat on a bench and Rivanone waited. "You know Roald and I ...that is ..."

  "I know that the two of you have smiled at each other a lot in the past. But not tonight?" Margaret gazed at her hands, toying with a ring.

  "He tried to kiss me in the garden tonight." She checked her aunt's expression, but Rivanone waited. "I thought that was what I wanted, but ...it was wrong. I felt as if a dog were pawing me. Then I felt sorry for him, because he is my friend. Now I feel awkward, and Roald isn't-- well, he doesn't seem to know how to act, either. And I know that soon the question of my marriage will come up, and that Roald ..." Margaret trailed off, but then her thoughts collected themselves. "This morning I thought I loved him, now I fear I don't have an idea of what that means."

  "Love that you feel in your heart is but the flower, Margaret. Without branches and roots, the flower quickly fades. True love is something you do."

  Margaret looked up from the ring to Rivanone's face. The headdress she wore as a married woman was simple, pale and filmy in the moonlight, not brocaded or ornamented like the more sophisticated noblewomen of Caer Prim and Caer Morga who graced the hall tonight. In that moment Margaret realized that there was something in Rivanone that few of those fine ladies had. She continued, "Your love has not yet grown. Loving deeds and choices are the roots that give the flower life. Too many young girls seek and find the flower, and grasp it ere being sure that it will be a lasting bloom, rooted in faithfulness from which springs faithful deeds. Then they wonder why they find themselves wed, but still alone. The flower fades, and the thorns cut deep.

  "God put it in the hearts of men and women to desire each other-- but He ordained the marriage covenant to teach us a kind of love that requires more than a moment's excitement: God revealed His love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life...That is what love really is: something you would live and die for. I have spoken with you often of these things, Margaret, but I can see in your eyes that you're finding them out for yourself," Rivanone said, grasping Margaret's hand. "Most girls are wed at a younger age, when they've not had the mind, or the luxury, to consider such questions. You and Roald are both young. If there is love between him and you, it will prove itself. Do not allow youthful lust to hastily pick the first flower!"

  She squeezed Margaret's hand and looked at her meaningfully, and Margaret understood suddenly that she was referring to herbcraft: her mother had taught her never to pick the very first of a sought-for plant, but to find others first, to be sure that the area was not depleted. "I can see now that there is more of which we must talk plainly, but not on a night such as this. As for your marriage, your father counts your happiness too dear to wed you off against your will for his own purposes, although that is his prerogative. Count yourself very blessed indeed, and try not to give your heart away so easily! No man wants a dog-pawed bride, anyway."

  They laughed in the moonlight, but Margaret caught the veiled reproof.

  "But was not Uncle Just chosen to be your husband by Grandfather Geoffrey?"

  "Aye, Margaret. As I said, love takes root in faithfulness. Then the flower may bloom, and bloom again. And for us, it has and does."