The Promise
The Lady Quill Chronicles
Book 1
By
D.D. Chant
The Promise (The Lady Quill Chronicles)
Copyright © 2012 by D.D. Chant
All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locales and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual people, places or events are coincidental or fictionalised.
To Mum and Aunty Carolyn, for all their support, and for Aunty Jan and her insistence on a complete absence of the word ‘Intense’!!!
Prologue
Dear Reader,
There are many things I could tell you of Calis. I could tell you the story of how the first Lord Berron was given the conquered lands by his Saxon liege, as a prize in recognition of his bravery in battle.
I could even tell you how the second Lord of Berron had carried off the betrothed of his cousin, Lord Targhe, and installed her as his own Lady. Or how from this point on the Houses of Berron and Targhe, although really one, became bitter enemies.
It was an enmity that led to war.
Lord Targhe was defeated and Calis liberated, but not before Lord Targhe had wrought his revenge upon the House of Berron. He believed that he had destroyed every trace of his enemies. However Lord Berron’s youngest child, a daughter then but two years of age, had been concealed by her nursing woman.
Lord Brogan of Valrek, the saviour of Calis, confronted by this vulnerable survivor who had no family to protect her, and whose very existence would infuriate the still living Lord Targhe, did the only thing he could do. He appealed to his King for permission that he might betroth Lady Adele to his only son Rafe, thereby giving her the protection she so desperately needed.
Yet this decision was fraught with its own difficulties.
It is true that I could tell you any one of these stories, but I am going to tell you Rafe’s and, consequently, Adele’s.
Lady Quill
Chapter One
His attitude was quietly disapproving, arms crossed over his expansive chest, and eyes barely discernible beneath their lowered and heavy brows.
“No good will come of this.”
If he had expected this pessimistic utterance to restrain the man before him, he was destined to be disappointed. The man at the table merely laughed, and his quill continued to scratch away on the parchment.
“Will you not listen to sense, Rafe?”
“I always listen to sense,” stated the man at the table, grinning.
Any sting his words may have contained was softened by that smile, which invited the sharing of some jest between the two of them.
“But, Rafe,” continued the giant carefully, “this is folly. Send me, or Kenric, with some men, just do not go yourself and alone!”
Rafe of Valrek shook his head and made no comment, but folded the parchment and spread wax over the overlapping edges. Neither man made any move to speak as Rafe set his seal to the wax, and leant his tall frame back in the chair. They were in Lord Rafe’s personal chambers. A fur covered bed dominated the room, and a fire warmed the chill winter air. Lord Rafe sat before the flames, a jug of spiced wine at his elbow on the table before him, his fingers playing absently with the stem of a goblet. A second chair, half pulled out from the table, separated the two men.
“You think me a fool, Finan?”
“I think you stubborn, a trait that unfailingly leads you into difficulties,” muttered Finan repressively.
“And what have I done that you should have so little faith in me? I have never yet been bested by aught, have I?”
Finan shifted uneasily, and sat down in the chair across from his master, his face suddenly earnest.
“It is that which worries me; you do not consider the possibility of defeat.”
Finan watched as Rafe considered the parchment before him, his fingers tracing the edge as he thought over his friend’s words.
Finan was not given to talking, he was a man who by nature kept his own counsel, and Rafe knew his concern must be great for him to have spoken his mind.
“I’ll do this thing my own way, Finan, nothing that you say will change my mind.”
Finan had known his master long enough to recognise his determination, and to know the futility of trying to dissuade him when he was in a mood of reckless purpose. Still, he felt impelled to try.
“You have never even met her, you do not...”
“And what is that? Do you suggest that I disregard a word of honour, my father’s word of honour, and refuse to have her?” asked Rafe softly.
“I meant nothing but that you need not risk your life on this errand.”
“Come, Finan; now who’s being the fool?” asked Rafe amused. “No harm will come to me or her; that is the point of this subterfuge. Is your displeasure such that you will not help me?”
Finan shrugged his broad shoulders in resignation.
“You know that I will help you in anything you do, as long as there is yet breath in my body.”
Finan pondered over this truth for some time as he looked at his master, trying for perhaps the thousandth time to ascertain why this man engendered such fierce loyalty from his subjects. As always he could not seem to come to any definite decision.
He remembered back to his lord’s youth. Even as a boy, he had commanded respect and affection. He had the heart of a warrior, like his father before him, and had disliked any attempt to thwart his plans, seeing interference as a threat to his independence.
Finan smiled at these memories. His master had always been a reckless young hot head, plunging with impatient glee into any trouble he could find. The years had bought experience and a widening out of his character. Rafe had seen battle and knew the responsibility of commanding men, men who would pay for his mistakes with their lives.
Rafe had watched the glory that he had worked so hard to attain in battle fade, tarnished with blood and misery. He had been taught, in the most painful of ways, the importance of patience, of caution; that peace was more to be worked for than anything else. Even that compromise, so long as not of principle, was to be chosen over enmity and strife. There was nothing that his men would not do for Lord Rafe, and in return there was nothing Lord Rafe would not do for his men.
“It is as well that you will help me, for without you my plans would fail.”
Rafe leaning back in his chair fixed Finan with a mischievous smile.
“How would you like to be Lord Valrek, Finan?”
Silence filled the room.
“I do not understand,” replied Finan slowly.
“How should you like to lead my men, in my name, to Lord Merrodon’s lands? There is some small disagreement between him and one of the neighbouring lords that my liege wishes at an end.” Rafe’s smile had stretched a little wider.
“Pardon my ignorance, but I still do not understand.” Finan watched Rafe finger the edge of the parchment before him again and waited.
“Why do you fear for my safety, Finan?”
Finan was slightly taken aback by the seeming change of subject, and paused while searching for a suitable answer.
“My lord is aware, I think, that he is not loved of all men.”
Rafe laughed as though he saw only amusement in such a statement.
“You put it mildly. As always, Finan, you are correct.” Rafe tapped a thoughtful tattoo on the smooth wood of the table top, lost in his own thoughts. As Finan regarded him he saw his friend’s amusement disappear and many other, more stressful, emotions cloud his face.
Finan saw many things then which he could not have guessed at from Rafe’s merriment before. He saw worry and apprehension, but could still only surmise at what these were directed. There was something else too, so foreign to his master’s nature, that for a moment he could not put a name to it.
It was with some surprise that he realised that Lord Rafe was in the grip of hesitation. One could postulate that this hesitation was natural in a bridegroom who had not met his betrothed and had little knowledge of her. However, Finan was not given to conjecture, having a simple faith in plain facts. Still, he wished he knew what Rafe was thinking, what was causing him to experience such uncertainty.
“Rafe?”
“As you so succinctly put it, I am not beloved by all men. In fact,” Rafe continued bluntly, “it would be nearer the mark to say that I have many vastly unpleasant enemies. I should hate for my bride to be singled out for their attention. You’ll agree that she has been persecuted enough for her family ties?”
Finan understood his friend well enough to know that he did not require an answer, and Rafe understood Finan well enough to know that he need not expect a reply.
“In any case; Lord Targhe lives yet and I have little faith that his murderous appetite is full slaked.”
The room fell into easy silence again and Finan watched his master stare into his cup, as though the answers he sought were hidden within its depths.
“I understand that you wish to keep Lady Adele safe, but why do you not trust me to see that no harm comes to her?” asked Finan.
Rafe shifted in his chair and Finan watched in bemused fascination as a dull red colour stole into his master’s cheeks. He had known Rafe since birth and had never before seen him make such a hideous display. Blushing was a womanly pursuit, and Finan was of the opinion that no man should be caught making such an idiot out of himself.
“If it were only a matter of her safety you know that I would have no hesitation in sending you, but my wish is that she should be brought here in secret, guarded by one man.”
“And why is it that I may not be that man?”
Finan knew that his master was brewing trouble. He had seen the signs a thousand times before and recognised a certain recklessness that could only lead to turmoil. To Finan’s great disgust his master repeated his chameleon performance, taking on a ruddy colour.
“I hope to…” Rafe broke off again and reached out for the wine jug at his elbow. Both men were silent as he poured a liberal helping into the two goblets that stood before him and handed one to Finan.
“You know my position, Finan. My father betrothed me to Lady Adele when I was but twelve years of age, with the aid of my councillors it was my duty to provide for her.” He looked up, steady eyes willing Finan to understand. “For the sake of my father I cannot refuse to marry her, for the sake of my own honour I could not beg off. Yet, I should like to know what sort of person she is, and I do not believe that were we to be presented to each other here at Valrek I should have a true picture of her character. We both should be ill at ease, and she would be conscious of a duty to please me.”
Silence stretched out between them and Finan sifted slowly through his master’s words, condensing them and seizing upon the underlying feeling that threaded through his explanation. Rafe wished to satisfy the question of whether his bride would like him for the man he was, or for being the son of the man who had saved her; the man it was her duty to obey.
If she met him as Lord Rafe, she would be guarded, and he would not see her true colours, only that which she wished him to see. He would not know if she was trustworthy, if he would need to watch her, if she would cause trouble in his house and upset his mother and sisters.
At this point Rafe reached towards the wooden box on the table and withdrew a dozen or so letters, throwing them on the table before Finan and watching as his friend studied the parchments with interest.
“Although I might not have met her, I have on occasion sent her some small trifles. Those are her letters of thanks.” Rafe observed that, though Finan had been turning the papers over in his hands, at his words he dropped them as though they had been on fire. Rafe grinned and relaxed back into his chair.
“By all means read them, there is naught that my own mother could not see. You need have no fear of stumbling upon any impassioned phrases of undying love!”
For a moment Finan tried to discover if there was any bitterness in his friend’s words, but he decided that Lord Rafe was merely amused.
Finan turned back to the letters. Some were a little brown with age, but all were in good order. They did not show any signs that they had been read more than once. Sneaking a look up at Lord Rafe he found his master gazing back into the fire, perfectly at ease.
If there was nothing of a lover like nature in Lady Adele’s letters, neither was there anything of the impatient lover in his master’s manner.
As it was, her letters were written in a fair hand, of a good length, and filled with small details of her home and the people who looked after her. They were written in much the same style as a niece might write to an uncle of whom she was a little in awe.
In short, although reasonably entertaining, they gave little of the writer’s personality away. He was a third of the way through the second letter when he became aware of Lord Rafe’s eyes upon him, and looked up.
“Some small trifles?” asked Finan, his eyebrows raised. “So far I have counted several items of jewellery, numerous bolts of material, and furs without number!”
“I merely sent her the things that my sisters, Esme and Aisly, seemed to think necessary to their comfort,” replied Rafe with a dismissive shrug, but a faint colour had stained his cheeks again.
Finan shuddered involuntarily at the sight, and sent up a silent prayer that he would be preserved from all women. he could only abhor the vile impact they seemed to have on a reasonable man. Shaking his head, he continued to peruse the writing.
“There is something, I do not know what it is, that is strange about her manner of address.” Finan’s eyes fell on the first line of the missive. There in a pretty and elegant hand was written a simple title: Lord Valrek. Understanding filled his mind and his eyes met Lord Rafe’s.
“You begin to understand, I think.”
“She believes herself to be writing to your father!”
“Yet again perfectly correct, Finan,” nodded Rafe with a sigh. “The fault lies with me; I always signed myself ‘Lord Valrek’ and did not enlighten her when she made the mistake of believing my father was sending her these things. As time went on it became more difficult to tell her a truth that would give embarrassment to us both.”
For a time both men were silent. Finan realised that he would not be able to divert the course that Rafe had begun upon.
“What will you do?” asked Finan eventually. Rafe twisted the goblet in his hand until the light from the fire struck the gems set into its rim, making them glow.
“My plan is to fetch her here myself, try and discern what sort of a person she is. The timing is safer. It is yet six months to the date that my father set for our nuptials, therefore no one will expect her to be moved. Certainly they will not expect a Valrek to be so secretive. They will anticipate a great deal of opulent show, and I’ll give it to them, but I’ll do it in my own way.”
Rafe’s eyes had been fixed firmly on the goblet but at this last, he turned again to Finan.
“This is where I need your help; you will go to Lord Merrodon’s in my stead.”
“If that is your wish, my lord,” bowed Finan. Rafe watched him through narrowed lids, his hand restlessly swirling the liquid around his goblet.
“You will go as Lord Valrek, Finan.”
Finan started forward in his chair, his fingers gripping the wooden arms with such strength that his knuckles were white.
“Rafe?” His voice was hoarse and his face seemed suddenly too pale.
“It is necessary, Finan.”
“I ca
nnot... how will you explain to King Ine? Surely you must see that such a deception...”
“I know, Finan, so you must understand the pressing need for such an action.” Rafe’s hand reached out to finger the letter he had, a few moments before, sealed. “If I am with Lord Merrodon, I cannot possibly be collecting my bride. I will take with me this missive, holding the Valrek seal, giving order that Lady Adele is to be released to my charge.”
Finan allowed his master’s words to linger on the air for some moments.
“And if I am to be you, who are you to be?”
Lord Rafe’s eyes were again fixed on the flames in the fire place.
“Why I shall be no one; a nobody that she will feel no need to impress.”
“And what of Lord Merrodon? When he learns the truth you will have made another enemy.”
Rafe smiled softly.
“I never knew you to be dramatic before.”
Finan choked in indignation.
“Lord Merrodon will give me no trouble, Finan, for the simple reason that, after I have deposited Adele at Valrek, I will join you and explain everything to him.” Rafe extended his arm and, still in his relaxed position, pushed his goblet onto the table. “He will cause me no trouble.”
“What does your father say to this, Rafe?”
Finan watched Lord Rafe’s face carefully as he shifted in his chair.
“My father said a great many things on the subject,” he replied with a forced air of unconcern. “I cannot recall his precise words, but I understand that he believes a course that begins with deception, ends in trouble.”
Finan watched as several emotions crossed Lord Rafe’s face and felt sympathy for him. He was aware of the very high regard in which Lord Rafe held his father, the implicit trust that he put in his father’s wisdom. Lord Brogan’s disapproval would be weighing heavily on his mind. Finan was rather surprised that his master intended to continue on a course disapproved of by Lord Brogan. With some interest he inquired if his Master did not think that perhaps Lord Brogan was right to advise caution.
“My father, although it is true not enamoured of my plan, does not forbid that I carry it through.”
Finan smiled faintly.
“No, my lord. Lord Brogan displays a great deal more understanding than to forbid a course you are so determined upon.”
“I see I am sunk yet lower in your esteem, Finan?” Rafe smiled ruefully.
“No, although it is advisable to learn from the wisdom of others. Do you not think that your father is right?”
“I have to know, Finan,” answered Lord Rafe slowly. “I know it should not matter to me what sort of person she is, or whether she will be happy here. Yet I still need to know; you can understand that, can you not?”
Finan regarded the untouched wine in his goblet.
“I take it that your father did?”
“He understands that the situation is difficult,” replied Rafe cautiously. “For us both.”
“Then you must do as you think best.”
“You reserve judgment, Finan?” asked Lord Rafe, his tone playful. “Or is it merely that you are prohibited by your position from telling me how many times a fool you think me?”
“Neither, my lord. You know such a consideration would not weigh with me if I thought you in danger. The truth is I have no opinion to give,” answered Finan with a shrug. “On the whole I believe women to be the root of all trouble, I do not see how you can escape that trouble no matter what you may do.”
Rafe laughed heartily at that.
“Spoken like a true bachelor!”
Finan saw no reason for such hilarity.
“I have known you to make such a statement yourself, my lord.”
“Well, maybe they are troublesome, but we would be in sore straits without them.”
“Aye, but there are plenty of poor fools to see that the world is peopled. I see no need to join myself to their ranks,” answered Finan comfortably.
“I see; I suppose I am to become one of those ‘poor fools’ you pity so much?” smiled Rafe.
Finan looked at his lord, genuinely surprised.
“Why no, my lord. For the sake of your name you must have a son, and for your father’s honour you must marry the Lady Adele. Despite all that, I know that at heart you are a bachelor.”
For a time there was silence in the room and Lord Rafe leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.
“For my bride’s sake I hope you may be wrong, Finan.”
Chapter Two