原文
Part 4
BIRTH
We think we understand those around us. The people we have come to know reveal patterns of behavior, and as our expectations of that behavior are fulfilled time and again we begin to believe that we know the person's heart and soul.
I consider that to be an arrogant perception, for one cannot truly understand the heart and soul of another, one cannot truly appreciate the perceptions another might hold toward similar or recounted experiences. We all search for truth, particularly within our own sphere of existence, the home we have carved and those friends with whom we choose to share it. But truth, I fear, is not always evident where individuals, so complex and changing, are concerned.
If ever I believe that the foundations of my world are rooted in stone, I think of Jarlaxle and I am humbled. I have always recognized that there is more to the mercenary than a simple quest for personal gain-he let me and Catti-brie walk away from Menzoberranzan, after all, and at a time when our heads would have brought him a fine price, indeed. When Catti-brie was his prisoner and completely under his power, he did not take advantage of her, though he has admitted, through actions if not words, that he thinks her quite attractive. So always have I seen a level of character beneath the cold mercenary clothing, but despite that knowledge my last encounter with Jarlaxle has shown me that he is far more complex, and certainly more compassionate, than ever I could have guessed. Beyond that, he called himself a friend of Zaknafein, and though I initially recoiled at such a notion, now I consider it to be not only believable, but likely.
Do I now understand the truth of Jarlaxle? And is it the same truth that those around him, within Bregan D'aerthe, perceive? Certainly not, and though I believe my current assessment to be correct, I'll not be as arrogant as to claim certainty, nor do I even begin to believe that I know more of him than my surface reasoning.
What about Wulfgar, then? Which Wulfgar is the true Wulfgar? Is he the proud and honorable man Bruenor raised, the man who fought beside me against Biggrin and in so many subsequent battles? The man who saved the barbarian tribes from certain extermination and the folk of Ten-Towns from future disasters by uniting the groups diplomatically? The man who ran across Faerun for the sake of his imprisoned friend? The man who helped Bruenor reclaim his lost kingdom?
Or is Wulfgar the man who harmed Catti-brie, the haunted man who seems destined, in the end, to fail utterly?
He is both, I believe, a compilation of his experiences, feelings and perceptions, as are we all. It is the second of that composite trio, feelings, brought on by experiences beyond his ability to cope, that control Wulfgar now. The raw emotion of those feelings alter his perceptions to the negative. Given that reality, who is Wulfgar now, and more importantly, if he survives this troubled time, who will he become?
How I long to know. How I wish that I could walk beside him on this perilous journey, could speak with him and influence him, perhaps. That I could remind him of who he was, or at least, who we perceived him to be.
But I cannot, for it is the heart and soul of Wulfgar, ultimately, and not his particular daily actions, that will surface in the end. And I, and anyone else, could no more influence that heart and soul as I could influence the sun itself.
Curiously, it is in the daily rising of that celestial body that I take my comfort now when thinking about Wulfgar. Why watch the dawn? Why then, why that particular time, instead of any other hour of daylight?
Because at dawn the sun is more brilliant by far. Because at dawn, we see the resurgence after the darkness. There is my hope, for as with the sun, so it can be true of people. Those who fall can climb back up, then brighter will they shine in the eyes of those around them.
I watch the dawn and think of the man I thought I knew, and pray that my perceptions were correct.
-Drizzt Do'Urden
Chapter 20
THE LAST GREAT ACT OF SELFISHNESS
He kicked at the ground, splashing mud, then jammed his toe hard against an unyielding buried rock that showed only one-hundredth of its actual size. Jaka didn't even feel the pain, for the tear in his heart-no, not in his heart, but in his pride-was worse by far. A thousand times worse.
The wedding would take place at the turn of the season, the end of this very week. Lord Feringal would have Meralda, would have Jaka's own child.
"What justice, this?" he cried. Reaching down to pick up the rock he learned the truth of its buried size. Jaka grabbed another and came back up throwing, narrowly missing a pair of older farmers leaning on their hoes.
The pair, including the old long-nosed dwarf, came storming over, spitting curses, but Jaka was too distracted by his own problems, not understanding that he had just made another problem, and didn't even notice them.
Until, that is, he spun around to find them standing right behind him. The surly dwarf leaped up and launched a balled fist right into Jaka's face, laying him low.
"Damn stupid boy," the dwarf grumbled, then turned to walk away.
Humiliated and hardly thinking, Jaka kicked at his ankles, tripping him up.
In an instant, the slender young man was hauled to his feet by the other farmer. "Are you looking to die then?" the man asked, giving him a good shake.
"
erhaps I am," Jaka came back with a great, dramatic sigh. "Yes, all joy has flown from this coil."
"Boy's daft," the farmer holding Jaka said to his companion. The dwarf was coming back over, fists clenched, jaw set firm under his thick beard. As he finished, the man whipped Jaka around and shoved him backward toward the other farmer. The dwarf didn't catch Jaka but instead shoved him back the other way, high up on the back so that the young man went face down in the dirt. The dwarf stepped on the small of Jaka's back, pressing down with his hard-soled boots.
"You watch where you're throwing stones," he said, grinding down suddenly and for just an instant, blowing the breath out of Jaka.
"The boy's daft," the other farmer said as he and his companion walked away.
Jaka lay on the ground and cried.
*****
"All that good food at the castle," remarked Madam Prinkle, an old, gray woman with a smiling face. The woman's skin, hanging in wrinkled folds, seemed too loose for her bones. She grabbed Meralda's waist and gave a pinch. "If you change your size every week, how's my dress ever to fit you? Why, girl, you're three fingers bigger."
Meralda blushed and looked away, not wanting to meet the stare of Priscilla, who was standing off to the side, watching and listening intently.
"Truly I've been hungry lately," Meralda replied. "Been eating everything I can get into my mouth. A bit on the jitters, I am." She looked anxiously at Priscilla, who had been working hard with her to help her lose her peasant accent.
Priscilla nodded, but hardly seemed convinced.
"Well, you best find a different way for calming," Madam Prinkle replied, "or you'll split the dress apart walking to Lord Feringal's side." She laughed riotously then, one big, bobbing ball of too-loose skin. Meralda and Priscilla both laughed selfconsciously as well, though neither seemed the least bit amused.
"Can you alter it correctly?" Priscilla asked.
"Oh, not to fear," replied Madam Prinkle. "I'll have the girl all beautiful for her day." She began to gather up her thread and sewing tools. Priscilla moved to help her while Meralda quickly removed the dress, gathered up her own things, and rushed out of the room.
Away from the other two, the woman put her hand on her undeniably larger belly. It was over two and a half months now since her encounter with Jaka in the starlit field, and though she doubted that the baby was large enough to be pushing her belly out so, she certainly had been eating volumes of late. Perhaps it was nerves, perhaps it was because she was nourishing two, but whatever the cause, she would have to be careful for the rest of the week so as not to draw more attention to herself.
"She will have the dress back to us on the morrow," Priscilla said behind her, and the young woman nearly jumped out of her boots. "Is something wrong, Meralda?" the woman asked, moving beside her and dropping a hand on her shoulder.
"Would you not be scared if you were marrying a lord?"
Priscilla arched a finely plucked brow. "I would not be frightened, because I would not be in such a situation," she replied.
"But if ye-you, were?" Meralda pressed. "If you were born a peasant, and the lord-"
"
reposterous," the woman interrupted. "If I had been born a peasant, I would not be who I am, and so your whole question makes little sense."
Meralda stared at her, obviously confused.
"I am not a peasant because I've not the soul nor blood of a peasant," Priscilla explained. "You people think it an accident that you were born of your family, and we of nobility born of ours, but that is not the case, my dear. Station comes from within, not without."
"So you're better, then?" Meralda asked bluntly.
Priscilla smiled. "Not better, dear," she answered condescendingly. "Different. We each have our place."
"And mine's not with your brother," the younger woman posited.
"I do not approve of mixing blood," Priscilla stated, and the two stared at each other for a long and uncomfortable while.
Then you should marry him yourself, Meralda thought, but bit back.
"However, I shall honor my brother's choice," Priscilla went on in that same denigrating tone. "It is his own life to ruin as he pleases. I will do what I may do to bring you as close to his level as possible. I do like you, my dear," she added, reaching out to pat Meralda's shoulder.
You'd let me clean your commode then, Meralda silently fumed. She wanted to speak back against Priscilla's reasoning, truly she did, but she wasn't feeling particularly brave at that moment. No, given the child, Jaka's child, growing within her womb, she was vulnerable now, and feeling no match for the likes of vicious Priscilla Auck.
*****
It was late in the morning when Meralda awoke. She could tell from the height of the sun beaming through her window. Worried, she scrambled out of bed. Why hadn't her father awakened her earlier for chores? Where was her mother?
She pushed through the curtain into the common room and calmed immediately, for there sat her family, gathered about the table. Her mother's chair was pulled back, and the woman sat facing the ceiling. A curious man, dressed in what seemed to be religious garments, chanted softly and patted her forehead with sweet-smelling oil.
"Da?" she started to ask, but the man held his hand up to quiet her, motioning her to move near him.
"Watcher Beribold," he explained. "From the Temple of Helm in Luskan. Lord Feringal sent him to get your ma up and strong for the wedding."
Meralda's mouth dropped open. "You can heal her then?"
"A difficult disease," Watcher Beribold replied. "Your mother is strong to have fought on with such resilience." Meralda started to press him, but he answered her with a reassuring smile. "Your mother will be on the mend and free of the wilting before I and High Watcher Risten depart Auckney," he promised.
Tori squealed, and Meralda's heart leaped with joy. She felt her father's strong arm go around her waist, pulling her in close. She could hardly believe the good news. She had known that Lord Feringal would heal her mother, but never had she imagined that the man would see to it before the wedding. Her mother's illness was like a huge sword Feringal had hanging over her head, and yet he was removing it.
She considered the faith Lord Feringal was showing in her to send a healer unbidden to her family door. Jaka would never have relinquished such an obvious advantage. Not for her, not for anyone. Yet here was Feringal-and the man was no fool-holding enough faith in Meralda to take the sword away.
The realization brought a smile to Meralda's face. For so long, she had considered the courtship with Feringal to be a sacrifice for her family, but now, suddenly, she was recognizing the truth of it all. He was a good man, a handsome man, a man of means who loved her honestly. The only reason she'd been unable to return his feeling was because of her unhealthy infatuation with a selfish boy. Strange, but she, too, had been cured of her affliction by the arrival of Feringal's healer.
The young woman went back into her room to dress for the day. She could hardly wait for her next visit with Lord Feringal, for she suspected-no, she knew-that she would see the man a bit differently now.
She was with him that very afternoon for what would be their last meeting before the wedding. Feringal, excited about the arrangements and the guest list, said nothing at all about the healer's visit to Meralda's house.
"You sent your healer to my house today," she blurted, unable to contain the thoughts any longer. "Before the wedding. With my ma sick and you alone the power to heal her, you could have made me your slave."
Feringal looked as if he simply couldn't digest her meaning.
"Why would I desire such a thing?"
That honest and innocent question confirmed that which she had already known. A smile wreathed her beautiful face, and she leaped up impulsively to plant a huge kiss on Feringal's cheek. "Thank you for healing my ma, for healing my family."
Her thanks filled his heart and face with joy. When she tried to kiss him again on the cheek, he turned so that his lips met hers. She returned it tenfold, confident that her life with this kind and wonderful man would be more than tolerable. Far more.
Pondering the scene on the ride back to her home, Meralda's emotions took a downward swing as her thoughts shifted back to the baby and the lie she would have to tell for the rest of her days. How much more awful her actions seemed now! Meralda believed she was guilty of nothing more than poor judgment, but the reality would make it much more than that, would elevate her errant longing for one night of love to the status of treason.
And so it was with fear and hope and joy combined that Meralda stepped into the garden early the next morning to where every one of Auckney's nobles and important witnesses, her own family, Lord Feringal's sister and Steward Temigast included, stood smiling and staring at her. There was Liam Woodgate dressed in his finery, holding the door and beaming from ear to ear, and at the opposite end of the garden from her stood High Watcher Kalorc Risten, a more senior priest of Helm, Feringal's chosen god, in his shining armor and plumed, open-faced helmet.
What a day and what a setting for such an event! Priscilla had replaced her summer flowers with autumn-blooming mums, kaphts, and marigolds, and though they weren't as brilliant as the previous batch, the woman had supplemented their hues with bright banners. It had rained before the dawn, but the clouds had flown, leaving a clean smell in the air. Puddles atop the low wall and droplets on petals caught the morning sunlight in a sparkling display. Even the wind off the ocean smelled clean this day.
Meralda's mood brightened. About to be married, she couldn't be vulnerable any longer. She was not afraid of anything more than tripping over her own feet as she made her way to the ceremonial stand, a small podium bedecked on top by a war gauntlet and with a tapestry depicting a blue eye set on its front. That confidence was only bolstered when Meralda looked upon the shining face of her mother, for Kalorc Risten's young assistant had, indeed, worked a miracle upon the woman. Meralda had feared that her mother would not be healthy enough to attend the ceremony, but now her face was aglow, her eyes sparkling with health she had not enjoyed in years.
Beaming herself, all fears about her secret put away, the young woman began her walk to the podium. She didn't trip. Far from it. Those watching thought Meralda seemed to float along the garden path, the perfect bride, and if she was a bit thicker in the middle, they all believed it a sign that the young woman was at last eating well.
Standing beside the prefect, Meralda turned to watch Lord Feringal's entrance. He stepped out in his full Auckney Castle Guard Commander's uniform, a shining suit of mail crossed in gold brocade, a plumed helmet on his head, and a great sword belted to his hip. Many in the crowd gasped, women tittered, and Meralda thought again that her union with the man might not be such a bad thing. How handsome Feringal seemed to her, even more so now because she knew the truth of his gentle heart. His dashing soldiery outfit was little more than show, but he did cut a grand and impressive figure.
All smiles, Feringal joined her beside the High Watcher. The clergyman began the ceremony, solemnly appointing all gathered as witnesses to the sacred joining. Meralda focused her gaze not on Lord Feringal but on her family. She scarcely heard Kalorc Risten as he preached through the ceremony. At one point she was given a chalice of wine to sip, then to hand to Lord Feringal.
The birds were singing around them, the flowers were spectacular, the couple handsome and happy-it was the wedding that all the women of Auckney envied. Everyone not in attendance at the ceremony was invited to greet the couple afterward outside the castle's front gate. To those of lesser fortune, the spectacle evoked vicarious pleasure. Except from one person.
"Meralda!"
The cry cut the morning air and sent a flock of gulls rushing out from the cliffs east of the castle. All eyes turned toward the voice from high on a cliff. There stood a lone figure, the unmistakable, saggy-shouldered silhouette of Jaka Sculi.
"Meralda!" the foolish young man cried again, as if the name had been torn from his heart.
Meralda looked to her parents, to her fretting father, then to the face of her soon-to-be husband.
"Who is that?" Lord Feringal asked in obvious agitation.
Meralda sputtered and shook her head, her expression one of honest disgust. "A fool," she finally managed to say.
"You cannot marry Lord Feringal! Run away with me, I beg you, Meralda!" Jaka took a step precariously close to edge of the cliff.
Lord Feringal, and everyone else, it seemed, stared hard at Meralda.
"A childhood friendship," she explained hastily. "A fool, I tell you, a little boy, and nothing to be concerned with." Seeing that her words were having little effect, she put her hand on Feringal's forearm and moved very close. "I'm here to marry you because we found a love I never dreamed possible," she said, trying desperately to reassure him.
"Meralda!" Jaka wailed.
Lord Feringal scowled up at the cliff. "Someone shut the fool up," he demanded. He looked to High Watcher Risten. "Drop a globe of silence on his foolish head."
"Too far," Risten replied, shaking his head, though in truth, he hadn't even prepared such a spell.
At the other end of the garden, Steward Temigast feared where this interruption could lead, so he hustled guards off to silence the loudmouthed young man.
Like Temigast, Meralda was truly afraid, wondering how stupid Jaka would prove to be. Would the idiot say something that could cost Meralda the wedding, that might cost them both their reputations and perhaps their very lives?
"Run away with me, Meralda," Jaka yelled. "I am your true love."
"Who is that bastard?" Lord Feringal demanded again, past agitated.
"A field worker who thinks he is in love with me," she whispered while the crowd watched the couple. Meralda recognized the danger here, the volatile fires simmering in Feringal's eyes. She looked at him directly and stated flatly, without room for debate, "If you and I were not to be married, if we hadn't found love together, I'd still have nothing to do with that fool."
Lord Feringal stared at her a while longer, but he couldn't stay angry after hearing Meralda's honest assessment.
"Shall I continue, my lord?" High Watcher Risten asked.
Lord Feringal held up his hand. "When the fool is dragged away," he replied.
"Meralda! If you do not come out to me, I shall throw myself to the rocks below!" Jaka yelled suddenly, and he stepped forward to the rim of the cliff.
Several people in the garden gasped, but not Meralda. She stood eyeing Jaka coldly, so angry that she cared little if the fool went through with his threat, because she was certain he wouldn't. He hadn't the courage to kill himself. He wanted only to torture and humiliate her publicly to show up Lord Feringal. This was petty revenge, not love.
"Hold!" cried a guard, fast approaching Jaka on the cliff.
The young man spun around at the call, but as he did so his foot slipped out from under him, dropping him to his belly. He clawed with his hands but slid farther out so that he was hanging in air from the chest down, a hundred-foot drop to jagged rocks below him.
The guard lunged for him, but he was too late.
"Meralda!" came Jaka's last cry, a desperate, wailing howl as he dropped from sight.
Stunned as she was by the sudden, dramatic turn, Meralda was torn between disbelieving grief for Jaka and awareness that Feringal's scrutinizing gaze was upon her, watching and measuring her every reaction. She immediately understood that any failure on her part now would be held against her when the truth of her condition became evident.
"By the gods!" she gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth. "Oh, the poor fool!" She turned to Lord Feringal and shook her head, seeming very much at a loss.
And surely she was, her heart a jumble of hatred, horror, and remembered passion. She hated Jaka-how she hated him-for his reaction to the knowledge that she was pregnant, and hated him even more for his stupidity on this day. Still, she could not deny those remembered feelings, the way the mere sight of Jaka had put such a spring in her skip just a few short months before. Meralda knew that Jaka's last cry would haunt her for the rest of her life.
She hid all of that and reacted as those around her did to the gruesome sight-with shock and horror.
They postponed the wedding. Three days later they would complete the ceremony on a gray and thickly overcast morning. It seemed fitting.
*****
Meralda felt the hesitance in her husband's movements for the rest of the day during the grand celebration that was open to all of Auckney. She tried to approach Feringal about it, but he would not reveal himself. Meralda understood he was afraid. And why wouldn't Feringal be afraid? Jaka had died crying out to Feringal's wife-to-be.
But still, as the wine flowed and the merriment continued, Lord Feringal managed more than a few smiles. How those smiles widened when Meralda whispered into his ear that and could hardly wait for their first night together, the consummation of their love.
In truth, the young woman was excited by the prospect, if not a bit fearful. He would recognize, of course, that her virginity wasn't intact, but that was not such an uncommon thing among women living in the harsh farming environment, working hard, often riding horses, and could be explained away. She wondered if perhaps it might be better to reveal the truth of her condition and the lie she had concocted to explain it.
No, she decided, even as she and her husband ascended the staircase to their private quarters. No, the man had been through enough turmoil in the last few days. This would be a night for his pleasure, not his pain.
She would see to that.
*****
It was a grand first week of marriage, full of love and smiles, and those of Biaste Ganderlay touched Meralda most of all. Her family had not come to live with her at Castle Auck. She wouldn't dare suggest such a thing to Priscilla, not yet, but High Watcher Risten had worked tirelessly with Meralda's mother and had declared the woman completely cured. Meralda could see the truth of it painted clearly on Biaste's beaming face.
She could see, too, that though still shaken by Jaka's act upon the cliff, Feringal would get by the event. The man loved her, of that she was sure, and he fawned over her constantly.
Meralda had come to terms with her own feelings for Jaka. She was sorry for what had happened, but she carried no guilt for the man's death. Jaka had done it to himself, and for himself and surely not for her. Meralda understood now that Jaka had done everything for himself. There would always be a tiny place in her heart for the young man, for the fantasies that would never be, but it was more than compensated for by the knowledge that her family would be better off than any of them could ever have hoped. Eventually, she'd move Biaste and Dohni into the castle or a proper estate of their own, and she'd help Tori find a suitable husband, a wealthy merchant perhaps, when the girl was ready.
There remained only one problem. Meralda feared that Priscilla was catching on to her condition, for the woman, though outwardly pleasant, had cast her a few unmistakable glances. Suspicious glances, like those of Steward Temigast. They knew of her condition or suspected it. In any case they would all know soon enough, which brought a measure of desperation creeping into Meralda's otherwise perfect existence.
Meralda had even thought of going to High Watcher Risten to see if there was some magic that might rid her of the child. She had dismissed that thought almost immediately, however, and not for any fears that Risten would betray her. While she wanted no part of Jaka Sculi, she couldn't bring herself to destroy the life that was growing within her.
By the end of the first week of her marriage, Meralda had determined the only course open to her, and by end of the second week she had mustered the courage to initiate her plan. She asked the cook to prepare eggs for breakfast and waited at the table with Feringal, Priscilla, and Temigast. Better to get it over with all of them at once.
Even before the cook came out with the eggs the smell of the food drifted in to Meralda and brought that usual queasy feeling to her. She bent over and clutched at her belly.
"Meralda?" Feringal asked with concern.
"Are you all right, child?" Temigast added.
Meralda looked across the table to Priscilla and saw suspicion there.
She came up fast with a wail and began crying immediately. It was not hard for Meralda to bring forth those tears.
"No, I am not all right!" she cried.
"What is it, dearest?" Lord Feringal asked, leaping up and running to her side.
"On the road," Meralda explained between sobs, "to Madam Prinkle's . . ."
"When you were attacked?" Steward Temigast supplied gently.
"The man, the big one," Meralda wailed. "He ravished me!"
Lord Feringal fell back as if struck.
"Why did you not tell us?" Temigast demanded after a hesitation that seemed to hit all three of them. Indeed, the cook, entering with Meralda's breakfast plate, dropped it to the floor in shock.
"I feared to tell you," Meralda wailed, looking to her husband. "I feared you'd hate me."
"Never!" Feringal insisted, but he was obviously shaken to the core, and he made no move to come back to his wife's side.
"And you're telling us now because . . . ?" Priscilla's tone and Temigast's wounded expression revealed to the young woman that they both knew the answer.
"Because I'm with child, I fear," Meralda blurted. Overwhelmed by her own words and the smell of those damned eggs, she leaned to the side and vomited. Meralda heard Feringal's cry of despair through her own coughs, and it truly hurt the woman to wound him so.
Then there came only silence.
Meralda, finished with the sickness, feared to sit up straight, feared to face the three. She didn't know what they would do, though she had heard of a village woman who had become pregnant through rape. That woman had not been held to blame.
A comforting hand gripped her shoulder and eased her out of the chair. Priscilla hugged Meralda close and whispered softly into her ear that it would be all right.
"What am I to do?" Lord Feringal stuttered, hardly able to speak through the bile in his throat. His tone made Meralda think that he might banish her from the castle, from his life, then and there.
Steward Temigast moved to support the young man. "This is not, without precedence, my lord," the old man explained. "Even in your own kingdom." All three stared at the steward.
"There is no betrayal here, of course," Temigast went on. "Except that Meralda did not immediately tell us. For that, you may punish her as you see fit, though I pray you will be generous toward the frightened girl."
Feringal looked at Meralda hard, but he nodded just a bit.
"As for the child," Temigast went on, "it must be announced openly and soon. It will be made clear and binding that this child will not be heir to your throne."
"I will slay the babe as it is born!" Lord Feringal said with a growl. Meralda wailed, as did Priscilla, to Meralda's absolute surprise.
"My lord," said Steward Temigast. Feringal punched his fists against the sides of his legs in utter frustration. Meralda noted his every movement then, and recognized that his claim of murder was pure bluster.
Steward Temigast just shook his head and walked over to pat Lord Feringal's shoulder. "Better to give the babe to another," he said. "Let it be gone from your sight and from your lives."
Feringal stared questioningly at his wife.
"I'm not wanting it," Meralda answered that look with an honest answer. "I'm not wanting to think at all of that night, er, time." She bit her lip as she finished, hoping that her slip of the tongue had not been detected.
To her relief and continued surprise it was Priscilla who stayed close to her, who escorted her to her room. Even when they were out of earshot of Temigast and Lord Feringal, the older woman's gentle demeanor did not waver in the least.
"I cannot guess your pain," Priscilla said.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
Priscilla patted her cheek. "It must have been too painful," she offered, "but you did nothing wrong. My brother was still your first lover, the first man to whom you gave yourself willingly, and a husband can ask no more than that."
Meralda swallowed the guilt she felt, swallowed it and pushed it aside with the justification that Feringal was, indeed, her first true lover, the first man she'd lain with who had honest feelings for her.
"
erhaps we will come to some agreement when the child is born," Priscilla said unexpectedly.
Meralda looked at her strangely, not quite catching on.
"I was thinking that perhaps it would be better if I found another place to live," Priscilla explained. "Or took a wing of the castle for myself, perhaps, and made it my own."
Meralda squinted in puzzlement, then it hit her. She was so shocked that her previous peasant dialect came rushing back. "Ye're thinking o' taking the babe for yerself," she blurted.
"Perhaps, if we could agree," Priscilla said hesitantly.
Meralda had no idea of how to respond but suspected she wouldn't know until after the child was born. Would she be able to have the baby anywhere near her? Or would she find that she could not part with an infant that was hers, after all?
No, she decided, not that. She would not, could not, keep the child, however she might feel after its birth.
"We plan too far ahead," Priscilla remarked as if reading Meralda's mind. "For now we must make sure you eat well. You are my brother's wife now and will give him heirs to the throne of Auckney. We must keep you healthy until then."
Meralda could hardly believe the words, the genuine concern. She had never expected this level of success with her plan, which only made her feel even more guilty about it all.
And so it went for several days, with Meralda believing that things were on a steady course. There were a few rough spots, particularly in the bedroom, where she had to constantly assuage her husband's pride, insisting that the barbarian who had savaged her had given her no pleasure at all. She even went to the extent of claiming that she was practically unconscious throughout the ordeal and wasn't even sure it had happened until she came to realize that she was with child.
Then one day, Meralda encountered an unexpected problem with her plan.
"Highwaymen do not travel far," she heard Lord Feringal tell Temigast as she joined the two in the drawing room.
"Certainly the scoundrels are nowhere near Auckney," the steward replied.
"Close enough," Feringal insisted. "The merchant Galway has a powerful wizard for hire."
"Even wizards must know what to look for," Temigast remarked.
"I don't remember his face," Meralda blurted, hurrying to join them.
"But Liam Woodgate does," said Feringal, wearing the smug smile of one who intended to find his revenge.
Meralda worked very hard to not appear distressed.
