Dear Readers – My laptop is dying [cue mournful music] but I haven't had time to crack it open and diagnose the digital illness. Since I do most of my writing on the road, so to speak, and I made some last-minute changes to this chapter, it's less polished than I'd like it to be. Comments from eager, impatient readers seem to suggest most of you would prefer fast to perfect, however, so here it is! Please try to overlook any grammatical errors – I'm sure there are some – while I get started smoothing out a few bumps in Chapter 5, the final resolution of Kerin's story. Thank you again for all the positive feedback, and be sure to check out my bio for more info. – Stefanie
– o –
After a somber private ceremony, the newly wed couple joined Father Hubert, Maxen's most senior men, Kerin's ladies, and a few of her oldest retainers in sharing a small, celebratory supper. The real festivities would take place the following day, when Maxen would contribute a cask of precious mead to the plethora of food and drink served in the outer bailey, but for the ersatz feast taking place that evening, just the usual wine and ale were served. Dinner was followed by an hour of light-hearted toasts and song, but taking their cue from Edon, no one seemed inclined to the usual wedding-night buffonery, and the traditional Wedding Cup was put off until the following day, when Kerin and Maxen would share the ritual with the entire village.
Kerin had hidden the iron collar and chain she wore by winding the long drapery of her head-covering about her throat, but its narrow, ponderous weight prevented the meal from feeling like a normal celebration to her. Still, she blushed when Maxen stood to lead her from the room and amused glances followed their path.
Not knowing what was expected of her once they reached their chamber, Kerin stood quietly by the door while her husband washed his face and hands. In the firelight, she saw him glance her way as he turned, but she lowered her lashes as he began to shed his clothing. Her brow wrinkled when she heard him climb into bed a minute later. Did he expect her to undress herself?
Shyly, she peeked... and froze. All that was visible of Maxen was the back of his head and one bare shoulder. The rest of him was hidden beneath the covers, apparently ready for sleep.
Kerin controlled her breathing and bit her lower lip, trying both to distract and silence herself, but she couldn't stop the tears from blurring her vision and wetting her cheeks as she returned to her pallet on the floor by Maxen's feet. She didn't want to weep, but as strong as she'd been over the past five years, she wasn't strong enough to withstand this new evidence of Maxen's hatred. She knew she deserved his anger, but she'd hoped his attitude might someday soften. That was the argument she'd used to talk herself into tranquility when she learned of the priest's arrival, but on the cold stone floor of her father's chamber, it no longer seemed like a possibility.
After an hour of sleepless desperation, she succumbed to temptation and plucked Sir Furball from her high-sided basket by the hearth, risking an early-morning ambush. With the kitten's warm body tucked between the curve of her chin and chest, Kerin finally fell asleep. Her night was as empty of dreams as she suspected the rest of her life would be, from that day forward.
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Maxen hadn't meant for Kerin to continue sleeping on the floor. Since he couldn't trust his self-control, it may have been for the best, but it wasn't what he intended when he crawled beneath the covers. He couldn't have explained exactly what he did mean to accomplish, but had some vague idea that his lack of interest would demonstrate that Kerin shouldn't expect coddling or romance to be part of their marriage. Still, when she'd returned to her place by the hearth, Maxen felt a twinge of something he wasn't accustomed to feeling, something remarkably like regret. He was considering whether to take action when a sound arose from Kerin's nest of blankets on the floor, and he tensed. For the next half hour, he lay rigid, listening closely and becoming angrier as his suspicions were confirmed, because new ones took their place.
Kerin was crying, and Maxen's imagination supplied the reason. She couldn't possibly have been wounded by his indifference, because if she truly cared, she wouldn't have treated him so badly, nor objected so strongly to their marriage. But if her tears were false and meant to gain his sympathy, they wouldn't have been shed so quietly. That left only one explanation: Kerin wept because she'd been forced to marry someone other than her beloved Milot.
Maxen's hands fisted in the soft woolen blankets.
He slept before Kerin did, but his night was haunted by visions of his new wife falling away from his outstretched fingers, her broken body landing sprawled at the foot of the stairs, trickles of blood running between squares of the hard stone floor.
He woke before dawn, still out of sorts. An ebullient mood reigned throughout the castle and village that day, so Maxen took care not to burden anyone with his own ill temper. He didn't bother leading Kerin around by her chain, either, allowing her to keep it hidden away beneath the silk drapery of her hair covering, since she was now bound to him by the more comprehensive ties of law.
Edon knew his liege was in a foul mood, of course, but had the sense not to mention it to Maxen. He supervised routine patrols and parceled out assignments. Many of the men were stolen away by the cook and the women of the village, impressed into service setting up long plank tables, carrying casks and huge iron pots or, in the case of one especially young soldier, tying streamers of bright ribbons to every post in the outer bailey, while the poor lad's compatriots roared with laughter.
To accompany the mead, Maxen's men opened two casks of apparently imported wine from the bandits' plunder and an extra barrel of ale from the keep's own stock. Maxen graciously allowed Geralt to attend an hour of the festivities, and Kerin's man joined Father Hubert in toasting the couple with drink and song, while Milot remained locked in his cell below.
When it was at last time to carve the roasted meats, Maxen managed to mount a decent facsimile of good cheer on the cold steel scaffolding of his face. Kerin's manner was as serene and gracious as ever. She stayed close by Maxen's side and said all the right things in reply to the many congratulations they received. She smiled so sweetly at her new husband that no one but Maxen could tell she was looking at one of his ears whenever she did so.
Soon after the harps came out, Father Hubert retired to his chamber. By then Geralt was back in his cell, too, and the wedding party had moved inside. Kerin sent her ladies to bed fast on the heels of the priest, when two buxom, brunette slave women captured from the thieves were brought up from the village to dance, and it became obvious that the boisterous party was becoming one which unmarried women should not attend.
Maxen had spent half the afternoon surreptitiously peering at his wife, as though attempting to divine her thoughts by simply reading her expression. The few bits of truth seeping through her happy veneer were weary and sad, and several times, Maxen caught Kerin watching him, too. He couldn't help but wonder what she saw when she looked at him. There was a polished oval of bronze in their chamber, and Kerin even had a tiny pane of Moorish mirrored glass, but Maxen had never cared enough to look.
He thought about it now, though. He'd been in a multitude of fights, large and small, and his face had not been spared its share of the battering he'd taken over the years. Maxen imagined it showed. If Kerin's shy glances were busy propping Milot at his side, Maxen was sure he suffered in comparison to the much younger man.
By sunset, his brittle good humor was exhausted, and he attempted to drown his irritation in several additional tankards of ale, taken fast, not for taste. That was when Edon seriously curtailed his own consumption of alcohol.
Maxen was more than capable of handling as much drink as any of his men, but he'd consumed more and eaten less than usual. On top of sleeping poorly since their arrival... well, he wasn't slurring or sloppy, but Edon could see Maxen wasn't exactly sober, either, and he'd refilled Kerin's wine goblet at least twice since the party moved inside. At first, Edon was encouraged, thinking Maxen meant to seduce her. Surely intoxication would loosen Kerin's lips, and telling Maxen how she felt would solve three-quarters of their problems, Edon was convinced. Unfortunately, Kerin's repeated assertions that she didn't handle liquor well were more true than either Edon or Maxen knew. Within the space of a few sips, Kerin went from cheerfully tipsy to boneless, giggling incoherence.
