Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (34 page)

 
          
"Then
screech and faint when they got footed for their foolishness," Heinrich
agreed sourly, then brightened. "Ah, well, soon enough they'll find some
other foolishness—and you know
,
it might be worth my
time to catch some young starlings this spring, and give a handsome little male
to each one of them!"

 
          
Honoria
laughed at his changed expression. "That's one of your better thoughts,
master falconer! Call them 'dragonfly-falcons' or some other nonsense, or have
some of the boys
teach
them to whistle a roundelay,
and they'll be as happy as children with a bright bauble."

 
          
"Chances
are, they won't even manage to sicken the poor creatures with all their
treats," Heinrich replied with content, so pleased with himself that once
again, Honoria had to hide her smile.
"Never have seen a
bird so hard to kill as a starling."

 
          
Honoria
left him making plans, and went back out into the brilliant sunlight pouring
down into the stable yard. She noted little things that probably would have
escaped her sisters; the rooks beginning the first courting dances up on the
roof tiles, the restive curvetting of a stallion being held for a knight to
mount. Spring was coming, and no matter the snow still lying heavily in the
fields. Soon it would be time to decide which birds would be intermewed through
the summer molt, and which would be released in time to find mates and build
nests. Soon there would be nothing to occupy Hon-oria's time but proper
"maidenly" pursuits—until summer came, and Heinrich found falcon
aeries and hawk nests to pick
this years
' eyases from.

 
          
If they could be reached, that is, and if the parent birds didn't
defend them too fiercely to be worth the price.
Better two eyes and no
eyas, was Heinrich's philosophy, and Honoria agreed, even as she yearned for a
downy eyas to feed and warm. The helpless young babies, with big heads too
heavy for their tiny necks, brought out
a maternal
warmth in her that she took care never to let anyone but Heinrich see.

 
          
"Lady
Honoria—" The soft, diffident voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she
stopped as a very young knight, still in his "maiden" year,
approached her. He was new to the court, golden-haired with brilliant blue
eyes, and she had to search her memory for a moment before she found his name.

 
          
"Sir
Gunther?" she replied politely, as he waited for her to respond.

 
          
"Lady
Honoria, I wondered if—would you permit—that is—" He flushed, and she
repressed a sigh. Oh, Blessed Virgin, another one! Why do they persist in
finding me attractive, when that is the last thing I try to be? But a cynical
voice answered the question readily enough. It's not the lady they find
attractive, it's the rank.

 
          
Meanwhile,
Sir Gunther managed to find his voice and a few more words. "I am
Bern
's cousin, and my aunt—that is—"

 
          
That
put a very different complexion on things, and Honoria lost her annoyance with
him. "She wants you to keep an eye on him." Honoria chuckled deep in
her throat, relieved that this time she wasn't going to have to fend off
another would-be admirer. "Would you care to come along on his hunt
tomorrow? Then you'll be able to tell his mother, and his father, too, what a
fine falconer he's becoming." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Master
Heinrich and I both believe he's ready to hunt with a peregrine, and we mean to
take him up to a game-hawk in the autumn, one he'll catch and train himself."

 
          
Sir
Gunther looked surprised and gratified; Honoria now saw how like his younger
cousin he was, with the same guileless eyes, rough-hewn features, and
intelligent expression, the same unruly blond hair. This was the muscular body
that
Bern
would one day grow into, and she felt a
little
elated,
and a little sad as she saw
Bern
's future in his cousin's face.

 
          
"Thank
you, Lady Honoria—I hadn't expected that honor," he replied, surprising
her with the honesty she sensed beneath his words. "I only wanted to learn
from his teacher if the student was progressing. To learn he is doing so
well—that will please his father and mother very much. And I, I am very happy
for him."

 
          
He
flushed again, and added, "When I was a squire, the falconry master was as
irritable as one of his goshawks, and my knight never cared to learn much
beyond how to cast a bird up and how not to flush the prey too early; he left
all else to his falconers. I am glad
Bern
has better teachers."

 
          
Honoria
wanted to laugh, but retained a serious expression, sensing that a laugh would
probably hurt this young fellow's feelings past repair. "In that case, I
invite you to share your cousin's lessons, provided you pledge me not to be
shocked at my unmaidenly joy in the sport." He hesitated, making Honoria
wonder if she had already shocked him, then said, with a little bow of respect
"Your kindness to one of indif-ferent rank, my lady, only makes me
determined that there can be nothing unmaidenly about you, only good will and a
true, brave heart. I would gladly join my cousin in his lessons, and I give you
my thanks again." Well! That is the prettiest speech I've ever heard,
especially from someone who isn't trying to win my hand!
she
thought with a sense of shock. From his words, there was no doubt that he must
be the younger son of someone no higher in rank than landed knight; he would
have no land of his own, nothing but his title and whatever small help his
parents could give him. That alone would keep him from turning into a hopeful
suitor; he hadn't a hope in the world of as-piring as high as the Crown
Prince's eldest daughter. His best chance at fortune was to serve someone like
her father, and hope that faithful service or an advantageous marriage would
lead to a small manor or minor keep one day. If it did not—he would live and
die a bachelor knight, always in the service of some greater lord until he was
no longer fit to fight— assuming he survived that long.

 
          
"And
I thank you, for providing me with a second congenial hunting companion and a
willing pupil," she replied warmly,
then
laughed,
now that the laugher would no longer hurt his feelings. "Do believe me,
Sir Gunther, there is nothing that pleases the fanatic more than the
opportunity to make another such! I look forward to your company at sunrise at
the mews on the morrow."

 
          
Taking
that for the dismissal it was, he bowed himself out of her presence, leaving
her feeling far happier and contented with her lot than she had in many a day.

 
          
Such
high feelings couldn't be maintained, of course, and as soon as she entered the
royal suites, a page came to spoil them immediately. "Lady Honoria,” the
boy said, with a solemn bow all out of keeping with his tender years.
"
Your father the Prince and your mother the Princess
request your presence immediately, in their private chambers.

 
          
Translation:
Mother and Father are about to lecture me again, she thought bitterly, as her
fine feelings
flew
away. As she handed the boy her
cloak to take to her women, she smoothed her skirts and tried to think how she
could have outraged their sensibilities this time. I didn't— despite my lecture
to
Bern
—make in to Valeria on my belly. I didn't
kirtle my skirts above my knees. I'm not wearing breeches beneath my habit,
though without a doubt they'd be warmer than my stockings. I went to mass
before we went out hunting, and I intend to do the same tomorrow.

 
          
I
haven't cut my hair since the last time Mother caught me at it. She sighed, as
she hurried up the stairs to the royal chambers. There was nothing she could think
of, but without a doubt, there must be something they were annoyed with her
about.

 
          
She
paused for a moment on the landing to smooth the woolen skirts of her habit
with a nervous gesture, took a deep breath to compose herself, then stepped
into the first room of the royal suite.

 
          
This
was the most public of the royal chambers, and the one where the Prince and
Princess most often received visitors informally. Her mother and father, seated
side-by-side at a small table covered with documents, had been talking together
in low voices, but they stopped as soon as Honoria entered, turning as one to
stare at her.

 
          
Honoria
looked into Prince Karl von Hans-berg's face and saw her own disconcerting
violet eyes, her own high cheekbones and finely etched eyebrows, but the face
was square-jawed and unashamedly masculine with no hint of femininity. From her
father, too, came the color of her hair, a deep sable-black. Sulamith von
Hansberg had contributed her expressive mouth and the heart shape of her face
to her daughter, and the fine figure that all of her daughters had inherited,
but her eyes were an odd and uncanny color of pale gray-blue, and her hair an
uncompromising blonde.

 
          
Honoria
made a brief curtsy, and approached the heavily built wooden table as if there
was nothing whatsoever in her mind but greeting her parents. "
Bern
and I had fine hunting, Father," she
said with forced cheer. "He is learning his craft swiftly. Heinrich and I
believe we should take him straight to a game-hawk and skip merlins altogether
this season. I venture to say that at the rate he's learning, your squire will
be ready for knighthood before he has more than three hairs on his chin."

 
          
The
Crown Prince had to smile at that, despite the lines of concern about his eyes
and the faint crease between his brows. "I am pleased to hear you
recommend him as highly as his other masters, daughter," he replied, as
the Princess compressed her lips in silent disapproval. "But I did not ask
you here to discuss my squire. Please—" he gestured to a low-backed chair
placed slightly to the side of the table. "Sit."

 
          
Oh,
dear. She took the chair and sank into it with a further lowering of spirits.

 
          
"
Honoria. . . .
" Her father paused for a moment, looking
not at her, but at the documents before him, as if searching them for the words
he needed.

 
          
"Honoria,
I have gotten a very generous marriage proposal for your youngest sister,
Theresa. I intend to accept it; the betrothal ceremony will take place after
Eastertide, and the wedding next year."

 
          
For
a moment, Honoria could feel nothing but a rush of relief. Not me! Thank you,
Jesu, it was not for me! Not that her father would force her, for he had
pledged never to do so, but rejecting yet another proposal would result in
weeks of tears, recriminations, and attempts to change her mind. Sulamith took
her daughter's refusal to wed as a personal affront and an unmitigated
disaster.

 
          
But
her father wasn't done, not by any stretch of the imagination.
"Honoria," he continued, earnestly, "All of your sisters are
betrothed now. You are the only one of my daughters unpledged. It isn't fitting
that they be wedded before your future is decided. It goes against all custom,
and the Court will be appalled."

 
          
I
want my future to be just as my past has been! "But it is not counter to
law, Father," Honoria replied, as firmly as she dared. "The law says
nothing of what order the daughters must be wed in, and customs are wont to
change.

 
          
The
Court will manage to survive being appalled, I am sure."

 
          
The
Princess made a choking sound, and put a silken kerchief to her lips.

 
          
"Honoria,
we have been patient, your mother and I," her father said, for the first
time with a hint of annoyance in his voice, and a stubborn expression on his
face that Honoria recognized. He probably recognized it, too, because she was,
doubtless, wearing it herself. In a battle of wills between Honoria and the
Prince of Hansberg, the Prince had all the advantages. "I think we have
been patient long enough. It is time for you to make a decision: I will not
permit custom to be outraged, and my family to become the source of court
gossip from here to the
Rhine
. I
swore I would never force you to wed, and I never shall—but I can and will give
you a choice and insist that you make it."