The room was large and circular with an expansive ceiling. The furnishings were sparse: a large disheveled desk, two cushioned chairs near a small fireplace, and a delicate table between them. A fire burned in the hearth behind a simple brass screen, illuminating most of the study. The candles, which lined the walls, provided light to the remaining areas and filled the chamber with a pleasant, heady aroma of honey and salifan.
Archibald smiled when he noticed Victor eyeing the cluttered desk overflowing with various scrolls and maps. “Don’t worry, sir. I hid all the truly incriminating plans for world domination prior to your visit,” he quipped. “Please do sit down.” Archibald gestured toward the pair of chairs near the hearth. “Rest yourself from your long journey while I pour us a drink.”
The older man scowled and grumbled, “Enough of the tour and formalities. We are here now. Explain what this is all about.”
Archibald ignored the marquis’ tone. He could afford to be gracious now that he was about to claim his prize. He waited while the marquis took his seat.
“You are aware, are you not, that I have shown an interest in your daughter Alenda?” Archibald asked, walking to the desk to pour two glasses of brandy.
“Yes, she’s mentioned it to me.”
“Has she told you why she has refused my advances?”
“She doesn’t like you.”
“She hardly knows me,” countered Archibald with a raised finger.
“Archie, is this why you asked me here?”
“I would appreciate your addressing me by my proper name. It is inappropriate to call me that since my father is dead and I hold title. In any case, concerning your question, it does have a bearing on the subject. As you know, I am the twelfth Earl of Chadwick. Granted, it’s not a huge estate, and Ballentyne isn’t the most influential of families, but I am not without merit. I control five villages and twelve hamlets, as well as the strategic Senon Uplands. I currently command more than sixty professional men-at-arms, and twenty knights are loyal to me—including Sir Enden and Sir Breckton, both of whom rank in the top fifty on the tournament circuit. Chadwick’s wool and leather exports are the envy of the whole of Warric, and there is talk of the Summersrule Games being held here on the very lawn you crossed to enter my castle.”
“Yes, Archie—I mean Archibald—I am well aware of Chadwick’s status in the world. I don’t need a commerce lesson from you.”
“Are you also aware that King Ethelred’s nephew has dined here on more than one occasion? Or that the Duke and Lady of Rochelle have promised to invite me to Wintertide this year?”
“Archibald, this is quite tiresome. What exactly is your point?”
Archibald frowned at the marquis’ lack of awe. He carried over the glasses of brandy, handed one to Victor, and took the remaining seat. He paused a moment to sip his liquor.
“My point is this. Given my position, my stature, and my promising future—why would Alenda reject me? Certainly, it is not because of my appearance. The rest of her suitors are old, fat, or bald—in several cases all three.”
“Perhaps looks and wealth are not her only concern,” replied Victor. “Women don’t always think about politics and power. Alenda is the kind of girl who follows her heart.”
“But she also follows her father’s wishes. Am I correct?”
“I don’t understand your meaning.”
“If you told her to marry me, she would.”
“That is not a certainty. Alenda has been known to disobey me.”
“As her father perhaps, but would she refuse a command from the Marquis of Glouston?” Archibald pressed. “You could order her to marry me.”
“So, this is why you coerced me into coming here? I’m sorry, Archibald, but you have wasted your time and mine. I refuse to force her to wed a man she doesn’t want. She would hate me for the rest of her life. I care more about my daughter’s feelings than the political implications of her marriage. I happen to cherish Alenda. Of all my children, she is my greatest joy.”
Archibald took another sip of brandy and considered Victor’s remarks. He decided to approach the subject from a different direction. “What if it were for her own good? To save her from what would be certain disaster.”
“You warned me of danger to get me here. Are you finally ready to explain, or would you prefer to see if this old man can still handle a blade?”
Archibald disregarded what he knew was an idle threat. “When Alenda repeatedly declined my advances, I reasoned something must be amiss. There was no logic to her rebuffs. Look at me. I am a rich and handsome man. I have connections and my star is rising. The reason for your daughter’s refusal is quite simple: she is already involved with someone else. She is having an affair—a secret affair.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” Victor declared. “Who is this man? Why would she not tell me?”
“It is little wonder she’s kept it from you. She is ashamed. You see, the man she is entertaining is a mere commoner without a single drop of royal blood in his veins.”
“You’re lying!”
“Perhaps you’ve heard of him. His name is Degan Gaunt. A troublemaker I hear, part of the Nationalist movement out of Delgos. They rendezvous at Windermere near the monastery. They meet on nights when you are away or occupied with matters of state.”
“That is ridiculous. My daughter would never—”
“Don’t you have a son there?” Archibald inquired. “At the abbey, I mean. He’s a monk, isn’t he?”
Victor nodded. “Myron. He is my third son.”
“Perhaps he has been helping them. I’ve made inquiries and it seems your Myron is a very intelligent fellow. Perhaps he is masterminding liaisons for his beloved sister and carrying their correspondence.”
“You are insane,” Victor shot back, suppressing a bitter laugh. “I sent Myron to the abbey when he was barely four years old. He hasn’t set foot outside its walls in thirty-two years. All he is good for is scribbling books. To my knowledge, Alenda has never even spoken to him. This whole story is obviously a pathetic attempt to have me pressure Alenda into marrying you, and I know why. You don’t care about her. You want her dowry. The Rilan Valley borders ever so nicely against your own lands. Not to mention, marrying into my family would be quite a boost for you, socially and politically.”
“Pathetic, am I?” Archibald set down his glass and produced a key on a silver neck chain from inside his shirt. He rose and crossed the room to a tapestry depicting a Calian prince on horseback abducting a fair-haired noblewoman. He drew it back revealing the hidden safe, and inserting the key, opened the small metal door.
“I have a stack of letters written in your precious daughter’s hand that proves it. They tell of her undying love for her disgusting peasant.”
“How did you get these letters?”
“I stole them from her. I knew she was seeing someone and wanted to know who y rival was, so I had her followed. Once I discovered she was sending letters, I arranged to have them intercepted.” From the safe, Archibald brought forth a stack of parchments and dropped them in Victor’s lap. “There!” he declared triumphantly. “Read what your daughter has been up to, and decide for yourself whether or not she would be better off marrying me.”
Archibald lifted his brandy glass victoriously; he had won. In order to avoid political ruin, Victor Lanaklin, the great Marquis of Glouston, would order his daughter to marry him. Finally, he would have the borderland, and perhaps in time, he would control the whole of the marchland. With Chadwick in his right hand and Glouston in his left, his power at court would rival that of the Duke of Rochelle.