I beg you.”
He allowed Heribert to pour him a full cup of wine, which he drained. “No.” He set down the cup so hard that the base rang hollowly on the wooden table. “I ride east, to hunt griffins.”
3
AFTER the conference with the king’s Eagle, Sanglant made his way to the privacy of Lady Ilona’s bedchamber. Her four attendants slept soundly on pallets lined up along the far wall, and Ilona lay naked on her stomach among the tangled bedclothes. Smiling slightly, she watched him as he stripped, then raised an eyebrow when he went to the unshuttered window instead of coming immediately to her bed.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
Sanglant lingered by the window, staring east, yet all he saw was stars and campfires and, beyond them, unknown country lost in darkness. The moon had not yet risen. The night was mild, the breeze a caress against his skin. “That my daughter is impossible.”
“She is only jealous. She wants you to herself. She does not like this attention you pay to a woman. It was only one gown. I have others.”
“You are very forgiving.”
“No. I am patient. She grows quickly, your daughter. Soon enough she will become a woman, and she will desire men herself.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned.
“Then you will be jealous,” she said with a chuckle, “because you will no longer be first in her heart. She will be torn between father and lover. If she is wise and fortunate, she will choose to follow her own destiny in the end, not that of a man.”
“I am chastened,” he replied, clapping a hand over his heart. “Now I realize that you have not given that gown a second thought, although its fate has been nagging at me all day. What are you thinking of, then?”
She smiled, stretching. The single lamp gave off enough light for him to admire the mole on her left hip, the curve of her buttocks, and a glimpse of rosy nipple as she shifted. With an exaggerated sigh, drawn out and almost musical, she rolled up onto her side. He felt the familiar stirring, heat suffusing his skin.
He had met the persuasive widow last autumn, when they had finally arrived at King Geza’s court in Erztegom. She had propositioned him within a week of their first encounter, but it wasn’t until the winter, when they were confined by a succession of blizzards within the town walls, that he had finally allowed her to seduce him. The arrangement had lasted through the spring.
He crossed the room to sit on the bed.
“I am thinking of the sorrow in my heart,” she said warmly, “now that we journey close to the borderlands.”
“Are you sorry I’m leaving?”
“But of course! Now that you are leaving they are at me again, all those grasping relatives! Marry this lord! Marry that lord! Don’t be selfish with your wealth and independence! How good it was when they could not insult me with their offers because they feared to anger you!”
He grinned, twining a strand of her copper hair between his fingers. “You could enter a convent.”
“I think not! All this praying would be very bad for my knees. I am very careful of my knees. Among my people it issaid that after too much kneeling, you can no longer ride a horse.”
“Then will you let your uncle choose a husband for you?”
“That old fool! It is very lucky he cannot touch my inheritance, or he would have married me himself even if the church would call him a whore for it. Is that the right word?”
He withdrew his hand from her hair. “That would be incest.”
“So it would. I am thinking of marrying the one they call the White Stallion, Prince Arhad’s eldest son by the Arethousan woman.”
“Ah. The lady with the white-blonde hair.”
“Yes, that one. Why is it that men find her so fascinating? Already she is an old woman, at least forty. I cannot see it.”
“Women can be beautiful in many different ways.” He traced the shape of her body from the shoulder, along the dip of her waist, and up along the ample curve of her hip.
He allowed Heribert to pour him a full cup of wine, which he drained. “No.” He set down the cup so hard that the base rang hollowly on the wooden table. “I ride east, to hunt griffins.”
3
AFTER the conference with the king’s Eagle, Sanglant made his way to the privacy of Lady Ilona’s bedchamber. Her four attendants slept soundly on pallets lined up along the far wall, and Ilona lay naked on her stomach among the tangled bedclothes. Smiling slightly, she watched him as he stripped, then raised an eyebrow when he went to the unshuttered window instead of coming immediately to her bed.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
Sanglant lingered by the window, staring east, yet all he saw was stars and campfires and, beyond them, unknown country lost in darkness. The moon had not yet risen. The night was mild, the breeze a caress against his skin. “That my daughter is impossible.”
“She is only jealous. She wants you to herself. She does not like this attention you pay to a woman. It was only one gown. I have others.”
“You are very forgiving.”
“No. I am patient. She grows quickly, your daughter. Soon enough she will become a woman, and she will desire men herself.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned.
“Then you will be jealous,” she said with a chuckle, “because you will no longer be first in her heart. She will be torn between father and lover. If she is wise and fortunate, she will choose to follow her own destiny in the end, not that of a man.”
“I am chastened,” he replied, clapping a hand over his heart. “Now I realize that you have not given that gown a second thought, although its fate has been nagging at me all day. What are you thinking of, then?”
She smiled, stretching. The single lamp gave off enough light for him to admire the mole on her left hip, the curve of her buttocks, and a glimpse of rosy nipple as she shifted. With an exaggerated sigh, drawn out and almost musical, she rolled up onto her side. He felt the familiar stirring, heat suffusing his skin.
He had met the persuasive widow last autumn, when they had finally arrived at King Geza’s court in Erztegom. She had propositioned him within a week of their first encounter, but it wasn’t until the winter, when they were confined by a succession of blizzards within the town walls, that he had finally allowed her to seduce him. The arrangement had lasted through the spring.
He crossed the room to sit on the bed.
“I am thinking of the sorrow in my heart,” she said warmly, “now that we journey close to the borderlands.”
“Are you sorry I’m leaving?”
“But of course! Now that you are leaving they are at me again, all those grasping relatives! Marry this lord! Marry that lord! Don’t be selfish with your wealth and independence! How good it was when they could not insult me with their offers because they feared to anger you!”
He grinned, twining a strand of her copper hair between his fingers. “You could enter a convent.”
“I think not! All this praying would be very bad for my knees. I am very careful of my knees. Among my people it issaid that after too much kneeling, you can no longer ride a horse.”
“Then will you let your uncle choose a husband for you?”
“That old fool! It is very lucky he cannot touch my inheritance, or he would have married me himself even if the church would call him a whore for it. Is that the right word?”
He withdrew his hand from her hair. “That would be incest.”
“So it would. I am thinking of marrying the one they call the White Stallion, Prince Arhad’s eldest son by the Arethousan woman.”
“Ah. The lady with the white-blonde hair.”
“Yes, that one. Why is it that men find her so fascinating? Already she is an old woman, at least forty. I cannot see it.”
“Women can be beautiful in many different ways.” He traced the shape of her body from the shoulder, along the dip of her waist, and up along the ample curve of her hip.
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