“My marriage is based on gold and nothing else. Now, go!”
“Yes, my lady,” Gaby said meekly, and left the solar.
Three hours later, Liana was dressing to attend the supper her husband had invited her to. Joice was helping her, as Liana didn’t want Gaby’s disapproval—and disapproval she knew it would be.
Nor did she want the Lady’s disapproval. As Liana mounted the solar stairs, she’d seen that the Lady’s door was unlocked and standing ajar. “I will always be here when you need me,” the Lady had said, and it was true. Whenever she’d come to a crisis with Rogan, the door had been open.
But tonight Liana did not want to talk to the Lady, because Liana did not want to be dissuaded from what she was about to do. Her hurt was too deep and too raw to do anything else. Was she to say she forgave him? If she did, what would he do to her next time? He could humiliate her daily and expect her to forgive him anything.
So Liana ignored the invitation that the Lady’s open door signaled and instead dressed with Joice’s aid.
“Get out of here!” Rogan bellowed to Severn. They were in one of the rooms over the kitchen, a room that had once been occupied by a Day. It was already dirty, since no cleaning had been done in a week, and a big rat gnawed on a bone in a dark corner.
“I thought you might like to wear something that stank a little less, that’s all. And maybe shave.”
“Why?” Rogan asked belligerently. “To eat with a woman? You were right. It was better before she interfered. I think I’ll send her to Bevan.”
“And how many men must leave here to protect her? The Howards will—”
“The Howards can have her, for all I care.” Even as Rogan said it, he winced. Damn the bitch to hell, anyway! He’d tried to see her after what he’d said, but she’d locked the door against him. His first impulse had been to beat the door down and show her who was master in his home, but then he’d felt like a fool for caring. Let her stay behind the locked door if she wanted, it didn’t matter to him. He’d told the truth when he’d said he’d married her for her money.
But during the past week he’d…well, he’d remembered things. He’d remembered her laughing, remembered the way she threw her arms about his neck when he’d pleased her, remembered her opinions and suggestions, remembered her warm, willing body at night. He remembered the things she caused to happen: music, good food, a courtyard that he could walk across without stepping in a pile of horse manure, the day at the fair. He remembered holding her hand. He remembered watching Gaby wash her hair.
He glared at Severn. “Since when have you cared whether I dressed for my wife or not?”
“Since there was sand in my bread two days ago and since Io started being less than warm to me.”
“Send her back to her husband, and I’ll send…”—he could hardly say her name—“…I’ll send Liana,” he said softly, “away.”
“Probably be better for both of us,” Severn said. “A lot quieter, certainly. And we could get some work done. And we wouldn’t have to worry about the Howards attacking us to get at our women. But on the other hand, the men have been complaining about the bread. Perhaps…” He trailed off.
Rogan looked at the dark green velvet tunic Severn still held. Perhaps, since she had sent him an invitation, it meant she was ready to apologize for locking him out of their room and for allowing sand in the bread and rats in the rooms. And if she was ready to apologize, perhaps he was ready to forgive her.
Liana waited until all of Rogan’s men were seated in the Great Hall and Rogan and Severn and Zared sat at the high table. Joice lowered the veil over her mistress’s face.
“You are sure, my lady?” Joice asked grimly, her disapproval showing in her tight mouth.
“More than sure,” Liana said, and put her shoulders back.
Every man and the few women in the Hall were quiet as Liana entered, Joice holding her long, fur-trimmed train. Liana’s face was covered by a veil that reached to her waist.
Solemnly, slowly, she walked toward the high table and stood there waiting until Severn nudged Rogan, and Rogan stood and pulled her chair out for her. As Liana sat down, still the room was silent, every eye on the master and mistress.
Rogan seemed to have no idea what to do to break the silence. “Would you like some wine?” he asked at last, his voice ringing in the high-ceilinged stone room.
Very slowly, Liana put her arms under her veil and raised it. There was an audible gasp through the room as they saw her. About Liana’s face, suspended from strings attached to her headdress, were coins: gold coins, silver coins, copper coins. In each one a hole had been punched, a string attached, and then fastened to her headdress.
As the astonished crowd watched, Liana took a pair of scissors and cut a silver coin from in front of her face. “Will this be enough to pay for the wine, my lord?” She cut off a gold coin. “Will this cover the cost of the beef?”
Rogan gaped at her, looking at the coins she cut away.
“Do not look so fearful, my lord,” she said loudly. “I will not eat so much that you will be exposed to my ugliness. I am sure the sight of the money pleases you more than my plain face.”
Rogan’s face turned cold. He did not say a word to her, but rose and left the Hall.
Zared turned to Severn, who looked as if he might be ill. “Eat up, Severn. Tomorrow we’ll probably get rocks in our bread and Rogan is going to work all of you into the grave on the training field,” Zared said cheerfully. “You were smart to try to keep Liana from interfering.”
Liana, with all the grace and dignity she could muster, left the Hall.