Once on clear ground, Dorilys lengthened her stride, so her hooves hardly seemed to touch the earth. The wind whipped the rain against Margaret’s back like a lash, drenching her completely. It was terrifying and exciting all at once, and Margaret just hoped the mare knew where she was going and didn’t step into any holes. As the thought crossed her dazed mind, she felt a smug assurance beneath her, as if to say “I know exactly where I am going.”
The thunder paused for a moment, and she heard other hoofbeats. Gabriel must be pursuing her, and Margaret found she was frightened. She knew she could protect herself, but she also knew that she was a danger to the stubborn man who rode after her. She actually
could
burn his brain to cinders, she suspected, but she didn’t want to! And Gabe was too angry to realize what a danger she was to him.
Damn my father for keeping me ignorant, and damn Liriel and Jeff and Istvana for being right. I don’t want to go to a Tower, any Tower! I don’t want to be an heiress! I don’t want to be a telepath—but I am. It’s no one’s fault. It’s me, it’s who I am, and I have to find a way to keep myself from harming people! I can’t go on like this! I could have killed him, back there, and Gabriel’s too obtuse to realize that I either have to get off Darkover immediately, or learn some way to control my Gift. And that probably means going to a Tower.
Dorilys gave a snort, bringing Margaret back to the moment. Clouds had settled at ground level, and the mist around her was so thick she could not see more than a few feet ahead of the horse. The mare shifted back and forth.
Take me home,
Margaret told her, and they moved into the mist at a moderate pace.
Between the thunder and the cloaking mist, sound became distant and diffuse. It was very dim, a twilight, all around her, and Margaret was shivering from the cold rain and from her fear. If Gabriel caught up with her, she didn’t know what she would do.
A riding figure loomed ahead of her, and Margaret’s heart pounded with terror. She hoped the mist would conceal her. Then Dorilys gave a piercing whinny, the sort of sound horses make to greet their friends. Margaret realized that the bay Gabriel was riding was stable-mate to the mare, and her heart sank. Horses were wonderful, but they weren’t smart enough to know friend from foe when it came to riders.
She clenched the reins, now slippery and treacherous from the rain, and prepared to try to outrun the man. She was determined to avoid any further confrontations with her stubborn cousin, even if she had to ride all night. The rider drew nearer, and Margaret could see his outline against the mist, cloaked and rather ominous. A flash of lightning dazzled her eyes, but not before she saw the fair hair of the rider. Relief flooded her as she realized it was not Gabriel, but Mikhail who emerged from the mist.
I have never been so glad to see someone in my life!
Yes, but would you say that if you were dry?
Margaret heard his pleasant laughter even above the storm, and felt herself relax a little. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the rush of adrenaline in her blood. Mikhail drew abreast of her. “I started to get worried when you didn’t come back.”
“How long have I been gone?”
“Not very long—an hour at most—but in this rain . . . I can’t imagine what Gabriel was thinking of. He is usually very sensible.”
“We had an argument.”
“I see.” Mikhail turned his horse, a great black animal almost invisible in the storm, back the way he had come, and Dorilys fell into step beside him. “I suppose he informed you that you were going to be his wife, and you had the bad judgment to object.”
“That is a fairly accurate picture. I threatened to turn his brains to oatmeal if he touched me again, actually, and I don’t know who was more frightened, him or me. Everyone has been telling me for days that an untrained telepath is dangerous, but I didn’t realize just how dangerous I could be until that moment. It made him hesitate, but . . . here he comes! I don’t think I convinced him that I wouldn’t marry him, because he seems to think I am his by right or something. I knew I should have taken the Amhax chief up on his offer.” She was determined to ignore the squishy hoofbeats of the approaching horse, feeling secure in Mikhail’s presence.
“What?”
She laughed in spite of herself, releasing the tension in her body with the sound. “A few years ago, Ivor, my mentor, and I were on Mantenon, and I was pretending to be Ivor’s daughter. Depending on the local customs, I went as his wife, his sister or his daughter, and once, when we were with a tribe where the men counted for very little, as his owner. But, on Mantenon, we were studying the Amhax musical system, which is remarkably complex for such a primitive culture, and the chief offered Ivor forty head of cattle—they were blue, with two tails and curly horns—for me. It was a very handsome bride-price among the Amhax—a forty-cow woman is a social superior, and all the women of the tribe were jealous.”
“You are making that up, aren’t you?”
“Mikhail, I would never lie to you!” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Margaret knew them to be true. It was a strange sensation, she decided, to be certain that she would always try to speak the truth to this man, and she was not sure what it meant about her. But it was a comforting realization, and right then, she wanted all the comforts she could find.
Gabriel caught up with them, reined the bay viciously, and glared at his brother. He was puffing hard, as if he had had to fight the horse. He frowned at Margaret and reached toward the reins of her horse. “What are you doing here, Mik? I knew Dorilys was too much horse for Marguerida. She ran away with her.” He was totally soaked, and in a very foul temper, his thoughts chaotic, so that she got no precise impressions, just a lot of mixed emotions.
“Please, cousin, stop it! Dorilys and I ran away together, and with good reason.” Margaret pulled her mare’s head aside, out of Gabriel’s reach. “This is no place to have another argument. Let’s get back to the house.”
“We didn’t have an argument,” Gabriel roared, as if he thought he could undo his own mischief.
“And it isn’t raining cats and dogs,” Margaret snapped back.
“Mikhail, I order you to leave us! I will take Marguerida back to Armida.”
“I think not, Gabe. Our kinswoman does not appear to wish your company.”
“Damn you! Damn you both!” Gabriel kicked the bay hard along the flanks, and the horse darted forward.
“He’ll break his fool neck if he isn’t careful,” Mikhail said, urging his own horse to follow.
“I would be surprised if he did,” Margaret commented sourly as she followed her cousin. “Men like Gabriel rarely come to the ends they deserve.”
The rain had slackened a little when the three riders came into the Stable Court, but it was obvious it was merely a pause in the storm. Booms of thunder echoed behind them as two grooms collected the soaking animals and led them away to be wiped down and cared for. Margaret dismounted and stepped into a fairly deep puddle. It seemed an apt end for a completely maddening day.
It isn’t over yet There is something coming . . . and it is not just the storm. Something’s coming—something terrible!
No reasoning could make her shake off the sense of impending disaster rushing toward them, something she had no power to control or change.
They entered through the rear of the house, their hair and clothing streaming. Mikhail bent down and began to pull off his soaking boots, and Margaret decided to follow his example. Gabriel, stiff-backed with outrage, strode down the hall, leaving wet bootprints behind him. The
coridom,
Dartan, appeared as if he had been summoned, looked at Marguerida’s soaked clothing and Mikhail’s dripping cloak, and shook his head.
“I wonder if Liriel would mind if I slipped into her room,” Margaret told her cousin. “I don’t really feel like facing the family right now.”
“I think she would, Marguerida. You might ask her, but no one goes in there without invitation.”
“Ask her?” Margaret stared at him blankly for a moment, then realized that the technician did not have to be present for her to communicate with her. She wasn’t used to the idea of telepathy, and she wondered wearily if she ever would be. And how did one speak to a specific person? It was infuriating to have an ability and have no idea how to utilize it. If only there were a manual, a book of instructions!
Before she could marshal her thoughts, however, Javanne appeared, looking concerned rather than angry. “Come along, Marja. We must get you into some dry clothing immediately, or you will take a chill and get ill. You should never have taken her out in this weather,” she said to Mikhail.
“I didn’t. And if I had, we would have been back before the storm.” He met his mother’s eyes sternly. “I am afraid that Gabriel mishandled matters in his usual ham-handed way.”
“What do you mean?” Javanne’s concern vanished in a flare of mild temper. She looked from one to the other, and her pale brows knitted together in a deep frown.
“He means that Gabriel knocked him down in the Stable Court and tried to propose to me—if you can call being told I was going to marry him whether I wanted to or not a proposal—on horseback. Is he always so stupid, or just when the weather is foul?”
Javanne gave a sigh. “Gabriel makes his own weather,” she answered in a voice that boded no good for her eldest child. “I am sorry,
chiya.
”
“Sorry he asked, or sorry he failed? It doesn’t matter, Aunt. I have had quite enough of my loving family to last me a long time. As soon as the weather clears, I will go back to Thendara.”
“But your companion is ill!”
Margaret had quite forgotten that Rafaella was down with a miserable cold. She set her jaw, determined not to remain at Armida past the morning, even if it meant going alone. It was not far, she knew, and she was sure she could manage it. A day’s ride, or a little more, and she could be back in the Terran Sector, where no one would plague her with marital demands or tell her she had to go live in a Tower. “I’ll get there somehow,” she snarled, frustrated and feeling more trapped than she ever had before.
Javanne gave Margaret a look of intense dislike. Then she shrugged. “This is no time to be making decisions. Come along. Let’s get you some dry clothes and a cup of tea.”
“You aren’t going to change my mind.”
“We shall see.”
I hope that Gabriel has reached Thendara by now, and that Regis will agree to make the girl our ward. We can’t have her running around without a chaperone. Why is she so difficult? And why did my son have to be such a fool? I have to do everything myself as usual.
Margaret heard these thoughts, and found herself furious. So Gabriel had not been imagining things when he had told her that a Darkovan judge might make her into a legal child, award her to these kinsmen who only wanted her for the children she might bear. They had gone behind her back, all of them. She had never felt so betrayed in her life. Liriel had distracted her while her father went to see Regis Hastur—who would almost surely hand her off like a sack of laundry.
She followed Javanne down the corridor, biting her lips. She could sense Mikhail behind her, seething, and she realized that he was nearly as outraged as she was. More, he was ashamed by the way his mother and father were behaving.
“Javanne!” Margaret’s word stopped the older woman in her tracks. “Don’t imagine you can force me with your judges. I am a Terran citizen, and if you try to hold me against my will . . .”
The woman spun around and faced Margaret. “This is Darkover, not Terra! You will do as you are bid. You don’t have any rights here except . . .”
“I think the Terrans will take an extremely dim view of one of their citizens being detained against her will.” Margaret continued.
Javanne’s lips curled in a sneer, and her face reddened beneath the carefully applied cosmetics. “Not even the Terranan would be so stupid as to start a war over one girl.”
“When you find a company of Imperial Marines camped in your pasture, you may think otherwise.” Margaret was only half bluffing. There had been a few rare incidents where the Federation had moved to protect one of its citizens with sufficient force to topple a planetary government. It was almost always in the interests of the Federation when such things happened, and it was always hushed up afterward. Margaret did not know if the Federation was looking for a way to alter the status of Darkover, but if they were, this was a perfect excuse.
“I don’t believe you! You are being spoiled and willful, and I won’t have it! This is my house, and you are my niece, and you will do as we tell you.” With that she turned and stomped down the hall, and Margaret trailed after her.
When they reached the entry hall, Margaret, enraged, said, “No, this isn’t your house. It is mine! Your very thoughts and actions support this truth. My father relinquished his own claim to Armida, but he did not relinquish
mine.
Why else would you be so desperate for me to marry one of your sons?” Margaret was aware of a kind of energy simmering along her nerves, a terrible rage that was incredibly dangerous. She tried to lessen her anger, breathing heavily as Javanne just stared at her—shocked into a stony silence. She was afraid of what she could do, but her aunt was even more so.
Ariel was right—she is a monster. What am I to do? I have never seen such raw and powerful
laran.
And she knows! When Gabriel comes back we must force her to go to a Tower—it’s the only way we’ll be safe from her!
The two women glared at each other in silence, and then the sound of heavy hooves could be heard from the Manor courtyard. For a moment Javanne looked relieved, and Margaret wondered if
Dom
Gabriel had managed to get back from Thendara already. No, that was too far, and Javanne’s face fell as she realized that her husband was not coming to the rescue.
The sound of men’s voices, shouting, and horses wild with terror, came through the closed door. Above it all there were the screams of a woman, harsh and hysterical. Heavy blows thudded against the wood of the door, and it rattled on its hinges until Dartan opened it.