ggk.asongforarbonne-第60部分

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the　isle　of　Barbentain；　Rosala　wrapped　the　woolen　robe　they　had　given　her　more　closely　about　herself。　The　fresh　air　revived　her；　though；　and　brought　back　with　its　clarity　the　reassuring　awareness　that　she　had；　by　ing　here；　done　all　she　could　do　for　Cadar。　The　next　moves；　in　the　larger　game；　were　not　hers　to　make。　The　scale　of　her　own　life　had　suddenly　bee　much　smaller；　focused　on　a　heartbeat。　She　felt　an　urge…and　almost　laughed　at　herself…to　go　back　up　the　corridor　to　look　in　upon　his　sleep　again。　It　was　strange　how　swiftly；　how　pletely；　love　could　re…enter　one's　world。
　　The　last　person　she　had　loved　was　her　father；　and　he　had　died　by　Iersen　Bridge　almost　two　years　ago。　Her　mother　had　gone　before　him；　in　the　last　plague　year。　Her　brother　Fulk　elicited　no　real　intensities　of　emotion；　nor　did　she　in　him；　Rosala　knew。　He　would　not　lead　the　pursuit　to　bring　her　back；　but　neither　would　he　speak　up　to　stay　it。　He　was　a　good　steward　of　Savaric；　though；　and　she　respected　him　for　that。　The　Savaric　lands　were　terribly　exposed　now；　wide　open　to　raids　from　Valensa　across　the　newly　drawn　border　of　the　Iersen　River。　If　the　treaty　ever　ceased　to　hold　they　would　be　vulnerable　to　even　more　than　that。
　　It　wouldn't　hold；　Fulk　had　told　her　last　year　during　one　of　the　rare　times　when　they　were　both　at　Cortil。　Truces　like　this　one　never　did；　but　lands　lost　for　long　enough　were　likely　to　be　lost　forever。　He　had　said　it　quietly；　for　her　ears　alone。　Not　for　cautious　Fulk　de　Savaric　the　openly　critical　talk　of　a　powerful　lord；　with　a　new　king　on　the　throne。　Their　father　would　have　been　loud　in　his　denunciations；　Rosala　knew；　whatever　the　consequences。
　　As　Blaise　de　Garsenc　had　been　before　he　left；　both　the　first　time　and　then　again　a　year　later；　after　his　abortive　return　home。
　　Thoughts　of　Blaise　were　difficult。　He　was　here　in　Lussan　she　now　knew；　with　the　duke　of　Talair。　It　would　be　easy　to　see　him；　to　send　a　message　as　clear　or　cryptic　as　she　wanted　it　to　be。　She　wondered　if　he'd　yet　learned　she　was　in　the　castle。　The　priestesses　had　told　her　the　whole　fair　was　gossiping　about　the　high…born　lady　from　Gorhaut　who'd　been　brought　to　the　temple　so　near　to　giving　birth。　Othon；　she　had　thought　ruefully：　he　would　have　been　constitutionally　incapable　of　not　telling　the　tale；　nor　had　she　really　any　right　to　have　expected　him　to　withhold　it。
　　Blaise　had　never　been　the　sort　to　listen　to　gossip；　though；　and　En　Bertran　de　Talair　had　sworn　an　oath　not　to　tell　him　until　she　was　ready。　It　was　even　probable…a　sharp；　new　thought…that　Blaise　hadn't　even　known　she　was　with　child。　There　had　been　no　munication　at　all　since　the　night　he'd　gone　away　for　the　second　time。
　　
　　Rosala　remembered　that　night。　Sitting　beside　an　open　window　in　Arbonne　with　the　murmuring　river　below　and　music　wafting　up　the　stairwell；　she　went　back　in　her　mind's　eye　to　that　wintry　darkness；　the　stars　lost　and　a　storm　wind　howling；　lashing　snow　and　ice　in　rattling　sheets　against　the　windows　of　Garsenc　Castle。　She　had　listened　to　the　father　and　the　sons　curse　each　other；　heard　the　unforgivable　names　spoken；　the　vile　things　said；　savagely　wounding；　more　bitter　than　the　night。　She　had　wept　silently；　utterly　ignored　in　her　seat　by　the　fire；　ashamed　of　her　own　weakness；　wanting　so　much　to　be　gone　from　the　room；　from　the　tangled；　savaged　hatreds　of　the　Garsenc　men；　but　unable　to　leave　without　Ranald's　permission　and　unwilling　to　draw　attention　to　herself　by　speaking。　The　father　would　turn　on　her　she　knew；　viciously；　the　moment　he　remembered　she　was　there。
　　Numb　with　cold　beside　the　guttering　fire　none　of　them　had　bothered　to　tend；　the　servants　having　prudently　absented　themselves；　Rosala　had　felt　the　cold　tears　on　her　cheeks　and　heard　her　brother…in…law；　reaching　some　final　apex　of　his　fury；　denounce　his　father　and　brother　in　a　voice　raw　with　anguish　before　he　stormed　from　the　room　and　the　castle　into　the　wild　night：　naming　the　one　man　as　a　traitor　to　Gorhaut；　obscenely　unworthy　of　the　god；　and　the　other　as　a　drunkard　and　a　coward。　She　had　agreed　with　both　assessments；　even　as　she　wept。　He　was　a　cold；　hard；　bitter　man；　Blaise　de　Garsenc；　with　no　grace　or　kindness　ever　shown　to　her　at　all；　but　he　was　right；　he　was　so　right　about　the　other　two。
　　She　remembered　lying　awake　in　her　bed　that　night　when　they　finally　retired。　Ranald　in　the　connecting　room　had　dropped　into　a　snoring　slumber　she　could　hear　through　the　closed　door。　He　spoke　to　himself　in　the　night　sometimes；　crying　out　in　grief　like　a　child　in　the　darkness　of　his　dreams。　In　the　first　months　of　their　marriage　she　had　tried　to　fort　him　at　such　times；　she　didn't　do　that　any　more。　Chilled　and　afraid；　listening　to　the　mad　keening　of　the　wind；　she　had　waited；　listening　for　the　sound　of　Blaise　ing　back　for　his　gear　before　leaving。　When　he　did；　when　she　heard　his　booted　tread　in　the　hallway；　she　had　risen　from　her　bed　and　gone　to　his　room；　her　own　feet　bare　on　the　bitter　stones。
　　He　had　been　packing　a　saddle…bag　by　candlelight　when　she　walked　in。　She　did　not　knock　on　the　door。　There　was　snow　on　his　clothing；　ice　clumped　in　the　tawny　hair　and　beard。　She　had　been　clad　in　nothing　but　her　sleeping…gown；　her　fair　hair　let　down　about　her　shoulders　for　the　night。　He　would　never　have　seen　her　hair　down　before。　They　had　looked　at　each　other　for　a　frozen　moment；　silent　within　the　midnight　silence　of　the　castle；　then　Rosala　had　said；　softly；　not　to　be　heard　at　all　outside　this　room；　outside　the　small　space　of　this　single　candle's　glow；　〃Will　you　not　love　me　once？　Only　once　before　you　go？〃
　　And　Blaise　had　crossed　the　room　and　lifted　her　in　his　arms　and　laid　her　down　upon　his　bed；　with　her　bright　yellow　hair　spread　out　upon　his　pillow　and　her　gown　slipping　with　a　rustle　of　sound　above　her　waist　as　she　raised　her　hips　to　let　him　move　it　so；　and　he　had　blown　out　the　one　candle　and　removed　his　wet　clothing　and　taken　her　in　darkness　before　he　left　his　home　again；　taken　her　in　silence；　in　rage　and　bitterness；　and　in　the　endless　bone…deep　anguish　she　knew　he　lived　with　because　of　his　own　lack　of　power。　There　had　been　no　love　that　she　could　name　in　the　room　with　the　two　of　them；　none　at　all。
　　And　it　had　not　mattered。
　　She　had　known　what　would　be　the　things　that　might　bring　him　to　touch　her　that　night；　what　would　drive　him；　and　she　had　not　cared。　Whatever　it　takes；　she　had　thought　in　her　own　cold　bed；　summoning　courage　to　her　as　from　a　far…off　place　while　she　waited　for　him　to　return。　Whatever　would　bring　him　to　take　her　for　at　least　the　one　time。
　　And　in　his　room　later；　in　that　darkness；　with　the　unholy　wind　raging　beyond　the　walls；　the　same　thought　again：　she　would　accept　and　wele…her　hands　grappling　him　hard　to　her；　feeling　him　beginning　to　thrust　with　urgency；　hearing　the　quickening　pace　of　his　breathing…whatever　might　bring　him　to　give　her　the　child　Ranald　could　not。
　　He　spoke　her　name　once；　after。　She　would　remember　that。
　　
　　She　did　remember　it；　sitting　in　the　window　seat　in　Barbentain。　Curiously；　it　had　e　to　matter。　Not　so　much　for　herself…she　was　not　a　woman　who　nurtured　such　illusions…but　for　Cadar。　Rational　or　not；　it　somehow　seemed　important　to　her　now　that　at　her　child's　conception　that　one　spoken　link　between　the　two　of　them　had　been　made　manifest。　It　was　an　irony　of　sorts　that　it　was　the　man　who　had　done　so；　her　own　single…minded　need　had　precluded　such　a　reaching　out。　She　wondered　what　the　priestesses　of　the　goddess　would　say　about　that；　what　their　teaching　would　be。　What　happened；　in　their　doctrine；　when　Corannos　and　Rian　came　together　in　love…if　they　did？　She　knew　almost　nothing　about　the　rituals　of　worship　here　in　Arbonne；　only　the　twisted　versions　of　them　uttered　with　loathing　in　Gorhaut　by　the　brethren　of　the　god。　She　wondered　if　she　would　be　here　long　enough　to　learn　the　truth。
　　There　were　footsteps　in　the　corridor　behind　her。　The　wet…nurse；　she　thought；　quickly　concerned。　She　was　about　to　lean　out　from　the　window　seat　but　the　steps　halted　just　before　where　she　sat；　and　Rosala　heard　a　woman's　voice　she　did　not　know；　and　then　a　man's。　She　remained　motionless　in　the　shadows　of　the　alcove　and　realized；　after　a　moment；　that　the　voices　were　speaking　of　murder。
　　〃It　is　to　be　done　neatly　and　in　silence；〃　the　woman　said　nervously　in　accented　Arbonnais。　〃She　told　me　to　say　as　much。〃
　　〃I　tend　not　to　make　a　great　deal　of　noise　with　a　blade；〃　the　man　answered；　amused。　His　voice　was　deep　and　assured。
　　〃You　do　not　understand。　This　must　not　be　traced　to　her。　The　body　will　have　to　be　disposed　of；　and　no　one　the　wiser。　She　said　it　would　be　best　if　he　didn't　even　see　you；　lest　he　cry　out。〃
　　〃Ah。　She　will　be　keeping　him　occupied？　Oblivious　to　all　else　in　the　world？　Does　this　sort　of　thing　excite　her？　Will　I　have　other　duties；　after？〃
　　〃You　need　not　be　vulgar；〃　the　woman　said　primly。
　　The　man　laughed　softly。　〃Fear　not。　I　will　only　follow　your　mistress's　lead。　If　she　wants　to　taste　blood　she　will　have　to　ask。　He　must　see　me；　though；　or　there　is　no　point　in　this。　He　must　know　who　is　killing　him。〃
　　〃He　might　call　for　help。　We　cannot　allow…〃
　　〃He　will　not。　This　is　not　a　man　inclined　to　call　for　help。　And　there　will　not　be　very　much　time；　I　promise　you。　e；　which　door？　There　is　a　ghost　to　be　assuaged；　and　I　have　tarried。〃
　　They　went　by　her　then；　shadows　behind　them　and　then　before　as　they　passed　under　the　wall　torch　in　the　empty　corridor。　Rosala　shrank　back　against　the　window。　The　joglar　in　the　great　hall　below　was　singing　of　endless　love　and　unrequited　desire。　Neither　the　man　nor　the　woman　turned　as　they　went　by。　She　knew　neither　of　them。　At　a　doorway　a　little　distance　down　their　footsteps　stopped。　Holding　her　breath；　Rosala　leaned　out　slightly。　She　saw　the　man　smile　then　and　draw　a　knife　from　his　belt。　He　opened　the　door　and　slipped　inside；　moving　with　silent；　feline　grace。　The　door　closed　behind　him。　There　came　no　sound　at　all　from　within　the　room。　The　woman　hesitated　for　a　moment　and　Rosala　saw　her　make　a　quick；　warding　sign　before　hurrying　along　the　corridor　and　down　another　flight　of　stairs　at　the　far　end。
　　It　was　silent　in　the　hallway；　save　for　the　distant　voice　of　the　singer　drifting　up　from　below；　mournful　and　melodious。　Rosala　brought　her　hands　up　to　her　face。　There　was　a　horror　a