Inheritance Feud

Chapter 61

Chapter 61

She must have said it aloud, because she heard Theon laugh. "You shall do so, but first we must drink a toast to Baron," he told her. She couldn't swallow the wine; she tried, but could drink nothing. It made Theon angry, when she said that; he tilted her head back, and poured some of the wine from his own glass down her throat.

"Drink to the lady of Baron," she hear him say, to all the servants. "To Baron's mistress! A toast, a toast!" During all of it-she didn't know where they had found

their drink, or had dispersed, and were meantime obeying Theon, and lifting their glasses in their hands, and shouting and applauding during it, he seized and kissed her; hard thorough kisses, such as the common folk used. She didn't like having to endure such things in public, in front of his servants -his servants, that he'd gradually chosen, she knew it now, had known, perhaps, in her own mind, impossible as it seemed, for some time. She sensed their grinning; she felt on her own mouth the flavour of the wine Theon had drunk, and shivered wretchedly. "I want to go to my room," she said again. "I want my maid." She might, she thought, be going to be ill. Her head ached already. "Please, Theon

He looked down at her; she could have sworn that the pale, triumphant eyes could see. His own cheeks were flushed slightly. "Eh, my love?" She might, she thought with distaste, have been a stranger he had somehow brought home. Perhaps she should speak more loudly; he had drunk a great deal of wine.

"Theon, I beseech you... I am so very tired I must go to bed, and I want my woman so that she can undress me." She spoke quietly, nevertheless aware that each word she said seemed to make manifold echoes through the hall, where the drinking progressed. A young woman in cap and apron came forward.

"This," said Theon, "is-what is your name, girl?"

The girl bobbed. It was Samson's voice that answered. "Christian, sir. Polly Christian." The new steward of Baron himself cast an appreciative glance over the maid's trim figure and light, sandy hair and eyelashes. Like many coloured men, Samson preferred a pallid woman. He would test Polly later. "Live up to your name, then, my good girl, and get your mis tress to bed as quickly as may be," he heard Theon say. Everyone smiled at the new laird's jest. Hermione alone did not. She said nothing more, and ascended the stairs, followed by Polly Christian, carrying a candle. When she was shown into the great bedchamber Hermione felt weariness cover her like a pall. If Theon would only leave her alone tonight!

She felt herself being undressed somewhat roughly by Polly. Hermione disliked the girl and the faint, acrid odour which came from her; she disliked even more the familiar way her own limbs and clothes were being handled. "Here's your shift," said Polly carelessly at last, and pulled it over Hermione's shivering body; try as she might, she couldn't control her shivering; the room was cold. "Got bruises, haven't you?" said Polly, eyes knowing between her light, sparse eyelashes. Anna bel dismissed her coldly, and the girl shrugged and went out of the room.

Such a maid was intolerable, Hermione decided; whether or not a replacement could be found, the girl must leave Baron as soon as possible. When she saw Theon again... perhaps he wouldn't come in tonight... she prayed he wouldn't, she was so tired... she would speak about the maid in the morning.

But he came. Nor did he spare her. Afterwards she found that she had forgotten Polly altogether. Despite exhaustion she was dimly able to understand what this wedding-night meant to Theon; that to himself, he was no devil who ravished her despite all weariness. He was the laird of Baron, come into his own by whatever means; the descendant by blood of crus aders and near-kings, taking his bride in the ancestral bed above which the great escutcheon wavered, growing faintly gilt at last with dawn. She herself might have been a high born, stubborn virgin, a stranger brought with her dowry to Baron to enhance its lands, to make its heirs. Hermione shiv ered then, and Theon did not ask why. Unaware of her as a person, sated with her body and his own dreams, Doon of Baron slept at last, content with his inheritance.

The following day Theon went by himself about his house, feeling for everything. There were, he said afterwards, many changes which must be removed; Baron must be made, again, as much as possible as it had been in his father's time; he would direct all of it. Hermione closed her eyes against the dust and neglect which had become evident, with even a few days away, and the new, careless servants. No doubt they thought that having a blind master meant less trouble to be taken than must be done for someone with eyes. She was still too much afraid to speak to the man Samson about anything: though he now called himself the steward. Later she found an opportunity to tell Theon himself about the girl Polly Chris tian, and that she herself was not pleased with her as a maid. He promised that the woman should go, and that another should be found if possible: but weeks later Polly was still in the house, although no longer about Hermione. By then the latter could say very little; all power had been taken from her regarding the dismissal of servants, and young William Judd himself lived now above the stables, smoking and spitting like a man. Her own days were filled with increasing leisure to notice such things; Theon went off alone, mostly in the after noons, and had f*******n her to follow him. She recalled that a blind man would be sensitive to any feeling that he was being watched or supervised, and tried to obey her husband. For this reason she was the last person at Baron, or im mediately beyond, to know that Theon still visited Livia Judd daily, and had recommenced visits on the afternoon fol lowing his wedding.

He had not lain again with Livia. Had Hermione known what passed between them, even she might have felt small hurt; it was little more than what might take place between a child and its mother, as though he had run to Livia in his own way; he laid his head on her breast. Later he opened her bod ice and felt the warm, velvety globes, burying his mouth and hands in their softness, savouring her. That was all the love he made; he stayed against Livia, while she held him, a long time in silence. Then he spoke, in a whisper as though some one else might hear.

"I've needed you... needed you... ah, if you knew!" He raised his head; the face was haggard. "You've heard of the marriage?"

"Ay." She continued her rhythmical stroking of his hair; at such times she was laconic, often thought mistakenly to be sullen. But Theon knew her, and that for the moment he was her own bairn. "Lie still," she said, "lie still a while."

But it was as though he must talk, and stride up and down the room, at the same time, as if the energy infused into him had returned; as if, she liked to think, her own brief holding of him, the nearness of her flesh, had already revived him in spirit. He seemed younger, filled again with the devil's power

Hermione had lately known; he related the cause of it, his voice trembling, his cheeks unusually flushed. "You know I'm master of Baron? My life's wish, and

1-" "You'll be happy, then." She spoke so drily that she sound ed like an old woman; it was difficult to convey the joy she had felt at seeing him come to her again, so soon, although

"Happy? What happiness? I feel only that when I'm with you. You know it, and I've had to jettison happiness for more than a part of both our lives, so that I could win my-my inheritance." He stammered, still with the unwanted tremor in his voice; he was like a man who has seen visions. "All my life I've been the outcast, the penniless scorned fool, the con victed criminal. Now I'm Doon of Baron, and I have you. A spin of fortune's wheel, eh? But I intended it; I worked to wards it from the beginning." He struck his hands together, eyes shining. It was impossible to remember that he was blind; a stranger, she thought, would have guessed nothing.

"You have one other thing," she said, looking down at her hands. What was it that she really wanted to say to him? she wondered. Theon laughed; he thought she meant money. "Baron, riches-almost all I covet; and yourself, waiting for me here "

"And your wife, waiting for you at Baron." "Hermione?" He frowned; it was a subject that should not have arisen between them. "She occupies herself," he said coldly.