Hal - The Duellist #1

Chapter Forty-Nine: Red Velvet

"Yes." True fear entered her eyes. "He never seemed to stop talking about the preservation of his dynasty, how important it was that I give him a child. I struggled, Hal. Believe me, I fought. He was just too strong. I couldn't stop him."

Her tears swelled, brimmed and spilled. She gave into them for a minute. Hal held her as her body shook with emotional release. "You won't go back there." Anger cut through her words of reassurance.

"But once he knows I'm here, he'll take it as a declaration of war," Meracad stammered.

"Let him. There is no love lost between the houses of Hannac and Nérac, believe me. We're not running now. We'll stand our ground. And your child will be better off out of that death trap of a place."

"Is Franc really prepared to stake Hannac on our freedom?"

"Not just Franc. We all will."

Meracad smiled through her tears, pulling Hal closer. "I love you," she whispered.

"I got that impression." Hal's poor imitation of Meracad's cut-glass Colvé accent elicited a peal of laughter from them both.

A knock at the door made them jump. Elis, Franc's maid, stood in the corridor, clutching a ball of crimson material. "Master said this should be a decent fit for Lady Meracad." She thrust the dress at Hal and fled.

"Well?" Hal turned back into the room and looked across at Meracad. "Are you going to try it on?"

"Of course." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and tugged it from Hal's arms. "Don't look."

Hal screwed her eyes closed, opening them slyly when she heard the silk gown drop softly to the floor.

"I said don't look, Hal! Alright. Now you can turn round."

Hal released a low sigh and sank down on the bed. The deep red velvet clung tightly to Meracad's waist and hips before spilling down in waves onto the floor. The dress was without sleeves, just two delicate thin straps holding up a deep neckline.

"You know," she said at last, "I don't believe Franc would miss us for a few more minutes."

Meracad smiled. Reaching down, she lifted the duellist's face upwards between the palms of her hands. "No," she whispered. "I don't believe he would."

***

Hal woke with a start. The autumn afternoon had disappeared, a clear, starlit night winking in its place. The hum of conversation, accompanied by distant strains of music wafted upwards from the great hall.

She shook Meracad, who was lying next to her, still soundly asleep.

"What is it?" The pillow muffled Meracad's voice.

"Franc will be furious! Get dressed!" Hal jumped out of bed and pulled on her shirt and trousers. "I'm going downstairs." She pushed a few strands of hair from the girls face and kissed her cheek.

"I'll be there in a minute." Meracad stretched luxuriantly and then turned over and went back to sleep.

As Hal hurried in the direction of the great hall, the melodies and laughter grew in intensity, building to an uproar. Franc caught sight of her across the room and jumped down from the dais on which the high table was raised, squeezing through the crowds to greet her.

"Where have you been?" He was forced to shout to make himself heard.

"We had a lot to catch up on."

He raised an eyebrow. "The festivities started some time ago! Come on!"

He grabbed Hal by the arm, dragging her through the throngs of tenants who had given sway to the rhythms of the music or sat, huddled together in groups discussing the triumphs and failures of the harvest. Others raised their glasses to the Hannacs, father and daughter, as they pushed their way to the high table, while some listened, enthralled, as Arec relived the confrontation with Nérac's guards.