Proud and Prejudiced

The Solar

Lord Wyldon of Cavall was a severe man. He was tall, but not extravagantly tall; he was muscular, but not overly so. His tunic was serviceable gray, his shirt and hose black, corresponding with the colors of his fief as well as the mourning he still displayed for his late father. His face was handsome enough, Vivienne decided as he greeted the party formally on the steps leading into his castle. It was strong, with a direct chin and a straight nose that looked as though it had been broken and poorly healed. His brow was stern, his wide mouth thin. But what really caught her attention was his eyes. They were some shade or another of brown, but their hardness turned them into two pieces of flint.

He bowed only as low as protocol required as he greeted her father, the stone set of his face not flinching. Vivienne noted with some interest that, for all he was in his mid-twenties, his light brown hair seemed to be thinning on top. But then he turned those hard eyes on her, and she curtseyed low to avoid them.

"Lady Vivienne, welcome to Cavall," he said, the courtesy of his words marred by the emotionless tone of his voice. Each syllable was dragged from his mouth as though he were reluctant to part with them. "I sincerely hope you will enjoy it here."

You don't sound sincere, Vivienne thought rebelliously as he bowed over her hand. You don't sound anything. But she murmured something polite in response, and allowed herself to be ushered to her temporary guest quarters by the housekeeper.


They were fine rooms, just across the hall from her fiancé and down from her father's. The Earl would be staying the night before making the return journey to his own fief. He would, of course, return in one month's time for the wedding. Vivienne sighed, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

"We just passed through your private parlor – this of course is the bedroom," the housekeeper said, her tone markedly kind after her master's stiff greeting. "Just through there is the dressing-room and the privy. There is a solar just here, overlooking the gardens and the paddocks. You will find books and other amusements there, provided by milord. There is an hour yet until supper – a maid will be sent to help you dress."

"I have my own maid," Vivienne replied without thinking. But she refused to take back her ungrateful words; surely the older woman could not fault her for feeling disenchanted with her current situation.

The housekeeper bowed her head deferentially. "The Earl and milord have provided whatever servants you require, milady. Ninayn is a good girl, and has a clever touch with hair." She eyed Vivienne's coif pointedly. The quarter-hour ride on horseback had done it no good, and already the curls threatened to desert the pins altogether.

"Send her, then," Vivienne said, forcing herself to smile through the dull ache that was settling in her chest. "Goddess knows my hair needs all the help it can get."

"Very well, milady." The housekeeper made a short curtsey. "And welcome to Cavall," she added before leaving.

Vivienne stood as soon as the door clicked shut, and walked to the door that led to the solar. When she was not with her horses, her next love was books – she loved losing herself in their pages for hours on end – and she was curious to see what the stone-eyed Lord had provided for her enjoyment.

Walking into the room, she stopped short. It was on the corner of the castle, the part that had recently been renovated (according to her Father), and was part of a tower. Part of the circular wall was whitewashed, and three tall, curving shelves crammed with books reached from floor to ceiling; the other half was made of glass panes held in place by finely-wrought metal, and it looked over the estate behind the castle. Runes carved into the delicate metal struts told her that warming charms had been mage-spelled into its construction. It faced west, letting in the sunlight as it approached the horizon, and the golden-orange light flooded the tower room, illuminating everything it touched.

The glass walls were lined with curving window seats, well-cushioned. The cupboards below were open, revealing fabric, yarn, and other supplied for feminine pursuits such as embroidery and appliqué. In the middle of the floor – the polished flagstones covered with rich, thick rugs – was an elegant teak table with a chessboard on its surface, the black and white pieces set up as if waiting to be used. To one side was an easel, with the appropriate tools for painting or sketching; opposite it, a full-sized harp stood in stately splendor, the strings seeming to slow in the later afternoon light. Taking it all in, Vivienne felt a lump in her throat and realized that her father had indeed taken precautions to ensure her happiness.

Moving slowly, she went to the window-wall and looked out. Far out beyond the rolling hills of the southwest, she could just make out the twinkle on the horizon that was the ocean. Although Cavall boasted a small orchard and acres of grapes to supply its well-known winery, what truly caught her breath was the paddocks. The whitewashed fences ran for miles, interspersed with stables and outbuildings. The layout was familiar; she could pick out the foaling paddock, the mating paddock, and the mare paddock as well as the paddocks for stallions and geldings. Horses of all colors and breeds roamed the hills, running, frisking, rolling, or simply grazing. The mainstay were destriers: large, powerful horses warhorses built for carrying fully-armored knights into battle, as Startreader was. But Vivienne's experienced eye picked out a collection of delicate, pristine-looking Bazhir horses, some rough-looking ponies built for stamina and rough terrain, and the long-legged, proud-necked forms of racing horses.

"Cavall's stables are almost as fine as ours," she said out loud, hating the grudging respect in her voice. She couldn't see the kennels from the solar, but she had doubt they were even finer than this incredible spectacle.

Turning her back, Vivienne went to her dressing-room and changed quickly into a riding habit. She had time for a quick ride before dinner to clear her mind.


Lord Aristaes struggled not to sigh as his only daughter entered the dining room with chin erect and shoulders back. He'd suggested to Lord Wyldon that another maid be provided, since Elsa had little capability with coifs, but it seemed that Vivienne had either taken out her hair before coming down, or simply refused the girl altogether. She was dressed in a fine gown of cream-colored lawn that set off her complexion and brightened the rosiness of her cheeks; unfortunately, it also showed the smear of dirt on the side of her neck. Her hair was hopeless. A windblown tangle, it sported more than one twig of hay, and tumbled down her back entirely unrestrained. Though she had taken care to wash her face and hands, she smelled of the stables.

"Forgive me for being tardy," she announced, not sounding repentant in the least as she gave the seated gentlemen a brief curtsey. "I was making sure the stallions were settled in."

Lord Wyldon gave no indication of shock or anger – or any other emotion, for that matter – as he helped seat her next to her father at the small, private table. "And did you find the stables to your satisfaction?"

Vivienne glanced at her father's flashing eyes and smiled primly. "They are well enough, my lord." She thought the Earl might choke, but he contained his emotions behind a very red face as the first course was served.

The lord of Cavall was a very private man, she decided. He kept all emotion and fervor behind a stoic face, and made no attempt to take control of the conversation. Whenever the topic strayed towards himself personally, he kept his comments brief and free of unnecessary detail. That suited her father fine: Lord Aristaes was perfectly capable of talking a stone wall for hours on end.

Which is exactly what Lord Wyldon is, Vivienne thought to herself, hiding laughter at the idea behind her goblet of fruit juice. A stone wall. Well, if he stays out of my business and I stay out of his, we should get along just fine.

The past five months had taught her a lot, she realized. She was no longer determined to hate her future spouse – no doubt it would make her life quite unpleasant, not to mention that it was exhausting to hold a grudge for so long – but she was definitely not interested in admiring him or liking him. Simple tolerance should do nicely, she thought, looking the man over from across the table. I'll do my duty by him and by the fief, as long as he doesn't muck about in my affairs. The word took on a double meaning in her mind, suddenly, and she struggled to keep from blushing. She certainly didn't intend on keeping company with other men! Her horses would suit her just fine. She didn't need the love of a man as long as she had them.

"How did you find your rooms, my lady?"

Vivienne jumped slightly, realizing she had been caught with her mind elsewhere. She rapidly brought herself to the present with a vapid smile. "They are quite adequate, my lord, I thank you." She thought of the solar, and felt a pang. Am I being ungrateful?

But Lord Wyldon simply inclined his head, as emotionless as ever. "I am happy you think so."

She swallowed and averted her eyes from his direct gaze. "I suppose father told you I like to read."

"He did."

Is he making this difficult on purpose? Vivienne wondered, but let it go. She was not her father's daughter; she refused to hold a one-sided conversation. So instead of giving in to the temptation to gush about the titles she'd discovered in her brief perusal of the shelves, she turned her attention back to the meal, lending half an ear to the polite words passed back and forth across the table.