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act as casually as he was.
    "I simply meant
that you're obviously old. Why is it you have never married?"
    Garren laughed harder.
"Old, am I?  How old do you think I am?"
    "Thirty years, at
least."
    He was greatly amused.
"Thank you for the compliment, but I am nothing of the sort."
    "Oh. How old are
you, then?"
    "Thirty-one
years."
    Her jaw dropped, just as
quickly shut. "Good Heavens. I had no idea...."
    "That I was as old
as God himself, eh?"
    She shrugged; he
grinned. Garren turned back to the night sky, noting that the wind was picking
up.
    "It is getting
rather cold," he said. "Mayhap you should return to your
chamber."
    "You did not answer
my question."
    "What is
that?"
    "Why have you not
married?"
    "I have never had
the time or the inclination. Had my father not set up this betrothal, I would
not have considered it."
    "Why not?"
    "I just told you. I
have never had the time nor...."
    Derica looked at him,
then. "You mean to say that you have never met a woman you have wanted to
marry? Not even in all of your travels?"
    It was Garren's turn to
shrug. "I have met a few interesting women in my lifetime. But it would
have been unfair to marry any one of them and then leave her while I go about
my vocation."
    He could see the
thoughts racing through her mind. "Then you are telling me that you plan
to give up your vocation? That you are ready to stay in one place? Is that why
you have agreed to our betrothal?"
    He could sense something
behind her questions, something he couldn't quite single out. "I agreed
because my father went to a lot of trouble to secure this marriage for the
future of my family lineage,” he said carefully. “At some point, I will need to
produce an heir to carry on the le Mon name."
    It wasn't the answer she
was looking for. "So that's all I am? A breeding cow?"
    "I wouldn't put it
quite that way."
    Derica wasn't quite sure
what she had been driving out, but the breeding stock line hadn't been it. She
felt insignificant the way he described his views on the marriage.  Pushing
herself off the wall, she headed back toward the tower and the stairs. Garren
called after her.
    "Lady Derica?"
    She didn't answer. With
every step, she felt more and more distress and had no idea why. Garren called
out to her again and she whirled on him just as she reached the steps.
    "I am not breeding
stock, Garren le Mon," she nearly shouted at him.  "If all you wanted
was a brood mare, you should have had your father select someone else. I am not
interested."
    She had a lot of fire,
Garren would admit.  He moved away from the wall and walked towards her,
slowly, watching her body language. He was a man who had made a living from
watching the twitches of others and he could tell just how furious she was,
though he wasn't entirely sure why.
    "Isn't that what
marriage is, my lady?" he asked. "To perpetuate the family lines, to
strengthen allies? If there is something else involved, then I am ignorant of
it."
    Derica felt as though
she had been slapped. She didn't understand why she suddenly felt so hopeless.
He had entirely logical views of their marriage. She wasn't sure what her views
were at all.
    "As am I."
    Garren watched her fade
down the steps, into the darkness of the tower. He knew that somehow he had
offended her, but wasn't sure how.  Still, he wished he knew her well enough to
ask for her forgiveness for whatever it was that he had said. At this moment,
he felt the distinct twinge of regret for something he didn't fully understand.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
    "I am not going to
sup," Derica said. "You may tell Father that I am feeling ill."
    Dixon de Rosa was
thirteen months older than his sister. They had always been exceptionally
close. He watched her as she sat before her vanity mirror, the slow movements
of her hands as she braided her long hair, and knew something was wrong with
her. Illness had nothing to do with it.
    "He'll not disturb
you, I promise," he said. "Garren le Mon is an arrogant