"Soon after we parted, the road became impassable, blocked by timber."
Donskoy seemed surprised.
Marguerite found the entire exchange quite curious. "How could that have been Lord Donskoy's arrangement?" she asked. "Are you suggesting he scurried out beforehand and felled the trees himself?"
Donskoy smirked.
Jacqueline smiled knowingly. "The unconscious will," she murmured. Her emerald eyes flashed, reflecting the shimmer of her dark silk gown. "One should never underestimate its power."
"You speak too dramatically," said Donskoy.
"And you underestimate yourself," replied Jacqueline. "There is very little in this domain that does not reflect your wilt, my friend, or bend to your wishes."
Donskoy gave a low chuckle. "Except women, perhaps." He patted Marguerite's hand. "You see, Marguerite, my land tends toward self-destruction, especially during the spring, when one might expect just the opposite. But I am surprised to hear of it now."
"Well, if you doubt it," Jacqueline replied, "you must see for yourself."
"That won't be necessary," Donskoy said. "I will send Ljubo and Ekhart with a few associates to clear the road for you tomorrow."
"A few fallen trees is hardly self-destruction, Lord Donskoy," Marguerite offered. "It must be a common occurrence when the soil is saturated and the roots are weak. Really, such attributions make things seem grimmer than they truly are."
"Take note, Jacqueline," Donskoy replied. "Already she offers a fresh perspective. She'll bring renewal to this land yet, you shall see."
"Yes, I shall," said Jacqueline, smiling smugly. "And I shall enjoy the spectacle."
An awkward pause ensued. Then Ljubo and Yelena entered bearing the first course: two peacocks, cooked fully feathered. Their brilliant turquoise and emerald tails had been spared from the heat, then reattached with skewers to stand aloft. The necks, too, had been wired erect. Yelena strained under her load, but Ljubo waddled contentedly as usual, bobbing so that the bird's feathers waved before him like an exotic many-eyed fan. Marguerite suppressed a smile. He made a perverse sort of harem girl, she thought. For that matter, he made an equally unsavory eunuch. The peacock's loose head nodded in agreement on its spike. Ljubo had made an effort to formalize his attire, meeting with some success; he wore a clean black woolen tunic over his tattered trousers, and his ragged fingers had been freshly wrapped in crisp white bandages, already soiled by the juices of the bird.
It occurred to Marguerite that she had assumed the castle harbored a few other hands to serve Donskoy- that somewhere, in the keep's foreboding recesses, lurked chandlers, chamber maids, pantlers, footmen-not many, perhaps, but certainly a few. Now she began to wonder if the foursome she had already met maintained the castle in its entirety. Even given the genera! state of decay, it seemed impossible. She looked around for any sign of Ekhart or Zosia. Neither was present; perhaps they were employed behind the scenes.
Ljubo plunked his platter directly in front of Jacque-line, who sneered at him, then teasingly blew him a — ;ss. Ljubo chortled as he and Yelena retreated.
"A toast," said Donskoy. "To my bride,"
"To new faces," added Jacqueline, lowering her eyes to cast a knowing look at Donskoy. If he reacted, Marguerite did not notice.
As Yelena and Ljubo brought forth other dishes and bread, the feasting began. Donskoy carved a piece of the peacock and placed it on Marguerite's platter. "It is my pleasure to serve you, my dear"
"Take note of that, Marguerite," cooed Jacqueline. "Such words rarely come from his lips. You may never hear them after tonight."
Donskoy ignored the remark, a fact that annoyed Marguerite even more than the comment itself. She fought to keep the heat from rising to her face.
"You mentioned home," said Marguerite, intent on taking the high ground as hostess. "Where is that, Jacqueline?"
"Barovia. My estate lies there."
"Is it a difficult journey?"
"It can seem that way at times, especially for someone who lacks my resourcefulness."
Jacqueline withdrew a dagger from somewhere under the table; Marguerite assumed it had slid from a sheath on her thigh.
"Always carry your own blade," said Jacqueline, relieving the bird of half its flesh. "It's an old rogue's adage. Most hosts fail to supply something suitable, though Milos is, of course, an exception."
"A rogue's adage?" Marguerite asked. "You don't look the type."
"Really. , And how does the type look?"
"More utilitarian in dress, perhaps. Less fragile."
"I assure you," said Jacqueline, "I am not so fragile. But I will take that as a compliment. It has indeed been many years since I had to struggle amongst savage company to maintain myself. Many years, in fact, since mutual interests led me to Donskoy. Do you still remember that night, Milos?"
"I do," he replied.
"Those times were perhaps rougher," said Jacqueline, "yet in many ways richer. As I recall, Milos, you were flush with the rewards of a successful venture."
"Yes," he replied, smiling. "Highly successful. And, as I recall, you intended to share in those rewards- without an invitation."
Marguerite intervened, fearing their reverie might soon become a wait that encircled them completely. "What kind of venture"?" she asked.
Jacqueline merely smiled, and Donskoy sat chewing, as if to consider his reply before answering.
"Does it surprise you, Marguerite, to learn that I was not born to this so-called grandeur?" He waved his hand at the room.
"No. I suppose I knew it."
"And how is that?"
"No mention of family, perhaps, no coat of arms, no portrait gallery. I'm not certain."
"Perhaps I simply prefer to keep my ancestors well-buried."
Marguerite pondered for a moment. She had known that Donskoy was not born to this castle. Then she recalled. "I believe Ekhart told me you were not the keep's original owner, and you yourself said you 'came'to this place."
"Indeed, that is possible. It would seem my lovely bride harbors a deep memory, as well as a clever wit. I II have to take care what I say."
"I wish you wouldn't," Marguerite replied. "A husband and wife should share all things intimately, and thereby build a fortress, and let no others assault it."
Jacqueline chortled. Donskoy silenced her with a lancing gaze, but a smirk pulled gently at the corners of his lips.
"You've been reading the Good Woman's Primer, I wnagine," he said with some amusement. "And of course you are correct." He stroked his goblet against Marguerite's cheek, letting it drop to her collarbone. She felt a trickle of spilled wine and quickly dabbed her chest with the edge of the tablecloth. "But do not trouble yourself," he whispered. "Later we shall share things intimately."
Marguerite tensed; clearly her husband's demeanor was getting loose. "So," she said, "you were telling me about a successful venture."
"Was I?"
"Please do. I want to share in all your successes, past and future. What sort of venture was it?"