A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

pleased to see her. Sansa did a deep curtsy, her head bowed. “A bastard?” she heard her aunt say. “Petyr, have you been wicked? Who was her mother?”
    â€œThe wench is dead. I’d hoped to take Alayne to the Eyrie.”
    â€œWhat am I to do with her there?”
    â€œI have a few notions,” said Lord Petyr. “But just now I am more interested in what I might do with you, my lady.”
    All the sternness melted off her aunt’s round pink face, and for a moment Sansa thought Lysa Arryn was about to cry. “Sweet Petyr, I’ve missed you so, you don’t know, you can’t know. Yohn Royce has been stirring up all sorts of trouble, demanding that I call my banners and go to war. And the others all swarm around me, Hunter and Corbray and that
dreadful
Nestor Royce, all wanting to wed me and take my son to ward, but none of them truly love me. Only you, Petyr. I’ve dreamed of you so long.”
    â€œAnd I of you, my lady.” He slid an arm around behind her and kissed her on the neck. “How soon can we be wed?”
    â€œNow,” said Lady Lysa, sighing. “I’ve brought my own septon, and a singer, and mead for the wedding feast.”
    â€œHere?” That did not please him. “I’d sooner wed you at the Eyrie, with your whole court in attendance.”
    â€œPoo to my court. I have waited so long, I could not bear to wait another moment.” She put her arms around him. “I want to share your bed tonight, my sweet. I want us to make another child, a brother for Robert or a sweet little daughter.”
    â€œI dream of that as well, sweetling. Yet there is much to be gained from a great public wedding, with all the Vale—”
    â€œNo.” She stamped a foot. “I want you now, this very night. And I must warn you, after all these years of silence and whisperings, I mean to
scream
when you love me. I am going to scream so loud they’ll hear me in the Eyrie!”
    â€œPerhaps I could bed you now, and wed you later?”
    The Lady Lysa giggled like a girl. “Oh, Petyr Baelish, you are so
wicked
. No, I say no, I am the Lady of the Eyrie, and I command you to wed me this very moment!”
    Petyr gave a shrug. “As my lady commands, then. I am helpless before you, as ever.”
    They said their vows within the hour, standing beneath a sky-blue canopy as the sun sank in the west. Afterward trestle tables were set up beneath the small flint tower, and they feasted on quail, venison, and roast boar, washing it down with a fine light mead. Torches were lit as dusk crept in. Lysa’s singer played “The Vow Unspoken” and “Seasons of My Love” and “Two Hearts That Beat as One.” Several younger knights even asked Sansa to dance. Her aunt danced as well, her skirts whirling when Petyr spun her in his arms. Mead and marriage had taken years off Lady Lysa. She laughed at everything so long as she held her husband’s hand, and her eyes seemed to glow whenever she looked at him.
    When it was time for the bedding, her knights carried her up to the tower, stripping her as they went and shouting bawdy jests.
Tyrion spared me that
, Sansa remembered. It would not have been so bad being undressed for a man she loved, by friends who loved them both.
By Joffrey, though
. . . She shuddered.
    Her aunt had brought only three ladies with her, so they pressed Sansa to help them undress Lord Petyr and march him up to his marriage bed. He submitted with good grace and a wicked tongue, giving as good as he got. By the time they had gotten him into the tower and out of his clothes, the other women were flushed, with laces unlaced, kirtles crooked, and skirts in disarray. But Littlefinger only smiled at Sansa as they marched him up to the bedchamber where his lady wife was waiting.
    Lady Lysa and Lord Petyr had the third-story bedchamber to themselves, but the tower was small . . . and true to her word, her aunt screamed. It had begun to rain outside, driving the feasters into the hall one floor below, so they heard most every word. “Petyr,” her aunt moaned. “Oh, Petyr, Petyr, sweet
Petyr
, oh oh oh. There, Petyr, there. That’s where you belong.” Lady Lysa’s singer launched into a bawdy version of “Milady’s Supper,” but even his singing and playing could not drown out Lysa’s cries. “Make me a baby, Petyr,” she screamed, “make me