Claire Delacroix (7 page)

Fortunately, Aurelia had been raised with impeccable manners, even if these barbarians had not. She drew herself up tall and did not miss the fleeting smile that curved Bard’s lips.

“I am afraid I do not know this prince of your acquaintance,” Aurelia admitted with a smile far more gracious than the whore deserved. Two could play this old game of one-upmanship. “Perhaps you might introduce us, at your own convenience, of course.”

The whore caught her breath, but before she could speak, the priest interjected. “Oh, yes, why don’t you have them both over for tea one day?” There was an edge underlying his tone and the whore fired a hostile glance in his direction. “When are you planning to see dear Rainier next?”

The whore gritted her teeth and looked daggers at the priest. Apparently any hostile feelings were mutual. “I have yet to make his acquaintance, darling,” she admitted in a low growl.

“Really?” The priest’s surprise was obviously feigned. “And here I had thought you were the best of friends. How could I have gotten such an idea?”

“Back to your corners,” Bard interjected. “We don’t want Aurelia to imagine that you two don’t like each other.” He quirked a brow at Aurelia with such a conspiratorial air that she knew the truth was exactly thus.

Her foolish heart fluttered at his attention, and she fought to hide any sign of her response from that perceptive gaze.

“Oh, no, never that,” the priest muttered.

Aurelia ignored him and summoned her most regal manner - ignoring for the moment that she was wearing no more than a tunic - to address the whore with a winning smile. “We have not been introduced, of course, but you must be Morticia.”

The priest choked and the whore gasped in outrage.

Aurelia looked between the two of them in confusion, then to Bard, unable to guess what she had said wrong. His eyes flashed and she knew that somehow she had put her foot right into it.

Not that that was a new experience for Aurelia.

She quickly decided to take refuge in her guise of stupidity. Aurelia opened her eyes wide and blinked owlishly at the king. “But you said you had an appointment...” she began in a childishly high voice.

“With Marissa,” he interrupted tersely before Aurelia could finish. “This is Marissa Witlowe, our interior design consultant.”

The introduction meant nothing to Aurelia, beyond the woman’s name, which made it easier to smile like an insipid fool.

Marissa did not smile. “I do all the interiors, darling,” she echoed in a low voice, a warning light in her dark eyes. She looped one hand through Bard’s elbow and looked up at him with proprietary smile. “Baird and I work very closely together, darling, especially on a project of the magnitude of Dunhelm, so don’t be terribly surprised if he can’t manage to find a speck of time for you.”

She turned that cold smile on Aurelia and her eyes were dark with what was clearly a threat. “Even if you are royalty.” Marissa’s tone implied that she suspected precisely the opposite.

The priest chose that moment to take Aurelia’s elbow with proprietary ease. “Well, it’s time we found you a room,” he said with false cheer. He continued in a cutting tone. “As delightful as it has been to see you again, Marissa, unfortunately duty calls.”

Marissa’s cold gaze scanned Aurelia from head to toe, then locked with Aurelia’s own once more. “You know, darling, I do understand that spring is coming, but it might be a teensy bit premature to dress so “ - she waved a hand vaguely – “ understatedly.”

“Good point, Marissa.” Bard’s tone was even, as though he had either not noticed his whore’s antagonism or had chosen to ignore it. “Perhaps you could help Aurelia with that. She’s without anything to wear right now and Tex said you flew in enough luggage for a family of five.”

Marissa’s finely arched eyebrows shot skyward, but Bard did not give her an opportunity to ask.

“Surely you could lend Aurelia something to wear at dinner?”

Marissa’s lip curled in a disgust Aurelia was sharing, but the smile she turned on Bard was demure. She even raised one hand to her throat as though something had stuck there.

“She’s going to eat dinner with us, darling? But she’s just a guest! And I had thought that we would have a private dinner to discuss the decor.”

The whore fluttered her lashes so provocatively that Aurelia knew “decor” had something to do with matters of intimacy.

At dinner. Shameless slut.

“Of course, she’s going to eat with us.” Bard turned a smile on his whore that was obviously designed to dissolve feminine resistance. “There are so few of us here, it would be ridiculous to split up for dinner.”

When the whore said nothing, Bard took her elbow with an ease born of familiarity, and lowered his voice to a confidential tone. “I’m sure you can find something, Marissa. I might need my sweater, after all,” he said with a wink that could melt knees.

The whore’s defiance faded into a compliant smile. “Whatever you like, darling,” she murmured, staring up at Bard, and Aurelia knew it was time they parted ways.

She had no desire to watch this seduction unfold.

Fortunately, the priest seemed to feel the same way. “Good, that’s settled.” He tapped Aurelia’s elbow crisply. “Why don’t we head upstairs and find you a room, hmm?”

Aurelia needed no encouragement to follow his lead, though she did not imagine the other pair even noticed them leaving. That irked her, but Aurelia told herself that it was just the breach of good manners that burned.

It could be nothing else.

* * *

“Just what we need - things going from bad to worse,” the priest muttered under his breath as he trudged up the stairs.

It was obvious he referred to the whore and equally clear that he was not ashamed of expressing the sentiment.

“I mean, I knew she had to show up sometime but was hoping for later rather than sooner, if you know what I mean.”

Aurelia watched him from the corner of her eye, uncertain what to make of this confession. For once, she held her tongue.

He sighed. “She’s so high maintenance - God! She just drives me crazy. At dinner, we’ll be hearing about all the burdens she has to bear, you can be sure of it.” The priest’s voice rose to a falsetto mimicking Marissa’s accent. “My blow dryer isn’t wired in yet, Baird, darling, can’t you just come along to my room tonight and fix it for me, darling?”

The priest shrugged as though he would dismiss his irritation and forced a smile for Aurelia. “Sorry. This has nothing to do with you. I shouldn’t be venting.”

“I understand how you feel,” Aurelia said carefully. “An influential whore can be a great trial in a household.”

The priest sputtered, then fired an incredulous glance at her. “You’re serious!” he gasped.

Aurelia was confused by his surprise. “You do not agree?”

The priest’s lips twisted, then he abruptly laughed out loud. “Well, yes, I do, actually, but people seldom state the truth so bluntly.” He chuckled to himself for a moment, then shook his head.

Aurelia was unable to see the difficulty in calling someone by their station in the household, let alone what was amusing about it. “If that is her place, then there’s no point in garnishing the truth.”

The priest shrugged. “Well, I suppose not, though calling Marissa a whore might be a bit harsh.”

Aurelia blinked. “Is that not what she is?”

The priest fired a sidelong glance in Aurelia’s direction. He coughed behind his hand. “Technically, I wouldn’t know precisely what happens in Baird’s bed,” he said archly. “She does do the interiors of every Beauforte Resort, though I have to say that I don’t think she’s overly talented.” He sniffed with obvious disdain. “I suppose anyone could make their own conclusions from that.”

“Does the interiors?” Aurelia echoed.

The priest waved to the hall below as they reached the landing. “She buys stuff, picks colors, chooses furnishings, wall paper, lamps, flooring tiles. You know, she does interior design.”

It seemed ridiculous to make up a new name for a practice as old as time. Obviously, the pleasures Marissa gave Bard in bed loosened his purse strings - and her position as his mistress granted her a household position similar to a wife.

Aurelia levelled a knowing glance at the priest as they mounted the stairs. “She spends his coin.”

That man’s lips quirked at her terse summary. “Yes. In a way, yes, that’s what she does.” The priest gestured to the lavish room behind them. “She bought all that. And all this.” He threw open the carved wooden doors at the summit.

The doors swung inward silently despite their obvious weight and a long hallway hung with glistening crystals was revealed. Countless doors marched on either side of the corridor, following one after the other as far as Aurelia could see.

The tapestry cast on the floor here was crimson, crisscrossed with a rope pattern worked in shades of gold. It gleamed with the luster of silk, was as thick as a cushion, and stretched on seemingly forever. Aurelia could not even imagine how long it would have taken to weave, let alone how many women would have to lend their hands to the task.

It was shocking to think of walking on such a work, but the priest strode across it without a second thought. He paused before the fourth door on the left side of the corridor.

“And this.” The priest slid a thin square into a slot above the door handle. Aurelia saw something red flash, then he pulled back the square into his hand, as though he would conceal it from her. He opened the door.

It was a ritual, obviously, a protective spell.

But now, the priest had disappeared inside and left her behind. Aurelia took the two longest steps she could manage - on her tiptoes - across the magnificent tapestry to reach the narrow strip of wood flooring revealed on the far side. She sidled along the wood, careful not to step on the tapestry again, and peeked through the door that the priest held open.

And was amazed by the magnificence of the furnishings. The room was ornamented in a deep and pleasing sapphire hue, the bed hung with heavy tapestries, the floor thick with rugs.

“King Bard’s chambers,” Aurelia whispered, certain that this luxury could be for no one else.

It was shockingly intimate to look upon his private chambers. Aurelia was certain the king would have words for the priest, had he guessed that she was here.

Perhaps it was the fact that this was a stolen view that made a heat unfurl in Aurelia’s stomach as she eyed the great bed. It was so easy to imagine Bard sleeping there.

Nude.

On his back, as all warriors slept, one hand flung out across the pallet. His broad chest would be tanned golden, the dark hair that adorned it slightly curly. Aurelia’s toes curled at the vivid image she had of him. He would smile that provocative half-smile when he awakened and his eyes would glitter that dangerous sea green.

And his strong fingers would rest on the hip of his whore, who curled by his side in a most proprietary manner.

Aurelia inhaled sharply and glared at the priest, uncertain why the thought of Bard’s whore troubled her so much. The pair deserved each other!

The priest shook his head. “No. Baird’s room is the first one.” He nodded to the left. “This one might as well be yours.”

Aurelia blinked, but he was not teasing her. Though she was a noblewoman, Aurelia had expected accommodation markedly more austere.

Like a dank, stone cell.

“It’s no big deal,” the priest said with a shrug, evidently noticing Aurelia’s surprise. “It’s just one of the guest rooms.”

Such a room for guests.

For any guest who stumbled into the hall.

Aurelia wandered into the room in disbelief. She touched the silken softness of the thick bed curtains and felt the carved solidity of the bedpost beneath.

Suddenly she thought of all the doors facing this corridor and swiveled to face the priest. “And the other doors?” she demanded, half-expecting his answer but not daring to believe such whimsy possible.

The priest shoved his hands into pockets hidden in his chausses. “They’ll all be guest rooms, once they’re finished.”

All of them! Aurelia’s mind darted ahead. There had to be fifty rooms in this hall alone. And Marissa had made each one finer than the last - simply to entertain guests!

Oh, she was an expensive indulgence, to be sure.

“How can you imagine that she is not his whore?” Aurelia demanded, before realizing she had given voice to the thought.

The priest hooted with laughter and Aurelia felt her cheeks stain pink. But his twinkling glance was without condemnation and oddly enough, his merriment put her in mind of her lost brother Thord.

The memory saddened Aurelia.

The priest sobered when she did not share his laughter. “Whatever she does now, Marissa hasn’t made any secret of her ambition to marry Baird, at least to everyone other than Baird himself.” He frowned. “I wish he’d open his eyes for a change.”

Aurelia’s mind flew. Marissa as wife would be even more influential than she was as whore. It made perfect sense that she would seek such a position.

And just as much that the priest would be adverse to having such a powerful adversary lodged at Bard’s side over the long term. Evidently, it pleased him that Aurelia and the whore had not taken to each other.

But why?

The pieces fit together with horrifying precision. The priest had mentioned the prophecy of Aurelia’s birth in the well. Further, the priest had not made a murmur of protest when Aurelia had seized the excuse for looking like a fool and kissed the king.

Finally and perhaps most tellingly, the priest had chosen this fine prison for Aurelia.

Could the priest be planning for her to marry Bard, son of Erc, instead of that man’s whore? Aurelia’s mouth went dry. There were too many things lining up to be counted to be accidental.

She had to know the truth.

When Aurelia spoke, she was careful to keep her tone frivolous. “But what does King Bard think of such plans? Surely he has a picked a bride for himself?”

“Right. He can’t see for looking when it comes to women.” The priest was skeptical. “And he’d do better to marry someone with connections anyhow.”