Lois Greiman (29 page)

“You’re not wed?” He could barely hear himself over the pounding of his own heart.

“What I told you was true,” she said. “About my parents. About Jonathan. I attempted to get his inheritance for him. His father apprehended me.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Since then I’ve been…They could imprison me again,” she said. “For my crimes.” She shrugged, the movement shallow and quick. “And there’s my family.”

“They’re blackmailing you,” he said, but she shook her head.

“Not blackmail. Not anymore. After what I’ve done…what I’ve seen, what else could I do? I’m not fit…” Her face crumbled for an instant, but she straightened. “They tell me I’m needed.”

She was. Desperately. And there was hope now, when he thought there was none. “They?” He barely managed the word.

“Jonathan’s father is a member of the House of Lords. ’Twas he who first suggested that I…assist them.”

“Jonathan,” he said. “The man you loved. The man you risked your life for…he let them use you?”

“He—”

“Tell me, lass,” he said, and felt his stomach twist with the question. “Do you plan to spend your entire life protecting those who don’t care whether you live or die?”

She lowered her gaze for a fraction of a second. “This last mission was…” For a moment the terror escaped her soul and shone like fire in her mercurial eyes. “They are not usually so dangerous.”

He watched her, unable to look away, unable to resist the merciful spear of hope.

“Indeed,” she continued. “They have promised—”

“I care.” The words came unbidden, bursting from his soul, but she shook her head and lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.

“You don’t know who I am.”

“Maybe not. But I know who I am.”

Her eyes snapped to his, surprise and uncertainty making them as wide as the midnight sky.

“I’m selfish,” he said. “Cold.”

She shook her head, but he hurried on.

“I had a sister. Caroline. She was six years my senior. She was…” He drew a deep breath, struggling. “Beautiful. Fragile. My parents…The lord and lady of Landow.” He drew a deep breath. “They detested each other. Barely spoke. But Father…” Oh God. To say it out loud. To say it and know it was true. “Father loved Caroline. Doted on her. Found her…irresistible, I guess.” He let the words lie there between them, let the horror sink into her soul as well as his own. “I knew,” he said. “I knew something was wrong. She kept growing paler, thinner. I found them together…in her bedchamber.” It was hard to hold her gaze, harder still to go on, to voice the truth of his sins. “But I was terrified to confront him.” He cleared his throat. “Thus I went to Mother.”

Her eyes were gigantic. The silence felt heavy and hard.

“Surely she stopped him,” she whispered.

He almost smiled at the hope in her voice. “Mother
was very proper. Very…strong. I didn’t realize how strong. She could throw me across the room. Against the wall. I thought…I was a boy, remember, and overly imaginative I suspect, but I truly thought she meant to kill me. She assured me I would suffer worse if I ever spewed such lies again.”

“Will—”

He held up a hand. “I told myself there was nothing I could do. And then Caroline became ill. When she died some weeks later it no longer mattered. I told myself it—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, and her face twisted with pity. “You were just a child yourself. You tried—”

“I failed,” he corrected. “She needed me. Needed someone, and I failed. Just as I failed my wife. And my son.”

“People die, Will. You can’t—”

“But I didn’t fail you.”

The world settled into silence.

She shook her head. “No,” she said, and a tear slipped with sacred slowness down the alabaster beauty of her cheek. “You didn’t. You saved my life. I owe you—”

“And you saved my soul.” He said the words simply, succinctly. It was so clear now, as ever bright as her eyes. “Marry me,” he said.

Her lips parted, but no words came. She shook her head once.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said. “But I ask nonetheless. Save me again, lass.”

She shook her head, her expression still tortured. “I cannot—”

“Please,” he whispered.

Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment, then she breathed a laugh. “Have you heard nothing I’ve said? I’ve spent most of five years as a thief. My parents are Rom. Yours are nobility.”

“Don’t say that to me,” he said. “Not after what I’ve told you.”

Compassion touched her lovely face, but she went on. “My father whittles wooden toys for children,” she said. “My mother sells them for a few sentrons at the villages where they stop. Don’t you understand? We’re not in your—”

“We’ll find them,” he said. “Invite them to the wedding.”

She huffed a laugh and shook her head. “I don’t even know—”

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and suddenly she was crying. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his heart, feeling joy erupt like sunlight in his soul.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, though his own cheeks were damp as he stroked her hair. “Don’t cry, love. I’m not as bad as all that.”

Maybe she chuckled, but he was never sure, for in that moment she lifted her lips to his. They trembled as he kissed her, and the world was right.

But a sniggle of noise sounded from the pews, and in a moment she had jerked a knife from its hidden spot. She would have moved away, but he held her close against him, not daring to let her go.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

Silence spilled around them, but finally someone rose from between the benches.

“Nim.” Shandria’s voice was little more than a hiss.

“’Tis good to see you, Princess.” Jack’s face was gaunt, but a smile lurked around his mobile mouth.

The boy looked taller, though no broader. Will stroked Shandria’s arm. She was real. She was safe. But she was worried for another.

“Where have you been sleeping, lad?” he asked.

“Wherever I wish.” Their gazes met. “Well…” The boy paused momentarily. “I’d best be getting along,” he said, and, turning quickly, hurried between the pews.

Shandria jerked frantic eyes to Will. He felt her angst like a spear in his soul and almost laughed aloud at the poignant opportunity to make her happy.

“Want a job?” he asked, raising his voice.

The boy stopped, turned slowly. “What’s that?”

Will shrugged. “The queen’s own army couldn’t find her,” he said, and nodded toward Shandria. She was safe. She was here, in his life, in his arms. “You did.”

“The queen?” The boy canted his head. “You mean Princess Anna.”

“Yes.”

“Is that the maid I knew or the one what came behind her?”

“The second one.”

Jack’s brows lowered, and he turned away.

“But I see the other regularly.”

The boy kept walking.

“I believe she was a thief.”

Jack stopped and turned. A smile glimmered in his eyes. “I figured as much. She cheats at dice, you know.”

“No,” he said, and laughed for the sheer joy of living. “I didn’t.”

“You sure got yourself in a rough crowd fer such a fancy bloke.”

“It’s worse than you know, lad. She married a friend of mine. Lord Argyle. Perhaps you remember him.”

The boy scowled. “The one what convinced you to take me in?”

“Aye.”

Jack nodded, his expression solemn, his eyes intense.

“Is she ’appy?” he asked, and Will smiled at the tenderness in his tone. When Jack loved, it was forever. What a man he could be if there was someone to care. Why hadn’t Will recognized such potential before? But the answer was there beside him, in his arms, in his life. “Is she safe?”

“Your Anna?”

The boy seemed nonplussed by the reference and nodded again.

“You could ask her yourself.”

The lad’s eyes were narrowed, his brow wrinkled.

“Make sure he’s treating her well,” Will added.

“’E’s wealthy?”

“Yes. A viscount.”

“Then I suspect she’s in good ’ands,” Jack said, and swiveled away.

“She wouldn’t turn her back on you, lad,” Will said.

The boy glanced around.

“Surely she deserves a visit at least, after searching for you these long months.”

“Searching?” His voice was soft. Love was a hard master, breaking down the most belligerent barriers.

“You could visit her,” Will repeated. Quiet settled restlessly around them. “Of course, you’d have to live at Landow Manor.”

“With you?” he whispered.

Will turned to gaze into Shandria’s eyes, then touched her face, because he could, because there was no way to resist. “With us,” he said.

“Two princesses,” Jack mused and worried his lips. “Sounds confusin’. But I ’spect I could give it a try.”

T
he palace was filled to brimming. Bouquets of bright blossoms adorned every table. Wedding guests milled about, gossiping and drinking and laughing.

But Will remained silent. He’d always hated weddings, he thought and laughed out loud. Shandria turned toward him, eyes smiling, and he couldn’t help but pull her against him, to find her lips with his own, for she was happiness itself.

“Lord Enton.”

He turned toward the intruder. “Your Majesty,” he said, addressing the young queen. She was both beautiful and kind, but surely she had better things to do than disturb him just then. “And my lord,” he said, shifting his gaze to Laird Cairn MacTavish and bowing again. “You honor us.”

“We wished to congratulate you,” Tatiana said.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And to thank your bonny bride,” MacTavish added. “Wheaton has bedeviled Teleere and her allies for a score of years. We suspected one of Sedonia’s lords was funding him, but we had no way of knowing Lord Bentor was that man. Not until he took the bait your people had planted.”

“I didn’t expect him to come to the Den. I assumed Wheaton would take the papers to him,” Shandria said.

“As did we. Thus the late arrival,” Tatiana admitted. “Had our troops been a few minutes later, your bridegroom would not have had the luxury of swooning.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Majesty,” Will said, skimming his gaze ruefully to his bride. “I was badly wounded, and—”

“He is fortunate to have had you to save him. Our thanks,” MacTavish said, and, taking Shandria’s hand, kissed her knuckles.

Will scowled. He had heard somewhere that MacTavish was thought to be the most handsome man in all of Teleere. Of course, they were in Sedonia, but that didn’t make his attentions any more welcome.

“I do not deserve your gratitude, my laird,” Shandria was saying. “Indeed, it is I who am grateful. We are eternally in your debt. For your forgiveness as well as your timely intervention.” She skimmed her eyes to Will. The mental nudge was as sharp as an elbow to the ribs.

“Yes,” he agreed, still glaring at their joined hands. “Our deepest thanks.”

The royal couple stared at him. “His mouth gives thanks,” MacTavish mused, “but his eyes seem to be cursing like a one-legged sea dog.”

“Me thinks you’re likely to lose a hand if you don’t release his bride, lad,” someone rumbled.

Raising his gaze, Will watched the giant Highlander shoulder his way through the crowd. Burr, he was called—MacTavish’s mentor and well-seasoned guard.

“Truly?” MacTavish said, sounding surprised, though he loosed Shandria’s hand as he turned from Burr to his queen. “I thought your William was known to be somewhat restrained?”

“Sometimes people soften under the right influence,” Tatiana said.

“Aye,” Burr agreed, and chuckled, “though the lad here was already plenty soft afore you come along, lass.”

MacTavish turned. Trouble showed in his eyes, replacing the modicum of decorum he’d first exhibited. He had scars aplenty. Rumor had it that more than a few had been caused by his good friend and mentor.

“Are you finally admitting the truth then, old man?” he asked.

Burr’s brows lowered. “And what truth is that, laddie?”

“That your weakling tutelage left something to be desired.”

The Scotsman smiled. “Are you challenging me, boy?”

“I would,” MacTavish said, “but I think I’ll let the wee lass take care of that.”

“What lass?” Bur rumbled, but his face was already flushed.

“The red-haired one what leads you around by the…” The laird paused, skimmed his attention from his wife’s high-browed gaze to Shandria. “Nose,” he finished.

“I don’t know what the devil you’re yipping about, but if you hope to leave these festivities afoot, you’d best—”

“Even
your
memory can’t have grown that weak, gaffer,” MacTavish said.

The Scotsman spread his legs. Beneath his tartan, muscles strained like oaken boughs. “I’d hate to cause bloodshed during the merriment. I’ve worn me best plaid.”

“And I’d hate to bleed,” Cairn admitted happily. “Luckily, the lass will protect me.”

“’Twould be a mistake to believe you can hide behind your lady’s title,” Burr said, and MacTavish laughed.

“Not a’tall,” he argued. “I was speaking of
her
.”

“Viking,” Gem said, and, slipping through the crush, took Burr’s arm in both hands. “I’ve been lookin’ for ye.”

Burr paled like an untried boy as he glanced down at her. She’d pulled her fire-bright hair up atop her head, and her gown was made of spring green muslin. It hugged her tidy little body like a lover’s touch, pressing her pert bosom toward the smiling heavens. The indomitable Highlander looked as if he were about to swoon.

MacTavish beamed. “She’s been looking for ye,” he reiterated, and Burr rallied weakly, pulling back his gargantuan shoulders with a glare.

“My apologies, lass,” he rumbled. “I fear I have important affairs to see to.”

Gem scowled and shifted her hand restlessly to his chest. Burr stiffened as if shot. “Can’t they wait?” she asked, turning hopefully to MacTavish. “I was ’opin’ ’e could teach me to waltz.”

The laird of Teleere couldn’t have looked happier if he’d been declared God, but he doused the smile and forged a scowl. “I’d like to allow it, lass, but ol’ Burroun has been severely injured, and what with his advancing years, I think it best if we coddle him a bit longer.”

“Coddle—” Burr growled.

“Aye,” MacTavish continued, ignoring him. “Wee bonnie lassies like yourself tend to get old men overexcited, and while even Will here is well past his prime, he’ll most likely be able to withstand the rigors of—”

“You watch your mouth around the maids, lad,” Burr warned.

“You see,” MacTavish said, shaking his head sadly. “He’s no longer able even to talk of such things. ’Twould be best if you’d find some young buck to satisfy…”

“Shut your trap, boy.” Muscles bulged like pythons in
Burr’s arms, and his face was red. “I raised you better than to spew such talk.”

“Aye, you did,” he admitted. “Raised me from a wee bairn. But ye know yourself you’re too old to raise up a daughter. True, you won’t need to be changin’ her swaddling,” he said, and grinned. “Though you might want—”

William never saw the Highlander swing. One minute he was standing quietly, the next he was doing the same, only the laird of Teleere had flown into the crowd behind him. He ricocheted off a young gent, who rebounded into another.

MacTavish staggered, found his balance, and grinned.

Gem’s eyes were as wide as goblets as she shifted them from the laird to the giant. Burr’s eyes were narrow, his face solemn. “Lass,” he said, his voice a bear rumble as he turned to face her. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his face was the color of an autumn apple as he cleared his throat. “Lass,” he began again, then, “I’d marry you if you’ll have me.”

Gem’s round mouth opened. She blinked, then leapt into his arms. He caught her with a growl, dragging her to his chest and kissing her with ferocious ardor.

The crowd stared in wide-eyed, speechless shock.

“Triton’s ball,” MacTavish said, his eyes sparkling with glee. “You’d best save your strength, old man. You already hit like a maid.”

The couple didn’t seem to notice. Indeed, judging by their actions, it was entirely possible they’d forgotten where they were.

MacTavish cleared his throat, and, finally, Burr drew back his head and allowed Gem to slide to the floor, though he still held her tightly against his chest. “You looking for more trouble, lad?”

“I’d like to,” MacTavish admitted, and shook his head
as if deathly disappointed, “but I think the lass here has other plans for you just now.”

Burr turned his gaze to Gem, and his eyes softened. Gone was the warrior who had hewn a throne for his chosen laird. In his place was a man humbled by love.

Rising on her toes, Gem whispered something in the Scotsman’s ear. Will would have sworn Burr’s face couldn’t flush any darker. He would have been wrong again.

Rumbling a good-bye, Burr bent, lifted Gemini into his arms, and plowed a path through the crowd.

MacTavish waited until he was well out of sight to cradle his chin. “Triton’s balls! I think he broke me jaw.”

Queen Tatiana sighed. “One shouldn’t bait the bear if one doesn’t wish to be eaten,” she said, and turned briefly toward the newlyweds. “If you’ll excuse us, I think we’d best leave before my clever husband falls on his face.”

MacTavish smiled blearily. “I had little choice,” he explained. “He’s been miserable since the lass left West-heath.”

“Aye, you’re a wonderful friend,” Tatiana said wryly, and touched his face with tender fingertips.

He grinned as he caught her hand. “Let me prove it,” he murmured.

She blushed, and her words were too soft to hear, but their exodus spoke volumes.

Shandria blinked. “Interesting friends you have.”

Will turned toward her, feeling the warmth of her presence, the beauty that was her. “Do you think so?”

She raised a brow, and he laughed in that hopelessly euphoric manner he’d always detested in others. “I suspect you’re right,” he said. “I simply didn’t notice before I met you.” He found her hand and drew her close. “Before I was alive.”

Her eyes met his, then she kissed him, slow and warm
and promising. Feelings swirled like magic, tingling his nerve endings, tightening his body.

“You’re alive now,” she murmured.

“Aye,” he agreed, “I believe I am,” he said, and, lifting her into his arms, followed the Highlander through the crowd and into happiness.