Queen of Jastain (13 page)

She wiped away a tear as she pulled the diamonds from their nest. Her dad had wanted her to have these, and she would wear them for the first time to the harvest festival. Now that was what she called destiny.

Abby giggled with giddiness. She skipped downstairs to wait for Petra in the empty kitchen. After all the recent hustle and bustle, her footsteps echoed eerily in the quiet. She and Petra must be the only two left in the house to leave for the party. A driver waited outside to take them in a horse-drawn carriage to the village square. Having missed Avant more than she could understand, Abby poured herself a glass of mead to calm her nerves. What would she do when she saw him?

The back door opened. Dressed in a tunic of fine crimson and gold brocade, Petra stood in the threshold, his chocolate-brown eyes sparkling in the lamplight. The look fit his title of Landmaster. Abby smiled and his jaw dropped open. Lighthearted ease sprang up in her heart and her confidence soared with his appreciative gaze.

He studied her like a fine painting. “Abigail, you look beautiful tonight.”

His attention filled her like an empty pitcher. “Thanks, Petra. Please call me Abby. You clean up nice yourself.”

“And scarcely anyone will notice me as long as you are nearby. Nonetheless, I hope that will be my misfortune.” His eyes twinkled with a mischief that charmed her.

Petra might look like Chad, but he was so…different.

“Somehow I think there will be plenty to notice you tonight, Landmaster, and I will be the most envied lady at the party.”

His cheeks reddened, but he continued to stare at her as he stalked toward her. Her heart beat rapidly. With a cocked eyebrow, he bent, took her hand, and kissed it. She held her breath. He cut his gaze up to her and grinned impishly.

She exhaled and laughed.

“Do you like your dress?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Did you pick it out?”

He took a glass and poured a drink for himself then refilled hers. “No. It arrived from the village this morning. I assume Avant had someone get it for you.”

The corners of her mouth fell, and her heart sank a little. To be disappointed that Avant hadn’t picked it out himself was just plain silly. She couldn’t expect him to be perfect in every way. Besides, he still wanted his stupid wife. Abby smirked.
Maybe not for long if I have anything to say about it.
She downed her drink.

“Are you ready?”

His question drew her from negative thoughts. She nodded excitedly, pleased for the distraction. “Let’s go.”

The carriage jostled over the road to town. She and Petra talked and laughed like old friends and warmth surrounded her while he was near.

He reached out and touched her arm, which tingled from the gesture. “The baker's bull only wanted to mate with the innkeeper's cow. The poor animal stood at the edge of the property and bayed like a lovesick troubadour. Avant sent me to talk with the animal. It seems the baker's female cows didn't smell appealing. The baker had much wild garlic growing in the pasture. So I spoke with the baker, and we moved the cows to a pasture with clover. The baker now has two calves and plenty of fresh milk. And the bull…well, he gets his fill of love.”

She laughed so hard she fell against him. He caught her and pushed her up straight. She wiped the water from the corners of her eyes. “Ugh. Cow sex. Gross.”

Petra told her more funny stories about the fief and Abby told him about her experience with the chickens.

She gave him a carefree smile. He gave his undivided attention, and it was the shortest trip of her life over the bumpy road to the village. As they approached, the noise of music, laughter, and a gathering crowd drifted in the night air.

The driver took them directly into the square and opened the door of the carriage. Abby stepped out, like a princess, into a picturesque little village. A quaint stream churned through a watermill and flowed under a cobblestone bridge. At the end of the main square, rich colored papers and fabrics decorated the festival gathering. A Thomas Kinkade painting had come to life with lights and colors in the brightest hues. The smell of freshly baked pastries and roasted meats permeated the air, and lyrical music lilted over the friendly din of conversing voices.

Petra took her hand and led her through the crowd. They could hardly go a few feet without someone stopping them to talk to him and keenly eye her. Petra held her hand and always politely introduced her.

Abby spotted Helean across the square and waved to her. Helean waved back then bent to whisper in another woman's ear. Several of the farmhands and their wives ate and drank at a far side table. Scanning the crowd to see if she knew anyone else, she waved to the baker and his wife. A pretty young girl dressed in lavender, who was probably their daughter, gave her an evil glare.
Yikes
. The young lady shot a gaze to the handsome landmaster, who appeared oblivious to the attention. Two more girls smiled at Petra and scowled at her. Just like she thought— the claws were coming out of all the village maids. She giggled.

Diligently, she searched the crowd for the one person she wanted to see, but he wasn’t there. Her heart sank a little, and she clasped Petra's arm and pulled him closer.

Petra leaned over, his breath tickling her ear. “Abby, I need to introduce Lord Ventium and the winemakers to start the celebration. Can you wait here?”

She nodded, understanding why she couldn’t find Avant. He'd be introduced with the winemakers. Her heart started to pound and sweat covered her palms.

Petra stepped up onto the dais, and the crowd stilled to a hush.

“Men and Women of the Freelands of Jastain, welcome to the Harvest of Wine Festival.” The villagers applauded and cheered, and the musicians played loudly then quieted to a hush. “Let us begin the festivities by introducing the fine ruler of these lands, Lord Ventium.” The crowd again gave a chorus of claps and yells.

Dressed in black pants and a charcoal tunic with bright blue and silver appliqués, Avant glided across the stage. Her heart caught in her throat. He looked magnificent in a waist-length royal-blue velvet cape. Embellished with silver embroidery and fastened across the top of his chest with a decorative chain, it flowed like a billowing current behind him as he walked.

He spoke a word of welcome, but Abby didn’t hear it. Her heart beat like a frantic humming bird caught in a thorn bush, and she forgot how to breathe. All of the memories,
his memories
, flooded back to her. His thoughts now shared space in her mind. His emotions, his heart, were a part of her.

She remembered something else—she loved him. A loud gasp escaped her and she stumbled.

He caught her gaze.

For a brief moment, she viewed herself though his eyes, as if she still looked through the window of his soul, and a surge of passion ripped through her.

The solid gate of his mind slammed shut, though he seamlessly continued to speak. Abby staggered and grabbed the arm of a man next to her. The glacier of Avant's empty stare bit into her, and she couldn't seem to draw in enough air.

Avant introduced the winemakers, Hossa and his wife, Annova. The woman's auburn hair blazed over her emerald green dress. Catching Abby's gaze, she smiled knowingly.
Great
. What had Avant told her? Avant was the one who had revealed all his secrets, and yet, Abby was the one vulnerable and insecure. What a pisser.

The crowd applauded again, and as the music started, everyone began to sing. Though she knew the words, she didn’t sing along. Avant turned his gaze, but she couldn’t. Trapped by her heart, she loved a man who was still in love with his wife.

She tried to regulate her breathing, her heart finally settling into a steady rhythm.

Someone touched her arm, and she jumped. “Abby, are you all right? You look pale.” Petra furrowed his brow.

“What…oh, yes…I’m fine, but I need a drink. You were great up there, a natural speaker.” Could everyone tell how flustered she was?

He stopped a server and took two cups of wine. She snatched one from his hand and downed it like a shot, then grabbed the other. Not seeming to mind, he got two more, and she guzzled those, too.

Petra stared wide-eyed at her alcoholic intake. “I suppose you were thirsty.”

After she finished the last of another drink and soaked in Petra’s attention, her confidence returned. She smiled and laughed at his good-natured gossip about the villagers.

Petra leaned over and asked, “Would you care to dance?”

“I don’t know….” She loved to dance but shot a gaze up to the dais. Avant stood with his back to her.

“It’s easy. I’ll teach you.”

His wheedling tone and warm hand on her shoulder convinced her. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

He led her to the dance floor and spun her around. Slipping an arm around her, his closeness lightened her mood. During a slow and elegant tune, Petra waltzed her around, floating as if their feet hovered above the ground. A faster tune played, and they skipped across the floor, exchanging partners back and forth. The unfriendly glances of several young maidens scathed her, and their unhappiness rippled in waves toward her. She bit her lip and smiled at Petra's obliviousness.

But the girls were right to be jealous. Petra was a dream. He told the funniest stories and seemed completely at ease. The way he looked at her infused confidence into her frail feminine psyche.
I am the luckiest girl in all of Jastain tonight
. Why didn't she feel like it? Her gaze flitted back to the dais. Avant was seated and spoke quietly to the group at his table.

After several dances, Petra led her off the floor. He parked her at a long table under the stars and left to get more drinks. She fanned her sweaty face with a napkin and twisted to see the festivities behind her. All around, the villagers danced, chatted, and enjoyed the party in lively fellowship. They celebrated, genuinely happy with the bounty of harvest they'd been given. Quite a few watched her, too. Her head spun.
What did they think of her? Could she ever be one of them?

Avant remained seated on the dais with the winemakers, and never offered a hint of acknowledgement.
How could she be in love with him?
She needed another drink.

A reassuring hand clasped her shoulder, and as if on cue, Petra handed her a full glass. He smiled, his face half in shadow. She shook Mr. Couldn't-Care-Less from her mind and chugged down the delicious, spiced wine. Petra chatted and they drank. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her up to dance.

Gliding her around the floor, he said, “It’s almost time for the Lord’s Harvest Dance. Don’t be surprised if he asks you.”

“Don’t be surprised if
who
asks me
what
?”

“Avant. He's allowed to choose a dance partner from among all the ladies. The one chosen wears a crown of grape leaves for the remainder of the evening and is greeted by all the guests.”

Abby’s heart began the hummingbird shuffle again. “Oh, I don’t want to do that.”

“You’ll be fine. Besides, it’s a requirement. Avant specifically requested your participation in this event.”

She wasn’t ready to face
him
yet, but Petra's warm eyes reassured her. She cupped his cheek. He flushed red and desire sparkled in his soft brown eyes. Abby smiled. With Petra by her side, she could handle anything, except maybe if Avant chose someone else.

The music stopped and the platform cleared. All the women, young and old, gathered around the perimeter. Petra pulled her toward the edge of the dance floor, between two old ladies. Shoulders squared, Avant strode out confidently. Abby’s heart beat so wildly the old folks next to her could probably hear it. Laying a hand over her breast to staunch the rapid flutter, she tried to wedge herself behind the two women. What would she do if he picked her? What would she do if he didn’t?

A shameless flirt, he scanned the floor and made eye contact with each lady, causing some to blush. Quickly glancing past Abby, he didn’t acknowledge her, but continued his visual trek around the floor. He’d told her he didn’t want to draw attention to her, and she could understand why she might not be his first choice. But the thought of his rejection caused tears to well.

He stepped to the center of the floor facing the far end. Gazing at his profile, she could tell from the set of his jaw he'd decided. Her heart sank as he took two strides forward.
Another time, maybe.
Then he pivoted and walked directly to her. Her heart lurched in her chest as if it was leaping to reach him. He caught her gaze and bowed low. His velvet cape swept the ground. A sigh escaped her, and excitement danced down her spine. Taking her hand, he led her onto the floor.

“Do you know this dance?”
He smiled to the crowd as he spoke into her mind. The villagers applauded loudly, and the music began.

“I think so, but I hope I don’t try to lead you.”
She grinned and bit her lip.

“I hadn't thought of that.”
He cocked his eyebrow, and swept an arm around her waist. “
Not to worry, I'm a strong partner.”

Her body hummed at his touch, and everything but him slipped away. She closed her eyes as he whisked her around the floor. Instinctively, she knew the steps, but he danced surprisingly well. She could easily have followed him without knowing the moves. Having done her share of two-stepping back home, she recognized the ability of someone who could lead a woman around the dance floor. A vision of Avant in blue jeans and cowboy boots assaulted her, and she laughed out loud. That was something she'd pay top dollar to see.

She breathed in. He smelled so good, cedar and pine, woodsy with a hint of musk, like his shirt in the cave….

He asked aloud, “How do you like our festivities?”

The sound of his strong tenor voice filled her ears like the music, and had she not been dancing, she would have wanted to. “It’s a great party. I couldn’t have done better myself and, you know, I am a party expert.”

“You look stunning tonight. Do you like the dress?” He turned his gaze to her, and she knew he was reading her response.