Taming the Beast (3 page)

Michaela raised her eyebrows. “Anything I wish?”

Lady Juliette looked to Alan Tornfield. “Do you consent to this wager, my lord?”

The lord was looking at Michaela as if he'd never seen her before, which was unlikely since she'd made such a scene of slippery pudding and broken pottery.

“By all means, ladies,” he said in an amused voice. “Please, proceed.”

For a moment, Michaela was frozen in the quiet, expectant hall, the guests regarding her blatantly. All eyes were pinned to her, the center of attention—a situation that never, ever turned out to Miss Fortune's advantage.

Someone coughed. Agatha Fortune smiled encouragingly at her daughter.

“Will you name a tune, m'lady?” the leader of the trio asked politely, if pointedly.

Michaela looked back at Juliette and saw the woman's smirk, as if she could sense how close Michaela was to forfeiting.

Think of the boon, Michaela! Mayhap a bit off the taxes….

“We're waiting, Miss Fortune,” Juliette taunted.

Michaela took a deep breath. “No music,” she said to the lute player.

“Oh-ho!” Juliette laughed and clapped her hands.

“There was none written for this piece.”

Juliette abruptly closed her mouth.

Michaela took a deep, deep breath as her mother stepped away, leaving Michaela in a circle of expectant guests. Alone.

Then she opened her mouth and sang as best as she could, her eyes closed, moving herself out of the smoky, humid hall of Tornfield Manor and imagining herself flying through the clouds, her arms outstretched like wings.

The tune had been taught to her as a young girl by the friar who traveled through the Cherbon demesne, originally written as a chant for monks. But Michaela turned it into a high song of sweet mourning, pouring all of her wishes and dreams atop the hurt and humiliation she'd been dealt—not only that night of the feast, but throughout her entire life—and creating a confection of song so pure and personal that she could feel her own tears press against her closed eyelids.

It was a longish piece, but she did not shorten it, relishing these few moments when, locked away in her own mind, she could give free rein to the one thing she did even passably well. The hall was wide and deep and tall-ceilinged, and each note ricocheted off the stones as she sang them, circling around and meeting each other to make a chorus of voices, it seemed.

As the last drawn-out word hung and then faded, Michaela reluctantly brought herself down from her fanciful flight and opened her eyes.

Everyone in the hall was staring at her as if the song had caused her to grow an additional head. Even the servants had stopped, frozen in their tasks of clearing the long tables and ferrying trays, and the silence following Michaela's song was perfect. Not even a breath stirred the air.

She felt her face start to heat and turned quickly to focus her attention on Lord Tornfield. He, too, was staring at her as if she were some strange creature who had slinked into his home, his mouth agape, and he didn't seem to notice that the chalice in his hand was loosing a stream of wine onto the toe of his boot.

Michaela said nothing, only waited for her judgment in the contest, feeling naked, vulnerable. As if she'd bared her very soul before all gathered.

Still, no one made any sound or movement as slight as a sniffle or the shuffling of a foot. Michaela felt her throat closing.

Then, suddenly, the sound of two hands clapping vigorously cracked the awkward stillness, and Michaela turned her head to seek the applauder.

Elizabeth Tornfield had stepped from behind the musicians' curtain and was clapping as if attempting to break off both her arms. Her smile was the warmest Michaela had ever received from someone not of her relation, and the sight of this little girl, bravely risking reprimand at showing herself at the feast in order to praise her new friend, caused Michaela's heart to expand.

At least
someone
had liked her song.

His daughter's appearance obviously affected Lord Tornfield, as well, for he shook himself after a quiet gasp, dropped his now-empty chalice to the floor with a clang, and joined in his daughter's enthusiastic applause.

“Well done!” he shouted. “Oh, yes, well done, indeed!”

The rest of the hall added their own lukewarm praise immediately, and Michaela looked around at the guests, whispering to their neighbors while clapping and regarding Michaela from the corners of their eyes.

And then Lord Tornfield was off across the hall, still clapping, until he dropped to his knees before his daughter and embraced her, speaking in a low voice that was drowned out by the dwindling applause. In a moment he rose and led Elizabeth back to his place on the dais, helping her up the step as if she were an invalid. The murmurs of the crowd increased, and Michaela had the distinct impression that she was no longer the topic of gossip. She tried to squelch the traitorous relief she felt.

Alan Tornfield addressed the hall once more. “Do we have any other contestants?” After only a breath of a pause: “I should think not, after that stunning,
stunning
attempt. I would declare Lady—Michaela, is it?—Fortune champion, lest there is any foolish enough to challenge her. No?” he asked, looking over the hall. Then his eyes, crinkling happily much like his daughter's, found Michaela, and his blond mustache twitched. “I believe you have earned a pair of boons, my lady.” He held forth a long, courteous arm and bowed slightly. “Collect at your discretion.”

“This is outrageous!”

Lady Juliette, of course. The woman stepped from the crowd once more with a swish and flounce of her fancy skirts and walked directly up to Michaela. “I'll grant no boon to a girl who gleans her talents from Satan! That song was clearly devil's trickery!”

Michaela felt her eyebrows draw downward and her fingers curl into fists at her sides. She had never before struck another human being, but in that moment she seriously considered it.

“Now, Lady Juliette,” Lord Tornfield said mildly. “Certainly you knew the identity of the woman you challenged before she gave her try, and clearly, it is not Satan who stands before you now. This was all done in good fun, any matter. I'm sure Lady Michaela's boon will be a reasonable one.” Although his words were friendly and advising, his tone indicated that the matter was not open to debate.

Lady Juliette's face glowed ghastly white. “Very well,
Miss Devil's Fortune
,” she fairly spat. “What will your wretched prize be? And should you request something ridiculous, be forewarned that I will slap your face.”

“Oh, my request will be very fair,” Michaela rejoined, and moved even closer to the fuming lady so that her next words would be heard by Lady Juliette alone. “And
you
be forewarned that, should you dare strike me, I will drag you from this hall by your hair and call down the Hunt to steal your soul,” she hissed, malicious glee filling her at teasing the woman so ruthlessly.

Devil, indeed. Good heavens.

“Name your prize, heathen,” Juliette demanded through clenched teeth.

“Well, then,” Michaela stepped back and looked down upon herself. “Since it is through your fault that my gown is hopelessly stained”—she let her eyes roam over the fine green velvet draping her rival—“I will have the one you are wearing.”

Juliette laughed. “You're daft! This gown cost more than what your piddling hold brings to the demesne in a year!”

Michaela shrugged. “Mayhap you should have considered the value of your own possessions before you set about ruining another's.”

“I'll not do it!” Juliette shrieked, looking to Lord Tornfield. “This is absurd!”

“It seems reasonable enough to me,” the lord said. “And it was your challenge, Lady Juliette. I'm certain Lady Michaela will accept you sending the gown to her home by messenger. Surely she does not expect you to turn it over this night?” Lord Tornfield raised a questioning eyebrow to Michaela, and her heart pounded.

“Of course,” Michaela acquiesced. “I shall look for it within the fortnight.”

Juliette stammered. “I—I—” She stamped her foot and set her mouth in a pinched frown. “Very well, then. You shall have it.” She made no attempt to mask her glare for Michaela. “Now, I'm certain you will understand if I bid you good night.” She spun on her heel and swept from the hall, a few quiet snickers from the other guests escorting her out with her personal servants.

Lord Tornfield's commanding voice rang out again. “Have my fair musicians quit me as well? The night is far from over, my good men—let us continue the festivities in earnest! I have much to celebrate!”

The music immediately bloomed forth once more, and the crowd drifted away to refreshments or more private conversation, while Lord Tornfield beckoned to Michaela to join him and his daughter before the dais.

Michaela curtsied. “My lord, I am honored by your decision.”

“Nonsense!” The blond man smiled, still keeping an affectionate hold on his daughter. “You fairly bested any and all—”

Elizabeth suddenly broke free from her father and threw her slender arms around Michaela's waist, nearly toppling them both.

“Oh, my!” Michaela laughed and squeezed the pretty girl, partly out of affection, and partly to keep the pair of them upright. Elizabeth continued to cling and so Michaela let her be. It was nice to be embraced.

“She seems to have taken to you rather quickly,” Lord Tornfield observed. “How long were the two of you hidden away?”

“Not long,” Michaela rushed to assure him, and wondered if the little girl was not clinging to her in order to avoid punishment. “I do hope you'll forgive Lady Elizabeth for disobeying you, my lord.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Beneath Michaela's forearms, Elizabeth's shoulders shook.

“I shall…I shall forfeit my boon if it will prevent her from being reprimanded.”

“Why on earth would I reprimand Elizabeth?”

Michaela felt her face heat. Must she always feel the fool?

“For…ah, attending the feast without your permission?”

Elizabeth drew away slightly and Michaela saw that the girl was
laughing
.

Alan Tornfield frowned at Michaela for a moment and then burst out in his own merry chuckle. “Lady Michaela, it has been my fondest wish for some time now that Elizabeth join the festivities of Tornfield. I assure you, she was hiding away of her own accord. Verily, this is the first time she has shown herself to anyone other than myself or the household staff since her mother passed.”

Michaela knew she must look like a stunned ninny, but there was nothing for it. “Oh,” was all she could think to say for a moment. “Oh. Well, then, I am pleased that she decided to appear, as well.”

Elizabeth returned to her father's side and Alan Tornfield smiled as he drew his arm around the girl's shoulders. “Now, as for your boon—”

“My lord, if you please,” Michaela interrupted. “I would request that my father's hold be granted some sort of small reprieve. Our harvest was scant last year—our village seems to be shrinking. I'd not ask the whole of our debt be forgiven, of course, but perhaps a small portion? Or an extension for payment in full?”

Lord Tornfield looked at her thoughtfully. “I am well aware of the state of your parents' distress, Lady Michaela. Indeed, all the land felt the pinch of Magnus Cherbon's rule, myself included. We were granted an unexpected reprieve by his passing, but now that Lord Roderick has returned, I do wonder for how long.”

“I see,” Michaela said, hearing the man's answer in his tone, if not his words.

“But perhaps we can reach some sort of arrangement,” Lord Tornfield said suddenly, his thoughtful gaze flicking to his daughter. He looked back to Michaela's face and his eyes sparkled. “I am not an unreasonable man, after all.”

Michaela didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. After a moment, Lord Tornfield spoke again.

“Perhaps you would consider taking a position in my household, in lieu of your parents' debt,” he suggested slowly, and Michaela thought she might have seen Alan Tornfield's eyes take a quick appraisal of her body. Her stomach fluttered. “As Elizabeth's companion, of course,” he added quickly. “I would not wish your reputation harmed.”

Michaela wanted to laugh. Her reputation could be no further tarnished were she to walk through the streets of London stark naked. But then the essence of Lord Tornfield's suggestion struck home.

“My lord, are you proposing that the whole of my parents' debt would be forgiven, only for my companionship for Elizabeth?”

“I think…I think, yes. Yes.” His words grew surer. “Lady Michaela, my daughter's happiness is most important to me. If she has some sort of quick affection for you, if you can draw her out of her shell—perhaps even coax her to speak once more—it is worth all the tithes in my holding.” With these last words, Michaela saw the lord's throat constrict. “For each quarter that you reside at Tornfield Manor as Elizabeth's companion, the Fortune tithe will be dismissed. I know it is terribly boorish of me to reap favor from a boon that is yours, but will you accept?”