Three French Hens (4 page)

“Aye,” Sabrina gasped with relief, and turned to beam at Royce. “She hurt her hand.” Realizing that she looked far too pleased as she said that, Sabrina managed a frown. “Terrible, really. Awful accident. Sad. Horribly painful. She almost lost full use of her hand.”

Brinna rolled her eyes as the girl raved on, not terribly surprised when her comments made Lord Thurleah lean forward to glance down at the hands she was presently hiding within Lady Joan’s cloak “It sounds awful. Whatever happened?” he asked.

“Happened?” Sabrina blinked at the question, her face going blank briefly, then filling with desperation. “She … er … she … er … pricked her finger doing embroidery!” she finished triumphantly, and Brinna nearly groaned aloud as what sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter burst from Lord Thurleah, before he could cover his mouth with his hand. Turning away, he made a great show of coughing violently, then cleared his throat several times before turning a solemn face back to them.

“Aye. Well, that
is
tragic.” His voice broke on the last word, and he had to turn away again for a few more chortling coughs. By the time he turned back, Brinna was biting her upper lip to keep from laughing herself at the ridiculous story. Unaware that her eyes were sparkling with merriment as she met his gaze, that her cheeks were pink with health, and that she seemed almost to glow with vitality, she blinked in confusion when he suddenly gasped and stilled.

Frowning now, Sabrina glanced at the man, her mouth working briefly before she assured him, “Aye, well, it may not sound like much, but ’twas an awful prick.”

Royce blinked at that, seeming startled out of his reverie. For a moment, Brinna thought he might have to turn away for another coughing fit, but he managed to restrain
himself and murmur, “Aye, well, then we must not let her play the harp. Mayhap something less strenuous on her
pricked
finger. Chess perhaps?”

“I am sorry, my lord,” Sabrina answered. “I fear chess is out of the question as well. Joan has … a … er … tendency to suffer the … er … aching head.” At his startled glance, she nodded solemnly. “They come on any time she thinks too hard.”

Brinna closed her eyes and groaned at that one. She couldn’t help it. Really! It was hard to imagine that the girl was supposed to be on Lady Joan’s side.

“So, thinking is out of the question?” she heard Lord Thurleah murmur with unmistakable amusement.

“I am afraid so.”

“Aye. Well, it must be a family trait.”

Brinna’s eyes popped open at that. She was hardly able to believe that he had said that. To her it sounded as if he had just insulted Sabrina. Surely he hadn’t meant it that way, she thought, but when she glanced at his face, he gave her a wink that assured her that she was brighter than Lady Sabrina would have him believe. He had just insulted the girl. Fortunately, Sabrina obviously hadn’t caught on to the insult. Making a sad grimace with her lips, she nodded solemnly and murmured, “Aye, I believe the aching head does run in the family.”

“Ah,” Lord Thurleah murmured, then gestured up the path to where the others were now disappearing around a curve in the lane. “Mayhap we should catch up to the others?”

“Oh, dear.” Sabrina frowned. “They
have
left us quite far behind, have they not?”

“Aye, but my man and I can take the two of you on our horses and catch up rather quickly, I am sure,” he said gently, taking Sabrina’s arm and leading her the few steps
to where his man waited by the horses. Brinna followed more slowly, her gaze dropping of its own accord over his wide strong back, his firm buttocks, and muscled legs as he assisted Lady Sabrina onto his mount.

At least she had assumed it was his mount. Sabrina apparently had, too, Brinna realized as he suddenly stepped out of the way to allow his man to mount behind the girl and the brunette gasped anxiously. “Oh, but—”

“Lady Joan and I will be right behind you,” Lord Thurleah said gaily over her protests, nodding to his man, then slapping the horse on the derriere so that it took off with a burst of speed, carrying away the suddenly struggling and protesting Lady Sabrina. She was squawking and flapping her arms not unlike the chicken Cook had held by the legs while talking to her the other day, and Brinna bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud at the wicked comparison. Lord Thurleah turned to face her.

“Now,” he began, then paused, his thoughts arrested as he took in her amused expression.

“My lord?” she questioned gently after an uncomfortable moment had passed.

“I have heard people speak of eyes that twinkle merrily, but never really knew what it meant until today,” he said quietly “Your eyes sparkle with life and laughter when you are amused. Did you know that?”

Brinna swallowed and shook her head. This must be the rough wooing Joan had spoken of, she realized, but for the life of her could find no fault with it. His voice and even his words seemed as smooth as the softest down to her.

“They do,” he assured her solemnly, reaching out to brush a feather-light tress away from her cheek. “And your hair … It’s as soft as a duckling’s down, and seems to reflect the sun’s light with a thousand different shades of gold. It’s, quite simply, beautiful.”

“Gor—” Brinna murmured faintly enough that he could not have caught the word, then paused uncertainly and swallowed as his eyes turned their focus on her mouth.

“And your lips. All I can think of when I peer at them is what it would feel like to kiss you.”

“Oh,” she breathed shakily, a blush suffusing her face even as her chest seemed to constrict somewhat and make it harder to breathe.

“Aye, you might very well blush did you know my thoughts. How I imagine covering your mouth with my own, nibbling at the edges, sucking your lower lip into my mouth, then slipping my tongue—”

“Oh, Mother,” Brinna gasped, beginning to fan her suddenly heated face as if it were a hot summer day instead of a frigid winter one. His voice and what he was saying were having an amazing affect on her body, making it tingle in spots, and sending bursts of warm gushy feelings to others. Maybe she was coming down with something, she thought with a bit of distress as his face began to lower toward hers.

“Joan! Oh, Joan!”

Royce and Brinna both straightened abruptly and turned to see Lady Sabrina walking determinedly toward them, Lord Thurleah’s mounted man following behind, an apologetic expression on his face as he met his lord’s glance.

“Your cousin appears to be most persistent,” Royce muttered dryly, and Brinna sighed.

“Aye. She’s rather like a dog with a bone, isn’t she?”

“The group has stopped just beyond that bend,” Sabrina announced triumphantly as she neared. “It seems the spot is just crawling with mistletoe. Even as I speak, servants are climbing and shimmying up trees to bring down some of the vines.”

Reaching them, Sabrina hooked her arm firmly through Brinna’s and turned to lead her determinedly in the direction from which she had come, trilling, “It is fortunate, is it not? Else you may have gotten separated from the group and not caught up at all. Then you would have missed all the fun. Imagine that.”

“Aye, just imagine.” Royce sighed as he watched the brunette march his betrothed off around the bend.

“He is—”

“Aye, I know,” Joan interrupted Brinna dryly. “He is a very nice man. You have said so at least ten times since returning to this room.”

“Well, he is,” Brinna insisted determinedly. They had arrived back at Menton nearly an hour ago. Sabrina had rushed her upstairs, then insisted Brinna wait in the hall while she went in and spoke to Joan alone. Brinna had stood there, alternately worrying over what was being said inside the room and fretting over how she would explain why she was loitering about in the hall should anyone happen upon her. Fortunately, no one had come along before Sabrina had reappeared. Stepping into the hall, she had gestured for Brinna to enter the room, then walked off, leaving her staring after.

A moment later, Brinna had straightened her shoulders and slid into the room to find Joan seated in the chair by the fire awaiting her. Brinna had not hesitated then, but had walked determinedly toward her. After rejoining the group, she had spent the better part of that afternoon considering everything she had learned to date. And it had seemed to her that, while Lady Joan was reluctant to marry Royce, it was due to some obvious misconceptions. Someone had misled her. Lord Thurleah was neither a backward oaf nor a country bumpkin given
to rough wooing. He was just as polite and polished as any of the other lords. And it seemed to Brinna that she was in a position to correct this situation. All she had to do was tell Lady Joan the truth about Lord Thurleah’s nature and the girl would resign herself to being his bride. Lady Joan, however, did not appear to wish to hear what she was trying to tell her. Still, she’d decided she had to try. “He isn’t what you said. He doesn’t woo roughly. He—”

“Brinna, please.” Joan laughed, digging through her chest for Lord knows what as she went on gently. “My dear girl, you are hardly in a position to judge that. It is not as if you have spent a great deal of time around nobility.”

“Aye, but, he-he spoke real pretty. He—”

“You mean he was very complimentary?” Joan asked, pausing to frown at her as Brinna nodded quickly. “Well, then, say that. Ladies do not say things like ‘he spoke real pretty.’ And do try to slow your speech somewhat. That is when you make the most mistakes.”

Brinna sighed in frustration, then took a moment to calm herself before continuing in the modulated tones Joan had spent that first night trying to hammer into her head. “You are correct, of course,” she enunciated grimly. “I apologize. But he truly is not the way you think he is. He was very
complimentary
. He said your eyes twinkled, your hair was as soft as down, and your lips—”

“It doesn’t matter. I am not marrying him,” Joan declared firmly, then closed the lid of the chest with a sigh and turned to face her. “Now, Sabrina told me about the little incident of your falling out of the wagon.”

Brinna felt herself flush and sighed unhappily. “Aye. She nudged me and—”

“It doesn’t matter. All I wanted to say was to be more careful in future. And try to remember that you are a lady
while pretending to be me and should comport yourself accordingly.”

“Aye, my lady,” she murmured.

“So, you’d best change quickly and make your way down to the meal.”

Brinna’s eyes widened at that. “Should I not go below and fetch you something to eat first?”

Joan arched an eyebrow at that. “That would look odd, do you not think? A lady fetching a meal for her servant?”

“Nay, I meant that I could change into my own dress and—”

“That will not be necessary. I have already eaten.”

Brinna stilled at that news, confusion on her face as she considered how that could have come about. One look at Lady Joan’s closed expression told her that she was not to dare ask. Sighing, she shook her head. “Still, I should at least go down to the kitchens for a minute. They will wonder if they don’t see me every once in a while.”

“They saw you today.” When Brinna blinked at that news, the other girl smiled wryly and admitted, “I donned your dress and the cloth you wore over your hair in case anyone came looking for you while you were out on the mistletoe hunt as me. Someone did. I think it was your Aggie. At least she seemed a lot like the old woman you described to me.”

“What happened?” Brinna gasped.

Joan shrugged. “Nothing. She said Cook had said ’twas all right for her to bring you something to eat and check on you. I told her that ‘Lady Joan’ had left a whole list of chores to do while she was gone and thanked her for the food. They won’t expect to see you again today. That is why I told you to inform them that I wanted you to sleep in my room. So they wouldn’t expect to see much of you.”

“And she didn’t suspect that you were not me?” Brinna asked with disbelief.

“Who else would she have thought I was?” Joan laughed dryly. “No one would suspect that a lady of nobility would willingly don the clothes of the servant class.”

“Nay, I suppose not,” Brinna agreed slowly, but felt an odd pinch somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. Aggie had raised her. Watched her grow into womanhood. Surely the woman could tell the difference between her own daughter and an impostor?

“Come now.” Joan clapped her hands together. “Change and get downstairs, else you will be late for the meal.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Riding? On that great beast?”

Brinna stared at the mount before her with nothing short of terror. This was the fourth day of her escapade, but it was the first day that she did not have Sabrina dragging her about, lecturing her as she avoided the rest of the guests while a frustrated Lord Thurleah trailed them, doing his best to be charming and friendly to the back of Brinna’s head. Brinna had actually begun to feel sorry for the poor man as he’d tried to shower attendance on her while Sabrina blocked his every advance. His Lordship was not finding this courting easy. Or at least he hadn’t been until this morning, for this morning Sabrina was bundled up in bed, attempting to fight off the same chills and nausea that had kept Lady Joan’s maid and father from accompanying the others to Menton for Christmas.

Sabrina had started coming down ill the day before, and it had shown. She had lacked her usual bulldog-like promptness in blocking any speech between Brinna and the others, to the point that Brinna had actually had the opportunity to murmur, “Aye, my lord,” twice. Brinna had also made their excuses when, after sitting down to sup with the others, Sabrina had stared at the food before them, her face turning several shades of an interesting green before she had suddenly clawed at Brinna’s arm, gasping that they had to leave the table … at once!

Recognizing the urgency to her tone, Brinna had risen quickly and escorted Joan’s cousin upstairs, where the girl had made brief friends with the chamber pot before collapsing onto the bed clutching the stomach she had just emptied, proclaiming that she was surely dying. And if she wasn’t, she wished she were.