A Daughter's Destiny (21 page)

Why had they done this? She was not going to get an answer until the play was over. Giving herself to the rôle of the princess, she watched Evan leave along with her promise to assist him by wearing the white sash when he returned. She waited while he and Sal pretended to be searching for the missing princess. Silently she sat on her stool with the white sash in her hand.

They halted in front of her and discussed the eleven maidens who were painted on the backdrop. Slowly she withdrew the sash and tied it around her waist.

“There is my princess!” crowed Evan. He dropped to his knee in front of her. “Be mine, beloved princess.”

“You have found my daughter in the eight days granted you,” Sal announced. “I give you her and my kingdom. Tonight my daughter marries.”

“Will you be mine, princess?” Evan asked.

She fought not to scowl. That was not what Evan was supposed to say next. He was supposed to bow to the king, take her hand and together they would bow to the audience. End of the play.

Hearing eager whispers sweep through the crowd beyond the lights, she knew she had to say something. “You have proven yourself brave enough to lead my father's men and wise enough to solve his puzzle.”

“And handsome enough to win your heart?”

Her eyes widened as he lifted her from the stool to stand before him. She wanted this over with. Now! Raising her chin, she knew she could be as insincere as he was. Coolly, she said, “Far more handsome than even my dreams promised. You, brave sir, have won my heart for all time.”

She offered her cheek, but he caught her face between his hands. Blue sparks burned in his eyes. When his finger moved to tilt her chin toward him, his other arm slipped around her waist to pull her against him. The audience drew in a collective breath as he pressed her to the hard lines of his body.

“Tonight you will be mine, princess,” he said.

Her reply vanished as his mouth covered hers. His arm tightened to surround her with his heated touch. A quiver raced through her. She wanted this, but she must not. Yet, resisting was impossible as, deeper and deeper, she sank into the heated pool of his touch.

A finger tapped her shoulder. With glazed eyes, she saw Pietro grinning. “Curtain,” he said, nodding toward where the patched material hung between them and the audience.

Brienne pulled away from Evan, but he smiled and took her hand. She started to protest, then let him lead her to take their bows. The score of people in the audience cheered wildly. She dipped in a curtsy, hoping that the heavy cosmetics hid the icy pallor of her face. How could she be so foolish?

While Pietro collected coins from the audience, the actors hurried to the wagons. It was too cold to linger in the flimsy costumes.

Brienne quickly washed her face and took off the wondrous gown behind a curtain in Sal and Giovanna's wagon. Dressed in a wrapper borrowed from Giovanna, she was amazed when more applause met her as she stepped past the curtain to see Evan sitting with his friends. The men rose, and Evan offered her his place on the bench. She pretended not to see.

“Look at this!” Sal announced as he poured coins on the table. “The audience was only half the size of the last village, but we have collected almost twice as much.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “Thanks to you, Brienne. You were born to this rôle …”

Giovanna continued for him, “… as if you were born to the title. Are you sure you are only a
duchesse?
And Evan!” She chuckled. “Such fire and fervor! I never knew you had such skills as an actor.”

“That is because he was not acting!”

“Sal!” she admonished. “Be quiet.”

Brienne said softly, “I am very tired. I think I should get some sleep.”

“Are you feeling all right?” asked Giovanna with sudden concern. “I hope you are not sickening with what Angiola has had.”

She choked out some answer and slipped past the others to the door.

“Let me walk with you, Brienne,” Evan said.

Although she had hoped he would stay with his friends to celebrate how well the play had gone, she nodded. She pretended not to see his arm offered to her. He said nothing as he closed the door to their wagon behind them. The distinctive click of the latch sounded very loud in the small space.

“They are correct, you know,” he whispered. “You were perfect as the lonely princess waiting for a man to come to win her heart.”

“I am a better actress than I thought.”

When he bent to kiss her nape, she pulled away. She reached for her plain nightgown. Mayhap Evan could act as if nothing had happened, but she could not. He lit the lantern, and she gasped as his fingers stroked her cheek.

“Leave me alone!” she cried.

“No, listen to me, Brienne.”

“Why?”

“Because I know why you are so upset.”

“Do you? That is right. You know how to read people's feelings so you can cheat them better. If there is somewhere else you would rather be, Mr. Somerset, do not let me delay you.”

His hand cupped her chin and forced her eyes to look at his. “I know why you are so upset. You were hiding behind the curtain in the Benedettos' wagon when I came in with Angiola earlier this afternoon.”

“How—?” Trying to pull away, she cried, “Leave me alone!”

“Not until you listen to me. I knew you were there. Your toes were peeking out from under the curtain. Even if I had not seen them, Giovanna told me that she had seen you going in. That was why I walked Angiola there. I did not want you to have to deal with her when you were already anxious about performing on the stage.”

“So you thought you would soothe my anxiety by kissing her!” She turned away and hid her face in her hands, wanting to be alone with her sorrow and her shame. “I did not mean to eavesdrop on you and Angiola, Evan.”

“And make yourself miserable?”

“Yes.” Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Does that make you feel better?”

He turned her into his arms and kissed her cheek. When she sighed with the longing she could not deny, his tongue probed into her mouth, refusing to allow any of it to miss his eager touch. Raising his head, he murmured, “This is what makes me feel better. Brienne, I kissed her only because I knew you were watching. I knew only drastic measures would convince you to acknowledge the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” she asked, not willing to admit to the truth of the desire pulsing through her.

“That I could never be satisfied with Angiola when you are the one who lures me to madness.”

She knew she should tell him to leave, but his lips silenced her. When he leaned her back on the bench, her arms rose to keep him close. Her breath vanished into the depths of his mouth as she stroked his back. Discovering a spot where his shirt had loosened, she slipped her fingers beneath to discover the warmth of his skin, taking care not to touch his left ribs.

Caught in the magic of his fingers, she swayed with the sweet motion of his touch. Along her leg, his fingertips moved, teasing, tickling, tantalizing her into rapture. She gasped against his mouth when he boldly caressed her inner leg.

With a laugh, he reached for the few buttons closing her wrapper. His lips moved along the skin revealed by each opened button, slowly drawing the fabric aside. Fire seared her as his tongue flicked along the skin which ached for his touch.

“Honey, forget—”

A scream ruptured the night.

Chapter Thirteen

Brienne clenched Evan's shirt. He stared at her. When the woman screamed again, he jumped to his feet.

The door crashed open.

Pietro called, “Evan! Is Brienne with you?”

He ran to where Pietro was trying to see into the dark wagon. “She is here. Who is in trouble?”

“If it is not Brienne or Giovanna, it must be—!”

Another scream riveted them. Brienne cried, “Angiola!”

Evan raced with Pietro out of the wagon. Closing her wrapper, Brienne ran after them. She paused on the steps as Giovanna hurried toward her.

“Come with me.” Giovanna took her hand and pulled her down the steps.

Brienne stopped between the wagons. “We must help her!”

“Do you have a weapon to protect yourself and her?”

“No.” She glanced toward the sea. If she had not left the pistol in the boat.…

“Then, let the men handle this! You would be in the way.”

Brienne stole one more look through the deepening twilight as Giovanna shoved her through the other wagon's door. Evan was out there where anything could be lurking. Giovanna sat, her face glum. More than once, Brienne started to speak, but nothing came from her confused brain.

What was going on? She shivered as she tried not to think why Angiola would scream like that.

When the door crashed open, Evan lurched in, carrying a crumpled form. Brienne pressed her hands over her mouth as she stared at the senseless Angiola. Then, backing away, she gathered together the pillows on one end of the bench.

“Put her here,” she choked, staring at Angiola's bloody face.

He nodded grimly. He placed Angiola on the cushion with care. When her hand dropped toward the floor, he put it across her chest. “She is alive.”

Hearing a moan, Brienne turned. Giovanna had her arm around Signora Benedetto, supporting her. Angiola's father's face was long with fear. Neither approached the bench where their daughter did not move.

“Water,” Brienne said quietly, “and some clean cloths.”

Giovanna repeated the order to Pietro. He pushed past the Benedettos and got what she needed from the storage shelves. Giving the rags to Brienne, he ran out to get some clean water.

Another quiver iced Brienne's spine. When Evan shoved a bucket toward her, she frowned. “You should sit. You look almost as bad as she does.”

“Later.”

“Now!” she snapped. “Do what I tell you so I can see to Angiola. I do not need you swooning. Then I would have to step over you while I tended to her.”

Evan smiled weakly as he sank to a seat by the table. He touched the tender spot on the back of his head. He had been a fool not to expect there was more than one man waiting in the bushes beyond the village. If Sal had not arrived when he did, he might be as dead as the man lying in the shadow of the trees.

As Brienne competently cleaned the wounds on Angiola's face, he wondered what Angiola had done to incite such violence against her. He had last seen her by the stage when she had been talking with a young man after this afternoon's performance.

That man was now a corpse. Killed by a jealous lover? He dismissed that idea. Angiola had not been in the village long enough to create trouble.

At a groan, he pushed himself to his feet to peer over Brienne's shoulder. Angiola was regaining her senses.

Angiola screamed as her eyes opened.

Brienne bent to calm her.

“You are safe now.” She put a cloth on Angiola's lacerated forehead and smiled her thanks to Giovanna, who held out a small bottle. “Just lie still. I am going to put some salve on your wounds.”

“Get away from me, witch! He cut my face, and it is all your fault!”

When Brienne's fingers clenched on the cloth, Evan said quietly, “Angiola, you do not know what you are saying.”

“I know exactly what I am saying! This is all her fault!” she snarled. “He called me by her name.”

“He? Who?”

She glared at Evan, then at Brienne as she sat up against the pillows. “I don't know, but he called me Brienne and insisted that I come with him.”

“Was that when he struck you?” Evan gritted his teeth. Why hadn't he considered this? Instead of losing himself in the pleasure of loving Brienne, he should have been watching for an attack like this.

“No,” Angiola said with obvious reluctance. “He hit me after I had convinced him that he had the wrong woman. He was as tender as a lover before that.”

“How about the man with you?”

A malevolent smile twisted her lips. “The cur killed him after calling him Somerset.”

Brienne clutched onto his arm, but Evan ignored her as he demanded, “The murderer used my name? Are you sure?”

“How could I be mistaken?” She pressed her hand over her heart as if she were on the stage. “I shall always remember his exact words. ‘That is what happens to those who betray us. Lagrille has paid you in full, Somerset.'”

Brienne's knees folded beneath her, and she dropped onto the opposite bench. “Lagrille? Could it be him?”

“Not him, but one of his men.” He grasped Angiola's shoulders. “Did you see clearly the man who hit you? Can you describe him?”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Brienne again. “Why should I? What do I care if something happens to her?”

“Angiola!” cried Giovanna. “He knows you have seen him. If he comes back, he may kill you to keep you quiet.”

Angiola flinched, then whispered, “Yes, I saw him clearly. Dark hair, not very tall.”

“And the other man?” Evan asked.

She shrugged. “I did not see him during the attack, but he probably was the man with the dark-haired man in the audience during the play.”

“During the play?” Brienne's whisper was as loud as a shout in the silent wagon.

Evan turned to look at the others. “We shall leave tonight. We cannot put you in more danger.”

“
Sì
, go!”

Brienne gasped as Signore Benedetto raised a trembling finger toward the door. When he shouted in Italian, Evan's face tightened. At a word that if it were close to a similar word in French was an appalling insult, she stepped between Signore Benedetto and Evan, who had not retorted.

“Stop this!” she ordered. “Evan saved your daughter's life. Doesn't that count for something?”

“If it were not for you and him,” the old man snarled, “my child would not be mutilated.”

Ignoring Angiola's emoted groan, Brienne shook her head. “Angiola is not hurt badly. I was struck as badly during—” When Evan grabbed her arm, she realized he did not want her to speak about the attack on her at L'Enfant de la Patrie. “By the end of the week, with a little extra makeup, she can go on stage again.”