A Mummers' Play (8 page)

“Perhaps because you are the one person with whom I can be myself. I’m so tired of disguises. If I have to play the duke, I’d like to be able to retreat to these rooms now and then and just be Jack.”

“Simon loved you.”

He understood her. “Yes, I want to marry you for his sake, too. He can’t like seeing you in servitude to the dragon.”

Justina chuckled, and it was like the cracking of a shell. “Haven’t you realized that was a fabrication? Your great-aunt doesn’t know I exist.”

He stared at her. “Disguises indeed! How did you get into Torlinghurst, then?”

“I came with the mummers.”

Now he was smiling as if it were a newfound skill for him, too. “The fair maiden Melicent!”

“Yes, though I thought of myself as Delilah.”

The smile didn’t fade. “A role you play very well.”

“I don’t think so. You still have your hair and your eyes, your grace.”

“You’re just lucky that I don’t have any coins in the pocket of this robe,” he said with a wicked twinkle.

The ability to tease was as weak as the ability to walk might be to an invalid. But there was hope that it might grow stronger in time.

“What forfeit were you planning to inflict?” she asked.

“You’ll have to wait and see. Perhaps it depends on your answer to my proposal.”

Justina realized she hadn’t said whether she would marry him or not. Moreover, she didn’t know.

She turned to look at the shining star. “I wonder what Melicent thought when the dragon was dead and she realized she was supposed to bind herself to George for the rest of her life.”

He rested a hand on the nape of her neck and rubbed her there. It was a touch that offered strength and caring all her life long. “Perhaps she saw that George needed her, and that was why he’d braved the dragon in the first place.”

“The George downstairs thought he’d conquered his maiden.”

He turned her gently to him, his hands on her shoulders. “This George has no such illusions. You have conquered me. But as I told you, I was slain years ago. I would listen to Simon speaking of his Justina, and look at your picture, and wonder why Lucky Jack was not nearly as lucky as he. In fact,” he said, releasing her, “it seems wrong for me even to hope . . .”

She caught his hand, his scarred hand. “No. It isn’t wrong. If you are tired of disguises, then so am I. Who else can I be honest with but you?” She searched his eyes. “You will not mind me speaking of him?”

“Never.”

She chose her next words with care. “You understand that I might never feel for you as I still do for him?”

“Yes.” His look was direct and undefended. “I never want to drive Simon out of your heart. But I don’t think he would mind if we shared the space there one day. We shared many another billet.”

Justina echoed his wistful smile, holding the miniature in her hand. “No, he wouldn’t mind.” She looked out again at the peaceful estate lit by the moon and starlight, considering it all. “I think perhaps this is Simon’s Christmas gift to us. The traditional one of peace and joy. I have the peace already. It is strange to my heart, but very sweet. Even the dreadful conde can enjoy his estate, for I’ll wound myself no more with hate. And I can believe in the possibility of joy, here, with you.”

“And so can I.” He put his arm around her as they looked out at the star. “Go in peace, Simon.”

“Amen,” said Justina, though with the tiniest ache in her heart. She knew it came from a healing wound, however, not a festering one. She turned to smile at the man beside her. “And I will marry you, your grace of Cranmoore, and do my best to make you think of yourself as Lucky Jack every day of your life.”

She saw tears start in his eyes before he gathered her into his arms with a strength that almost crushed her. “Thank God. Thank God. And thank you, Simon. No man has ever received a Christmas gift as precious as this.”

Hello,

It’s such a delight to have so many novellas coming out as individual eBooks. I’m sure many of you are like me and often reluctant to buy an anthology if I’m only really interested in one story. Now, we can have just what we want, when and how we want it. What an interesting world we live in!

My publisher has previously put out two of my novellas as eBooks—
The Demon’s Bride
and
The Demon’s Mistress
. The confusion of titles is completely accidental. They were originally published ten years apart.
The Demon’s Bride
is a Georgian story that was originally in an anthology called
Moonlit Lovers
, and
The Demon’s Mistress
is a Regency that originally appeared in
In Praise of Younger Men
. (Yes, Lord Vandeimen is nearly ten years younger than the widow who becomes his lover.)

Now, three more novellas are coming this winter as individual eBooks.
A Mummers’ Play
(released in 12/13) features a vengeful Regency Lady;
The Dragon and the Princess
(2/14) a vengeful dragon lord of Dorn; and
The Raven and the Rose
(3/14) a quest to end the bloody twelfth century civil war called the Anarchy.

I’m delighted that you’ve read and enjoyed
AMummers’ Play
. Please think about sharing the pleasure by leaving a review on your eBook retailer’s web site.

If you want to explore my other fiction, you can visit me online at www.jobev.com. Nearly everything is now available for eReaders.

If you want to keep up to date with my new and reissued work, you can sign up there for my occasional newsletter and/or click on the link to “like” my Facebook author page.

Here’s some information about the other two novellas that are coming out this winter:

The Dragon and the Princess
was titled
The Dragon and the Virgin Princess
in the anthology
Dragon Lovers
in 2007. This is set in a fantasy middle ages with, of course, dragons.

Rozlinda of Saragon is the official SVP—the Sacrificial Virgin Princess—and she can’t wait for a dragon to arrive so she can do her duty. After all, she’ll only have to sacrifice a cup of blood and then at last, at long last, she’ll no longer need to be V. But when a dragon flies in from the enemy nation of Dorn, the fearsome dragon rider carries her away. Rozlinda is
not
amused!

The Raven and the Rose
was published in the Holy Grail anthology
Chalice of Roses
in 2010, and is set in the twelfth century, close to Glastonbury, the heart of Grail mythology.

Sister Gledys of Rosewell is visited by sinful dreams featuring a handsome knight, and is powerless over the feelings they stir. When an old woman and a raven summon her to leave her convent to find her knight, she’s challenged to sin in an even greater way. But if she’s to believe the message, only she and her knight together can summon the Holy Grail and bring peace to a country devastated by civil war.

Keep reading for excerpts from these novellas following this letter.

You can also find more information about all my digital novellas, including excerpts and buy/pre-order links on my web site here: http://www.jobev.com/epubnov.html

If you’re in the mood for something more substantial, I’ve written thirty-six romance novels, and nearly all are now available as eBooks.

The next new book will be
A Shocking Delight
in April 2014.

This new novel is the story of Lucy Potter, whose dowry makes her a wealthy young woman. She sees no reason to give her wealth to a husband, especially as she dreams of following her father into trade. Then she meets an unusual man in a book shop. That scene is included in this eBook following the excerpts from the novellas. I hope you enjoy it. And remember, you can pre-order that book now.

All best wishes,

Jo

Keep reading for a preview of

THE DRAGON AND THE PRINCESS

Available February 2014 from InterMix

“Being the Sacrificial Virgin Princess of Saragond stinks.”

“I’m sure it does, highness.”

“Seven years. Seven interminable years!” Princess Rozlinda leaned forward on the Royal Mage’s table. “Not only have I been SVP longer than anyone before, today I doubled the previous record. And,” she swept on before the mage could speak, “Princess Rosabella’s term ended when she was sixteen. How old am I?”

“Nineteen, highness.” But Mistress Arcelsia’s aged eyes seemed to say, Magic cannot solve this.

Rozlinda whirled away, her skirts brushing knick-knacks, her veil snagging on something. She yanked it free, not caring if the silk ripped. Stupid, stupid thing!

Nineteen, and she’d never flirted with a man, never danced with a man, never kissed a man. She hardly ever spoke to a man outside her family. She had eight elderly lady attendants whose sole purpose was to make sure the SVP stayed V.

The mage’s sanctum lay at the top of the highest tower of the White Castle of Saragond and through the window, Rozlinda could see all the way to the Shield Mountains. “I feel like a bird in a cage. Look, but don’t touch. See but never go.”

“Now that’s not true, Princess. You can ride out any time you wish.”

A moving cage is still a cage. But Rozlinda turned back, attempting a smile. None of this was Mistress Arcelsia’s fault, and a princess should make all around her comfortable. “Perhaps I will later.”

When she went riding, her knights escorted her. She’d still have her ladies to protect her from her knights, but they’d be there. Young, virile men in their silver armor and bright, heraldic tunics, so masterful on their prancing white horses.

Much good would it do her. Could anything be more cruel? The SVP Guard should be as wizened as her tutors and her ladies.

“Sit down, Princess. We’ll try scrying again. Perhaps you’ll see your future.”

“As I never see anything,” Rozlinda muttered under her breath, “that’s not encouraging.”

But she gathered her skirts and sat on the stool before the deep golden bowl. In her disgruntled mood, she sat on her trailing veil, dragging her conical headdress to one side. With a hiss, she rearranged herself and pushed the hennin straight so the silken bands beneath her chin weren’t choking her.

“I don’t see why being SVP means a person has to dress this way.”

“Tradition, Princess.”

Rozlinda looked at Mistress Arcelsia’s white robe and scarlet velvet cloak. “No one wears clothes like yours, either. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Not at all, Princess. They are the outward sign of my position and skill, and very comfortable.”

“Mine are merely the outward sign of being the youngest fertile female of the blood, and they’re awful.”

“Princess, do try to put your mind into a state receptive of magic.”

“Fat lot of good it’s done so far,” Rozlinda mumbled, but only because the mage was drawing water for the scrying bowl and wouldn’t hear. They both knew Rozlinda didn’t have a scrap of magical ability, but they pretended.

Mages could do magic, or so they said. Rozlinda rubbed a finger on the rounded edge of the bowl. “Is there some magical way to bring on Izzy’s flowers?”

Mistress Arcelsia turned so sharply water sloshed. “No there isn’t, and it wouldn’t be right. You know better than to tamper with fate.”

“I’d suspect she was concealing the bleeding if she wasn’t so desperate to be SVP.”

“Princess Izzagonda would never do such a wicked thing. After last time.”

Last time, when the ceremony had gone awry.

Mistress Arcelsia poured the water into the bowl. “I’m sure she’ll flower before the dragon comes. She’s thirteen, after all.”

“I’m not afraid of the sacrifice. I’m just tired of the Princess Way. Another year seems unbearable.”

“The fates have their reasons.”

“The reason,” Rozlinda said forcefully, “is that the royal family is having fewer and fewer girls, and no one seems to be doing anything about it.”

“There is nothing to be done-”

“Then hasn’t it occurred to anyone that we’re doomed?”

The royal family of Saragond existed solely because their female blood had a mystical power to appease a dragon—the blood of a princess who had flowered but remained a virgin, that was. They married only within their line so that the blood would remain strong.

“Well?” Rozlinda demanded.

Mistress Arcelsia walked behind her. “Clear your mind for magic, Princess. Perhaps you’ll receive wisdom.” She put her hand on Rozlinda’s neck and pushed, so she had to look into the depths of the golden bowl. “What do you see?”

Rozlinda sighed and concentrated. She had no magic, but she’d been trained all her life to respect ritual and tradition, and daily magical exercises were part of that. Part of the Princess Way, which was all to do with saving the world when the dragon came. If only it would come today.

“Clear the mind, Princess!”

Rozlinda squinted, trying to see images in the scant play of light on still water. She puffed a breath to stir the surface.

Snakes? Ribbons? A jelly pudding?

“Nothing, Princess?”

Mistress Arcelsia’s assumption that as usual there would be nothing snapped Rozlinda’s patience. “I see water. A river, I mean, not the bowl. A deep one.” Might as well be dramatic. “There’s a storm coming. Lightning. A golden fish leaps out.”

“A golden fish! An excellent omen.”

She suspected that Mistress Arcelsia knew she was lying, but carried on anyway. “A man catches the fish. In a big, black net.”

“Alarming, Princess. What sort of man?”

“A . . .” Rozlinda’s imagination faltered. A knight, a prince, a brute? But then she gasped.

She saw a man!

She blinked, but this was no ripple-image. It was as if the round bowl had become a window through which she saw a strangely-dressed, pale-haired man. He was standing by a river or lake, but in sunlight.

“Describe the man, Princess.” Mistress Arcelsia’s bored voice seemed from another world, and perhaps she was. Rozlinda was finally having a vision!

“The picture’s changed. Now I see a sunlit scene. Countryside. Water. And a different man.”

“Tell me more.” A sharp tone showed that the mage knew the difference.

Rozlinda strained to catch every detail.

“He’s not from around here. Long pale hair but dark skin. Not like the dark of Cradel. A sort of bronzish gold. His clothes are strange, too. A sleeveless leather jerkin such as a farm worker might wear, but cut tight. And no shirt underneath.”

Rozlinda had to swallow. That leather was almost like a second skin and left his brown, muscular arms open to her inspection.

“And?” the mage prompted.

Rozlinda dragged her eyes away from more manly perfection than she’d seen as an adult. She grew hotter. The jerkin went down to his thighs, but his legs were covered by garments as form-fitting as her own silk stocking.

“Princess?”

“Green hose, brown boots.”

How inadequate. How deceptive. But she felt that if she truly described this man he might be snatched away as a forbidden treat.

It was as if he were drifting toward her, or she toward him. Details became clearer. His arms weren’t totally bare. “Metal bands around his arms, upper and lower. They look like gold. Can’t be. He’s no prince. You can’t see this, Mistress?”

“No, it’s your vision. Blond hair, you said?”

Rozlinda concentrated again. “Not really blond. More white.”

“Old?”

“No, not at all. It’s . . . this is a strange word for hair, but it’s bone colored.”

“I see.”

“You do?” Rozlinda tried to sit up, but Mistress Arcelsia pushed her down.

“Tell me more. Tell me everything.”

Something urgent in the mage’s tone both excited and scared Rozlinda. It had been so long since anything different had happened to her that she didn’t know how to react.

“Pale hair. Loose down the back but in thin plaits at the front. Glinting, as if woven with shiny wire.”

“Is he alone?”

“Yes. No! He just looked to his side and spoke to someone, but I can’t see who. And it would have to be someone in the water. Or in a boat. The water rippled. Perhaps someone’s swimming. He’s picking up a bag and hanging it from his shoulder. A scruffy bag. Definitely not a wealthy man. A thief, do you think? Is this some warning about thievery? He’s walking toward me.”

Rozlinda tried to shrink back, but the mage’s hand was firm on her neck. This was a vision, she reminded herself. A prognostication or an omen. Important.

“Is there anything else about him that you haven’t told me, Princess?

“He walks well.” Rozlinda became lost in the easy grace of that walk. Not a trudge at all, but a smooth swing, as if the whole world was his to walk over and he intended to do it.

As he drew closer, she noted more about his face. It was as handsome as the rest of him, with a square chin, high cheekbones, and chiseled symmetry, but the set of his mouth was grim and his startling pale amber eyes were cold.

And looking straight at her.

“Let me up!”

Mistress Arcelsia’s hand clamped her down. “More, Princess. Tell me everything!”

Panting with fright, Rozlinda looked anywhere by at those eyes. “Leather belt. Pouch. Knife. A buckle. It looks to be . . .”

“Be what?”

“Set with dragon eye stones. It can’t be. Only princesses of the blood wear dragon eyes!”

Who was this man? What did this vision mean?

Deep inside, instinct answered:
Nothing good.