A Perfect Knight For Love (29 page)

“You’re denying you’re the governess Miss Carsten?” The voice had lost its warmth. As had the duchess’s features. She looked carved from deeply grooved marble.

“It is a bit of a puzzle, I admit. I’m actually Lady Amalie Beatrice Evelyn Matilda Ellin. That’s a lot of names, but I am the only daughter of the sixth Earl of Ellincourt. Actually, I’m the only surviving child of the earl. I only pretended to be a governess. It was an excellent disguise, wasn’t it? I even think Thayne was fooled.”

She watched the duchess and Thayne exchange a look above her head.

“I suppose you’re claiming the child, too?”

“Baby Mary?”

That was risky. Thayne’s immediate intake of air warned her, but he’d already proven he wasn’t of any use in a social confrontation. She was on her own.

“You named the child . . . Mary?”

“I just call her that, your grace. She’s not baptized, as of yet.”

“Send the child to me. I’ll foster her.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, your grace.”

“I demand it.”

“You can’t wish to separate a child from her mother? And my husband wouldn’t allow it. Thayne?”

Amalie looked up at him and squeezed his arm.

“I believe we’ve taken up enough of Her Grace’s time. There are other guests to greet. Wynneth.”

Thayne dipped his head in a semblance of a bow, before moving away, pulling Amalie with him with such speed, her slippers slid along the floor more than once. He didn’t check his pace, and didn’t stop for anyone in his way. They simply moved before he reached them. Further introductions were impossible, social pleasantries the same. Then he shoved aside a dark maroon drape and led her out onto a beautifully stone-worked balcony, with an overhang of more stone. He dropped her arm then as if she’d become vile. It felt cold and private, and vaguely sinister, especially in the dark and rain. Amalie rubbed at her upper arms for warmth and courage as she looked out at a courtyard too dark to see.

“Enjoy the view?” Thayne asked in a steely tone that matched the elements.

“I’ve seen better,” Amalie replied.

“You ken why we’re out here?”

“Creating gossip, I assume.”

He stepped right up behind her, but didn’t touch. He didn’t have to. His size, force of breathing, and the heat emanating from him, all worked in concert to create something vastly different than the amorous man of last night, or the romantic one of just a quarter hour before. This one was solid menace. Amalie’s shivering worsened.

“I do na’ allow falsehoods into my life.”

“You’ll need to be more specific, I think.” And she had to move away, or her tongue wasn’t going to work. Amalie stepped closer to the stone balustrade, and considered gripping it for support, even with how it dripped with rainwater.

“Any falsehoods. Ever.”

“You want her to take Baby Mary from us?”

“Her name is na’ Mary.”

“Then assign her a different one, but in the meanwhile she’s Mary. I like it and it quite agrees with her.”

He put something that could be words, cursing, or just a growl from between his teeth. Amalie gripped both hands to her arms and hugged herself.

“We are na’ discussing the bairn, but your loose tongue.”

“Define loose tongue.”

“The one spouting falsehoods and innuendoes. That one.”

“Very well, Thayne, I admit putting a few innuendoes into my words, but I had to do something. You weren’t any help.”

“And the falsehoods?”

“The only lie I told was about the baby. You’re not going to get me to change that. I’ll not give Baby Mary over without a fight. A large one.”

“You? Fight?”

“Yes, me. I may not have any strength to shove a sword through the woman, but I’ve got a mind and a tongue, and I know how to use both. In the event you missed it.”

“I’d na’ allow her to take the bairn.”

His voice warmed. Everything about him seemed to do so. Amalie didn’t dare turn about to check. Love for Baby Mary’s mother must be the reason, and that just hurt; much more than she wanted to consider or deal with. She had to get the emotion covered over first.

“Good.”

The word limped out, but it was the best she could manage. Amalie licked at her lips and shuddered. Stupid man. She’d just gone through a taut experience with an enemy and then got chastised over it. Adding to that was a good dose of how little he cared. It was obvious. The whole of Thayne MacGowan seemed devoted to the memory of another woman. There wasn’t much left over for Amalie.

“So. We’ll return to discussing your other falsehoods.”

“Thayne.” Amalie turned, lifted her face to meet his eyes, and the gulp that happened hurt her throat. The man was still breath-stealing, sending messages that her body seemed primed and ready to hear. Amalie felt her heart stutter before resuming a heightened beat that sent heat where everything had been cold. And then he put his hands to his hips and tilted his head, looking amused. Or the weak light was lying. “I didn’t tell any falsehoods. I really am the only daughter of the Earl of Ellincourt. We claim ties to the throne. I have a vast dowry.”

“And I’m the Sultan of Constantinople.”

Amalie’s lips tightened. “Is it so hard to believe?”

“You forget, lass. I’m the one taking you from the posting house, the man binding and gagging you, assaulting you. None of which could have happened if you were a lady of the realm. You ken it as well as I.”

“All of which shows I created an excellent disguise. Admit it, Thayne. You were fooled.”

He sighed heavily, moving the mass of man and sending warm heated breath all over her. “This is gaining us aught of value, and I’ve no desire for further argue.”

“Well, at least we agree on one thing, although the other should be readily apparent.”

“And what would that be?”

“The thickness of your skull.”

He chuckled. “You are wicked amusing, wife, even if a tad quick with your tongue. I almost pity my brother this eve.”

Every sensation changed to a solid numbness. “Your brother?”

“You’re placed beside him for sup. ’Tis a placement of honor.”

“Oh no. I refuse.”

“You canna’ refuse.”

“Is that why you had me dressed like this, Thayne? To entice the monster again? Although, faith, I cannot see why you worry over his lusts here. The man probably gets more exercise running from his wife.”

“If he touches you, I’ll kill him.”

Heat from that statement radiated through her; fully, completely, and overwhelmingly, cancelling out cold, rain. Dark. If she blinked just right, she could swear, there was light just about everywhere.

“I’ve given Gannett instruction. You’ll come to nae harm. He’ll be at your back.”

“Why can’t I sit beside you? It’s not uncommon.”

“I’ll be given the place of honor beside the duchess.”

Amalie couldn’t help it. She giggled, and not just at the way he said it. “Sounds fascinating for you.”

“I’d pitch the lot and haul you back to the keep, if it were up to me, wife. I want you to ken this.”

“Then, why don’t you?”

“Too much clan watching. Evaluating. Wagging tongues over it.”

“Gossip? You worry over gossip now?”

“If keeping the laird of MacGowan’s true nature hidden is worry over gossip, then aye. I do so.”

“Then why did you bring me out here? No doubt they’re all whispering over this little excursion to a secluded balcony.”

He sighed. “They all ken our status as newlywed. They also note our attraction to each other. Why . . . I’ve heard it said I’m unable to take my eyes from you. Word is reaching the clan now over my haste to claim you, and the why of it.”

“To save your skin?”

He grinned, revealing the shine of teeth. “’Twas mainly due to my besotted state, I hear. My betrothal contract got trumped the moment I met you . . . and fell in love. All ken a love match. Women of any ilk go all dewy-eyed and soft over such a thing. This little bit of time will simply add ballast to it.”

“And here you just berated me for the telling of falsehoods. Thayne MacGowan. For shame.”

He didn’t seem to like that. The instant intake of breath accompanying the straightening of his back to his full height wasn’t her only clue. He’d lost his smile, as well. And then he stepped close, put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up, and wrenched apart her world.

“Who says it’s a lie, love?”

He shouldn’t have said it.

The reality hit even before the words left his lips, and a split moment before her stunned look. He was in luck that a servant cleared his throat before parting the drape and inviting them back into the fete. He didn’t know what her reaction would be. He still didn’t, what felt like hours later, as the meal progressed, course by course; wine and ale flowing freely while conversation got louder and more jovial all about him. It was akin to attending a play. Watching, but not participating.

Jamie was vastly entertained by Amalie’s wit, as was Gannett behind her, if his recurrent grin was any indicator. Thayne wasn’t. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was suffering shock such as blood loss caused, or something closely related to it. Nothing had taste. Nothing had definition. Nothing had sound to it. Except his wife . . . the beauteous, false-tongued Amalie.

Sweet heaven!
He’d told her he loved her!

And worse. It was true.

The duchess said something at his side. Again. It didn’t really matter what the woman said or what she did. She’d been speaking and tapping at his arm, and attempting to garner his interest throughout the meal, with as much success as a stray hair might have. Thayne wasn’t capable of paying attention to anything other than his wife. She was like a beacon of light in a morass of dark.

He’d
told
her he loved her?

He hadn’t learned his lesson well enough with Mary? His declaration of love was the catalyst behind her marriage to Dunn-Fyne. She accepted his hand that same afternoon! Thayne had reeled with the betrayal, cursed her time and again, hidden his sobs over the heart-pains, and wondered why she hadn’t loved him as much as he did her. The pain lasted for months, until it became anger . . . and finally, the acceptance.

And for the first time, he knew how wrong he’d been. On all accounts. Mary had loved him much more than he suspected. More than she could control. That’s why she’d chosen an abusive man with a history of ill-treating his spouses. She’d sacrificed herself for clan honor.
His
clan honor. To make certain he wed with the MacKennah lass. To keep from starting a feud. Exactly what he’d been honor-bound to do. He gulped down his wine goblet, twisting his face at the vinegar aftertaste. Mary had done that and what had he done with such a gift?

He’d betrayed it.

Another laugh came from Jamie, and he lifted his tankard in a salute to Amalie, before winking over at Thayne. Thayne stiffened; shoved his chair out prior to standing, flexing his bandage-wrapped wound; moved to stand. Sean’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. Brought him back to the present: the woman at his side, the over-rich dishes, the nondulling effects of wine. He’d do better changing to whiskey.

Chapter 21

Something was wrong. Amalie didn’t know how, or why, but in the span of that horrid supper, Thayne seemed to have changed. It didn’t seem possible, and yet, there it was.
He’d told her he loved her.
She’d been existing in a realm filled with bubbles, floating along on such a euphoric sensation because of his declaration . . . and now he’d turned morose. Silent. Brooding.

And he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

The carriage ride that had seemed so short before now stretched interminably, while the thud sound of each heartbeat grew in her ears. Each breath echoed through her chest. She could swear she heard every flick of her eyelashes. He probably should have dimmed the carriage lantern a bit more. That way, she wouldn’t have to get glimpses of him every time she got brave enough to look for them. Amalie licked her lips, drew a breath, and broke the stillness with what sounded exactly like it was: a trembling whisper.

“Thayne?”

He didn’t reply, although he turned his head away and dipped his chin. She fancied he shuddered, too, but that was just fanciful. Amalie cleared her throat and tried again, and this time got sound.

“Thayne?”

“Aye?”

He answered the shuttered window. That wasn’t encouraging, but at least, he had answered.

“Is it always that way?”

“What way?”

Being in love. The flight of spirit. The illusion of heaven. The joy. Didn’t you feel it, too?
Amalie blinked until the instant unbidden moisture behind her lids evaporated and her throat worked. “At . . . the palace. You know . . . the supper.”

“More times than na’.”

“Oh.”

The carriage reached the front portal of his keep. The door opened. Thayne vaulted out. A hand was put in to assist her, and Amalie groped for it, without being able to see it. Damnable tears. She wasn’t the type to cry, she usually had no trouble staunching this sort of weakness, and yet now the stupid emotion wouldn’t stay buried. She kept blinking on the carpet that covered first rock-hewn steps, and then more rock-hewn floor. It wasn’t working. The path was a blur.

“Sean? See Her Ladyship to our chambers.”

She could sense him leaving, lifted her head, and worked at focusing on where he stood without allowing one tear to drop. And then found she couldn’t even stop her own tongue. “You’re . . . not coming?”

“Of course, I’ll be attending you, wife. Doona’ lock the door.”

His face was unreadable. Impassive. Stone-carved. His entire frame looked to have that affliction as he bowed, swiveled on his heel, and walked from her, his limp noticeable even with the horde of men surrounding him. As if he needed such a guard from her.

Sean stayed behind, fidgeting at her side. Amalie wondered absently if he’d gotten the assignment through some misdeed, and then shook herself. She was an English-bred noblewoman in a castle full of Scots. It was obvious to her. She wasn’t wanted, nor was she liked. Fair enough. But Thayne wasn’t just a liar. He was the best actor she’d ever imagined. He must have said he loved her to make her more amenable to being Jamie’s entertainment for the evening.