Bride by Command (7 page)

Ramsden did not come. He left his daughter in the emperor’s care, for now. Arthes and a return to the life Jahn knew grew closer with every step. Pity. He did not want the easy days to end; he felt like he was just beginning to see the real Morgana Ramsden. Since her tears had stopped, traveling with the woman had been relatively pleasant. She was nice to look at, even when she was angry, and she had a sweet voice, though her words were rarely what any man would call sweet. He found her cutting comments bright and sometimes funny, and looked forward to what she had to say when he riled her. She was no longer as pale as she had been when he’d met her, thanks to the sun and something else he did not dare attempt to understand. She was more alive than she had been when he’d met her—more vivid, perhaps.

The dishevelment caused by their days of travel only made her look more fetching. Her once fine gown was faded and beginning to fray here and there, and she couldn’t do much with her thick hair with only the single comb she had found in her bag. At the moment the prim and proper Lady Morgana who had denounced Emperor Jahn for his gluttony and debauchery looked as if she had a touch of a wild side. She usually hid that side well, he imagined, but Jahn could see it in her eyes and in the set of her mouth. It was simply more pronounced when her fine gown was mussed and her hair was in disarray.

Perhaps he saw the hidden wildness in her because he knew it in himself. She might be a better match for him than he’d initially thought.

Still, in all these days she had not once said that she’d been wrong to refuse the emperor’s invitation. She had not asked him to please, please, if he wouldn’t mind too terribly, deliver her to the palace upon their arrival in the capital city, as she had made a grievous error.

They stopped while still in sight of the city, which sprawled before them much different in style and shape and sound than the countryside had been. Jahn was sorry to see the journey end, sorry to see the palace rising before them. Even more, he was oddly sorry to see the end of his charade. He was certain he would know Lady Morgana much more deeply if he had a few more days in which to study and test her.

They should’ve taken a roundabout route, but it was too late for that decision.

A tantalizing thought teased Jahn’s wandering mind. What would happen if he took his newly claimed wife, changed his name once again, and fled for parts unknown? What if he remained Jahn Devlyn, and spent a lifetime making this woman his own? She would eventually make a fine wife for a simple man, and he would love to be a simple man once again.

Instead of fleeing, he took Blane aside and whispered in his ear. The sentinel was not happy about the turn of events, but as a loyal servant he would do what was asked. He certainly did not like what Jahn asked now, but he pursed his lips, nodded once, then mounted his horse and sped away for the city and his task.

Morgana was not pleased to see their chaperone go.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Blane is anxious to see his wife,” Jahn explained. “He does not have the consideration for his horse that I have for ours. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough for us to enter the city.”

Morgana glanced toward the brilliantly colored sunset. “Tomorrow?” she asked, her voice small as she no doubt remembered that Blane’s presence was one of the reasons their “marriage” had not been consummated.

“Yes, do you mind?” he asked casually. “Can you bear one more night sleeping on the ground before I introduce you to your marriage bed?”

She straightened her spine and her eyes widened slightly. “Whatever you think is best. I would not wish to injure our horses by pressing onward too quickly or too soon.”

No surprise there. He did not for one moment believe concern for the animals in their care made her agree to spend another night in such unaccustomed and rough conditions. “I believe you will be quite comfortable in your new home, though you might find it in need of a woman’s touch.”

“I can only imagine,” she said dryly. “Where is your house located?”

Jahn laughed. “House? I have no house.”

She blinked hard. “Then where do you live?”

“I told you early on, love, that I lease a room over one of the finest taverns in Arthes. Have you forgotten?” Had she even been listening? “Our room is near to the palace, which is handy, and only a few steps from the best ale in town, which is also very handy.”

“I can’t live over a tavern!”

“Of course you can,” Jahn said smoothly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you drink very much?”

“When the spirit moves me, I suppose I do.”

Her mouth pursed in obvious disapproval. “I will not have a drunkard husband.”

Jahn was taken aback. Had she, or had she not, just referred to him as her husband? She was supposed to be horrified to find herself in this position; she was supposed to fervently wish for the opportunity she had so blithely dismissed only a few days ago.

“I will not have a woman tell me what I can and cannot do,” Jahn responded tightly, “unless we are in bed, of course, and then I am quite amenable to direction.” He did not give her a chance to respond to that. “Besides, a man must have a leisure pursuit of some sort, in order to shake off the stress of a long workday.”

“Drinking to excess is not a leisure pursuit!” Morgana argued.

“Of course it is. There are not many diversions suitable for a man like me,” Jahn said, shucking off his sentinel’s vest and beginning to make himself comfortable for the long evening ahead. “Drinking, womanizing, gambling . . .”

“None of those are acceptable. What’s wrong with woodworking or gardening or learning to play a musical instrument?”

Jahn looked at Morgana and grinned. “You’re joking, right?”

“No husband of mine is going to drink, gamble, or womanize,” she said.

Again with the “husband.” Jahn leaned close, enjoying the glow of her skin and the light in her eyes as she argued with him. “Need I remind you, love, that I am not yet officially your husband?”

Instead of getting angry or haughty, she blushed and turned her head to the side, breaking eye contact. “No, you need not remind me.”

Interesting . . .

 

 

DANYA
sat between her sister Hetta and her brother-in-law Bevan at the long dinner table on this last night in her childhood home. The small children, her innumerable nephews and nieces, had all been fed and put to bed early, thank the heavens. The family seemed quite proud of their ability to reproduce. Two of her sisters were pregnant once again, but were not so far along that they couldn’t travel a short distance for an important family gathering.

All of them were excited about the prospect of having a sister in the Columbyanan palace. Danya had not yet told her sisters that if she was chosen empress, she would cut all ties with her family as soon as possible. Her father, who sat at the head of the table with a large ewer of wine, did not seem to be at all impressed or sad. As usual, he was quiet and without emotion. He had already drunk too much wine, and before the meal was finished, he’d be nodding off in his chair and everyone would ignore the embarrassment.

Logically, she realized her mother and her sisters had done nothing to earn her dislike. They simply reminded her of a life she wanted desperately to leave behind; they reminded her too sharply of her failings. Her fresh start should be entirely fresh!

The deputy minister of whatever, whose name she could not recall, sat at the other end of the table. The poor, unsuspecting man was positioned between Althea and Rodric, so he had her sympathy. The imperial man from Arthes was a quiet sort who wore his fair hair in a long, well-tended braid and often kept his eyes down. He revealed little in the way of emotion, even when his hostess insisted that he delay his departure to attend this gathering he so obviously did not wish to attend. To Danya’s eyes, he looked quite young to be deputy minister of anything. She’d always pictured ministers and deputies as old and either very thin or too well fed. This official escort was neither.

He did look slightly perturbed now, and she could not blame him. Rodric had a boring habit of telling the same stories over and over again, and Althea had a sharp and grating laugh.

The deputy minister of something could not be more irritated than Danya was. Her unsuspecting mother had put her directly across from the newest member of the family, Vida’s husband, Ennis. If Ennis were seated anywhere else at the table, Danya would be able to completely ignore him. Instead, every time she lifted her head, she caught him staring at her. More than once she’d almost choked on her food, so now she only pushed it around on the plate, in order to stave off another embarrassment.

Why did he have to be here? Why, why, why? She should’ve refused the request for this one last gathering, but knowing that it was truly the last, she had been unable to deprive her mother. The matriarch of this house did so love having all her girls together.

Danya was certain her mother would get along well after she was gone. There were grandchildren to dote upon and grown daughters with whom she could share her wisdom of nearly sixty years. Her husband was tipsy only in the evening, so it wasn’t as if she’d be without companionship. She would thrive when all her girls were on their own, each busy with her own familiy.

Everyone chattered, and as the night progressed, the volume grew unbearable. The four married sisters were all excited about Danya’s opportunity, as if they themselves were the ones who had been chosen. Even Vida, naive, ignorant Vida, smiled happily and wished her youngest sister the best. The talk turned to shoes and gowns and jewels, naturally. What other concerns would an empress have?

Ennis remained silent, though he did raise his glass to her once, when their eyes inadvertently met.

Danya tried to keep her face impassive; she attempted to participate at least minimally in the conversations around her, even when she gave them only half an ear. Soon the noise was too much to bear. Her facade was crumbling, it was about to fall away. She needed a moment, just a moment, to gather her wits, to shake off the pain and put on her prettiest and happiest face once again. She excused herself and left the table at an acceptable pace, running toward the doors which would open into the night only when she was out of sight of the others. A deep breath of air, a quiet moment, and she would be composed once more. An empress would need to be able to compose herself, no matter what the circumstances.

She could not imagine that there would be anything more trying than this, even when she was empress. Political intrigue would pale in comparison to her tumultuous life thus far.

Outdoors, all was silent and peaceful. The air on her face was wonderfully cool. Danya closed her eyes and took a deep breath and thought of Arthes. She imagined the wonder of the palace she had never seen and all the luxuries she would know when it was her home. She thought of escape, of forgetting the past, of starting anew in a finer, better place.

“I have never seen you look more beautiful.”

Danya’s eyes snapped open at the sound of that soft, deep, seductive voice. Ennis stood not two feet away, an empty smile she knew too well on his pretty face.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“I have come to verify the safety and comfort of my favorite sister-in-law, who is soon to be empress.”

“There is no guarantee that the emperor will choose me.”

“How could he not?”

You didn’t.
The heartbreaking words she did not dare to say aloud shot through her brain in an oddly painful way. “You should return to your wife,” she said coldly.
Your pregnant, blissfully ignorant wife.

“I told Vida I was going to make sure you were well, since you looked so pale all through dinner. I am ever the concerned brother-in-law.” He bowed insolently before moving closer. His hand lifted slowly. He reached out as if he planned to touch her, and she slapped his hand away.

He laughed. “There was a time when you did not dismiss my attentions so quickly.”

There was a time when I thought you loved me.
“I’m smarter now than I was then,” Danya said, proud that her voice remained calm. Inside, she was shaking. Somehow she imagined Ennis saw that inner tremble. He knew her too well. The man who had once been her lover knew her weaknesses, her dreams, her failures. He had made her tremble and shake and confess her undying love for him, and then he had chosen another.

“I’m sure the emperor will be pleased with you, Danya. You’re one of those rare women who does so love the pleasure a man can give. If you scream for him as you screamed for me, he will think himself a master of the bedchamber. Of course, you and I will always know that he was not your first. A woman never forgets her first lover, the man who teaches her all about the pleasures of the body. I taught you well, didn’t I? How about one more kiss, just a little something to remind us of what we no longer have?” Ennis asked, slowly moving his head toward hers, parting his lips, touching her shoulder.

Danya froze. This was what she wanted and feared, what she craved and despised. If Ennis had chosen her to be his wife, as she had been so certain he would, she would be happy and ignorant like Vida, and she would not be on her way to Arthes to vie for the position of empress. But he had not chosen her. He had made her love him, he had shown her pleasures that she had not known of before he’d seduced her, and then he had destroyed her with his rejection.

Before his lips touched hers, she said, “I gave birth to your child.”

The words stopped Ennis cold. He came no closer; he did not move away.

“A boy, in case you care to know.”

Ennis licked his lips. He paled, she could see that even in the dim moonlight. There were no questions or concerns about her well-being or that of his child. His cold words to her were “Who knows?”