Princess Annie (27 page)

Rafael frowned, his arms folded. He couldn’t help feeling skeptical—Lucian had few scruples and he thrived on trickery—but he was certainly intrigued. “And how do these rebels intend to get past our gates?” he asked.

The look in Lucian’s eyes was earnest, which was no indication of guilelessness or truth-telling. “The answer is as old as time, Rafael: You have enemies within these walls. People you trust are contriving, even now, to deceive and destroy you.”

“Which people?”

Lucian smiled ruefully. “Ah,” he said. “Therein, as the Bard said, lies the rub.”

Rafael already knew he had foes within the keep’s walls; it would have been naive to believe everyone wished him well. That didn’t worry him.

What did trouble Rafael was the approaching wedding. All sorts of people would be passing in and out of the gates over a period of at least a week. The rebels would have no need of a Trojan horse—they could enter in merchants’ wagons and guests’ carriages. Some of them probably even had bona fide invitations.

“I see I’ve set you thinking,” Lucian said, resting his hand briefly upon Rafael’s shoulder. “There is one more thing I would bid you to consider.”

Rafael said nothing, but simply waited.

“If you find this information helpful,” Lucian went on, “perhaps you will be moved to release me from your damnable army.”

Rafael wasn’t really listening; he would speak to Chandler and Phaedra about eloping, he decided. If they agreed, he could call off the formal wedding, send Annie out of Bavia once and for all, and concentrate on the tasks at hand.

“… sleeping with Barrett.”

The tail end of Lucian’s sentence snagged Rafael’s attention on a sharp hook. “What?”

“I said, Phaedra has been sneaking off to the lake cottage, among other places, and meeting Barrett.” He cast a meaningful glance at the closed door of Rafael’s bedchamber. “Seems to be the season for deflowering virgins.”

Rafael clasped his brother’s shirt in both hands and thrust him against the opposite wall. “Barrett and Phaedra?” he demanded, giving Lucian a hard shake. “Think twice before you lie to me, Brother.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Lucian spat, struggling to free himself and failing. “Ask your good friend, if you don’t believe me!”

Rafael freed Lucian with a contemptuous motion, but he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Barrett had told him, after all, that he cared for Phaedra. Rafael had warned the other man off and, having no reason to believe that his sister returned Barrett’s affections, he’d put the matter out of his mind.

“Damn!” he whispered, shoving a hand through his hair. Barrett had been moody as hell of late, but Rafael had attributed that to the stress inherent in the man’s work. Now he wondered.

Lucian moved a few strides down the passageway before speaking again. “Well?” he asked, spreading his arms. “Am I out of the army? May I sleep in my quarters again and wear my own clothes?”

“Yes,” Rafael answered distractedly, gesturing in dismissal. “But don’t burn your uniform. After the wedding, I’ll decide whether your discharge is permanent or not.”

The erstwhile soldier did not wait, but vanished around a corner, beyond which lay his old room.

Before Rafael could return to his chambers, awaken Annie and send her back where she belonged, a maid appeared with an armload of linens and a generous smile.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she said, with a quick, polished curtsey.

Rafael nodded. “Good morning, Evelyn.” He maneuvered her away from his door and pointed her in the direction from which she’d come. “Save that for later, if you would,” he said, indicating the sheets and towels.

Evelyn blushed, for it wasn’t the first time she’d politely steered away from the prince’s door early in the day. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll just make up another room. Lots of company coming, with the wedding.”

Yes, Rafael thought, in silent agreement. And if he didn’t keep his mind on the business at hand, it wouldn’t be old friends occupying the castle’s many beds, but conquering rebels. He imagined Annie as part of the victor’s spoils and felt a renewed sense of desperation.

He moved through the passageways between his chambers and his study by memory, blinded by his thoughts. By God, if Barrett truly had bedded Phaedra, he reflected, he would kill the bastard with his bare hands.

The hypocrisy of that wasn’t lost on Rafael—even then Annie was curled up, naked and warm, in his bed. Still, Annie wasn’t pledged to another man, and she sure as hell wasn’t his sister.

Rafael had been in his study less than five minutes—he’d just taken his rapier down from the wall, in fact—when Barrett appeared. Rafael pressed the tip of the blade to his friend’s throat, then lowered the weapon to his side.

“I expected better of you,” he said.

Barrett’s eyes revealed the truth even before the confession passed his lips. “I cherish Phaedra. In point of fact, I would die for her. If you must uphold that fool’s code of yours, then run me through and get it over with.” He paused thoughtfully, a comical, pained expression taking shape on his face. “I’m not sure it wouldn’t be a mercy, given the agonies of loving that particular woman.”

Rafael could have told his friend something about agony, but he didn’t. In the first place, he did not wish to discuss his ill-advised attachment to Annie Trevarren, and, in the second, that wasn’t the issue in question. “How the devil did this happen? Phaedra is committed to another man, as you well know, and
by God
she will still marry him if he’ll have her!”

Barrett brought an apple from the pocket of his tunic and started to peel it with a small, pearl-handled knife. Rafael skewered the piece of fruit with the point of his rapier, took it off the blade, and polished it against the front of his shirt while he awaited a reply.

“Don’t worry,” Barrett said, with a weariness of spirit to match Rafael’s. “Phaedra plans to go through with the wedding. I’m a commoner, remember? Fine for dalliances, but not quite suitable as a husband.”

Rafael felt relief, but not because he didn’t think Barrett was worthy to take Phaedra to wife—his sister would have to do a great deal of growing up before she could appreciate, or deserve, a man of that caliber. He put up the rapier and bit into the appropriated apple.

“Did she actually
say
that?” he asked, chewing.

Barrett collapsed into a chair, gazing through the window behind Rafael’s desk. It was still quite dark out, though it was well past dawn—the sky was overcast, promising rain. “She didn’t have to,” he replied, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger and sighing in a melancholy fashion. “Just kill me now,” he finished. “Put me out of my misery.”

Rafael paused in his apple-chewing, long enough to mutter disgustedly, “God, Barrett, you are such a horse’s ass. The capitol is in ruins, we’re probably going to be up to our balls in rebels before a fortnight’s gone by, and
you’re
sniveling because some benevolent angel has seen fit to spare you from spending the rest of your life with my sister!”

Barrett did not retreat. In fact, there was an openly mutinous glint in his eye as he pondered the remains of the apple Rafael was eating. “Do you want to know the worst of it?” he demanded.

“No,” Rafael replied. “But I fear you’re determined to tell me.”

“I told Haslett exactly what’s been going on, in rather unchivalrous detail.”

Rafael dropped the apple core and did not bother to retrieve it.
“What?”

Barrett laughed hoarsely, but the sound was devoid of humor. “I thought he’d set Phaedra free or challenge me to a duel or something. Instead, he just patted my shoulder and said these things happen, that in the long run, they don’t mean much.”

“Good God,” Rafael marveled.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Barrett asked. “The idea of Phaedra marrying another man makes me want to jump from a tower window, and here’s Haslett, telling me it
doesn’t matter
that his future wife and I have been ripping off each other’s clothes every time we got the opportunity!”

Rafael closed his eyes against the inevitable images. “Great Zeus, Barrett, this is my
sister
we’re talking about! If you don’t exercise a little tact here, you won’t have to jump from a tower window because I’ll throw you out of one myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Barrett said, with an utter lack of conviction. “Well? What is the royal decree, Your Highness?” When they were boys, Rafael recalled with a shadow of a smile, Barrett had often addressed him as “Your High-Ass.” “Shall I resign and leave the castle, or join Covington’s band in the dungeons?”

Rafael sighed, still smiling a little. “Neither,” he said. “I’ve never needed your help and advice the way I do now. Just tell me one thing—would it do any good at all to tell you to keep away from my sister?”

“Would it do any good to tell you to keep away from Annie Trevarren?” Barrett countered, rising at last from his chair.

“No,” Rafael admitted.

“There you have it,” Barrett replied.

“Perhaps I can still reason with my sister.”

“Perhaps you can reason with Miss Trevarren. Or with the courtyard gate.”

Rafael conceded the battle, if not the war. “You have a point,” he said. “Now, about our prisoners. We have a fortnight until the wedding, and I want them tried and dealt with before then.”

It was divine punishment, Annie decided, when Miss Rendennon arrived at midmorning. Morovia had still been in flames when the seamstress left it, and she’d had words with a rebel guard at the city’s main gate, too. On the way to St. James Keep, the woman reported, she’d encountered refugees of less than sterling character, glimpsed a soldier who was up to no good, by the look of him, and lent moral support while her carriage driver contended with a broken wheel. She reasoned that if she could do all those things before luncheon, Annie could stand still for a simple fitting.

“But it isn’t even my gown,” Annie pointed out, somewhat pitifully. She wouldn’t have minded, she thought sadly, if the splendid dress were her own. As it was, she would probably never be a bride.

With that gloomy thought, thunder crashed through the keep like a pronouncement from God, and lightning glowed against the inner walls. Annie shivered.

“Sounds like cannon fire,” Miss Rendennon remarked, around the row of pins between her lips. “We’ll be fortunate, I’ll tell you that, to see the princess married before the whole country falls to those anarchists!”

For a time, Annie had believed Rafael was indeed the tyrant the rebels painted him to be, but she knew better now. Still, being an American, she wasn’t without a certain sympathy for the revolutionaries. They had been oppressed by Rafael’s father and grandfather, and countless other St. Jameses before them, and now they wanted freedom and justice. They could not know that they were fixing their hatred on the wrong man, and it was too late to turn the tide.

Annie’s eyes filled with tears, and Miss Rendennon gave her a good slap on the wrist.

“Stop that. You’ll get water spots on the dress!”

Annie had suffered all she would at this woman’s hands. “Do you know what you can do with your dratted dress, Miss Rendennon, and with every last one of your pins?”

The sound of applause made Annie look up, while Miss Rendennon struggled not to swallow said pins. Lucian was standing a few feet away, clapping his hands.

The seamstress recovered enough to sputter,
“Well!”
take up her skirts and trundle out of the room. As she disappeared through the solarium’s arched doorway, a clap of thunder exploded again and Annie felt the floor vibrate under her feet.

She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at Lucian. “What are you doing here?”

He looked genuinely contrite, but Annie hadn’t forgotten that he’d behaved like a scoundrel on other occasions. “I’ve come to apologize,” he said. “I guess my brief time in the army helped me grow up at last.”

Annie remained skeptical. “Wonderful,” she said, taking in his well-made civilian clothes, a dove gray waistcoat, white shirt and impeccably tailored black breeches. “What happened, Lucian? Did Mr. Barrett throw you out of the military?”

Lucian smiled, caught his hands together behind him, and raised himself onto the balls of his feet, then rolled back onto his heels. He was clearly very pleased with himself. “As a matter of fact, I wasn’t a bad soldier. It’s just that Rafael, in his infinite mercy, has absolved me of my sins and returned me to the family fold. I’m a new man, Annie, and I’d like a chance to prove I can be a loyal and valuable friend.”

“By doing what?”

He laughed. “I could start by showing you through the castle. Normally, the tour would include the dungeons, but since they’re occupied at the moment, we’ll save those for another time.”

While Annie had her reservations about being alone with Lucian, especially in isolated parts of the keep, she was feeling bored, restless and very confused. It was raining, and Rafael was busy with his blasted war, and she wasn’t sure she could have faced him anyway, after the way she’d howled in his arms like a she-wolf the night before. She blushed and averted her eyes, fiddling with the billowing skirts of the dress.

“If you’re worried that I won’t mind my manners,” Lucian said, with a smile in his voice, “don’t be. I’ve just returned from Purgatory, and I know that Rafael is fiercely protective of you. There’s still no love lost between my brother and me, and I’m neither rash enough, nor stupid enough, to cross him. I have no desire to end up in the dungeon playing cards with Jeremy Covington.”

Lucian had mentioned that the dungeons were occupied, but Annie hadn’t taken the remark seriously. Now, however, she realized with a lurching shock that he had not been joking.

“He’s here? At St. James Keep?” she asked.

Lucian frowned. “Yes,” he answered, beckoning to a maid, who was just passing the doorway. “Come and help Miss Trevarren out of this enormous dress,” he called. He lowered his voice as the servant came toward them. “Didn’t Rafael tell you? Covington and the other are to be tried here, as soon as a jury can be assembled.”