Bride by Command (3 page)

“No, you may not be so bold,” Jahn said calmly. “And stop calling me M’Lord Emperor, and anything else that might give me away.”

He should be annoyed with the sentinel for daring once again to speak out against such a brilliant plan, but the day was lovely and clear, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the road beneath the horses’ hooves was even. Jahn wore a borrowed sentinel’s green uniform which had seen better days, rather than the usual impeccably crafted crimson robe which had become his own uniform, of sorts. There was no crown upon his disheveled head. He had not shaved in more than three weeks.

He was much too happy to waste time chastising a man who was only trying to do his job.

“I have told you a hundred times to call me Devlyn while we’re carrying out our little charade,” Jahn said without anger.

“It does not seem right, M’L . . . Devlyn.”

“Devlyn was my name for many years longer than Jahn has been. You need not spit the name as if it tastes bitter.”

Blane was indignant, in tone and in posture. “Still, it isn’t right. You’re the emperor! We should have a contingent of guards to watch over you. In truth, you should not be here at all. You’re safer in the palace, where you can be properly guarded.”

That was true enough, but there was more to life than safety. At least, there should be. “Would you deny a condemned man a few precious days of freedom?” Jahn asked.

“Marriage is hardly a condemnation,” Blane argued.

“Are you married?” Odd that he did not know, as Blane was one of his favorite sentinels.

“Quite happily,” Blane said with a lift of his chin. “I’ve been married to a wonderful woman for five years, now.”

“No wonder you always look so well fed. Did you pick your bride all on your own?”

After a moment of silence, Blane’s posture eased and he nodded. “I did.”

“Well, then, you have an advantage over me.”

After that, Blane remained silent.

They would reach the home of Lady Morgana Ramsden in the afternoon, by Blane’s usually impeccable estimation. Of the six potential brides, she was one of two who lived close to Arthes. Since Jahn had never traveled in this particular direction and this route was not heavily traveled, they should be able to collect the woman in question and return to the palace without raising any suspicion. Jahn had met Almund Ramsden briefly, years earlier, but with his disguise—of which the beard was no small part—it was unlikely he’d be recognized. The entire excursion wouldn’t take more than fourteen to sixteen days. Six of those days had already passed.

Jahn estimated he could remain out of the palace for two weeks or a bit longer without raising any alarm. All was well in the country, except for the lack of an heir, a situation which seemed to terrify quite a few skittish followers. Those he called upon to keep things running smoothly continued to see to their duties in his absence, so the daily routine of government would not be disturbed. Before escaping from the palace Jahn had pleaded illness, something quite nasty and venomous that would keep all but a few loyal servants out of his bedroom. Those who cooperated with him in this charade would be well rewarded after his return. The others need never know.

And he would not only get out of the palace for a short while of blessed freedom, he would have the chance to see at least one of his potential wives up close long before he had to make his decision. Would she be a good and pleasant traveler or a pain in the ass? Most ladies of her type—rich and pampered—were a pain in the ass, but he supposed it was possible that he would be pleasantly surprised. After all, what woman would not be delighted at the prospect of being empress?

He would see Lady Morgana’s real face in a situation where she had no idea he might one day be her husband. You could tell a lot about a person by the way they treated those beneath them; he had learned that quickly after he’d taken his position. If the lady was kind to the lowly sentinels who had been sent to escort her, along with whatever maids and chaperones accompanied her, then that would be a point or two in her favor.

If she was a demanding pain in the ass, he’d reveal himself as emperor, then reject her and send her home without a second thought. Eventually.

He rather wished he’d brought a woman with him, for companionship on the chilly nights when he slept on the hard ground as he had during his long-past days as a soldier. The happily married Blane might not like having a female along—he would probably find it unseemly—but he would not object. Brave or not, he would not dare. Lady Morgana would be sure to object, however, and if she ever made the connection between the humble bearded sentinel and the emperor, there would be hell to pay. With such women there was often hell to pay.

Why could he not simply marry Melusina or Anrid? Or both? Now, that was an idea. He did not love them, but they were pleasing in bed and undemanding, and they made him laugh even at the end of the longest day. Was that not enough to make a decent marriage? It was more than many men had.

In any case, he recognized that it was too late now to turn back and collect one or both of them, so he’d have to wait until he returned to the palace and made a “recovery” from his illness to enjoy the company of a woman or two in the short time he had left as a free man. Once he married, he would be faithful; like it or not, that was decided.

Fittingly enough, with that thought a gentle but cold rain began to fall.

 

 

MORGANA
had been in a constant state of agitation for the past four weeks, since the unexpected message had arrived from the palace. That frenzy, on top of the distress connected with the events of the First Night of the Spring Festival, had her passing many a sleepless night—and her days were not much better. That was not good, not good at all. Her stomach was constantly in knots. She had a headache that would not go away. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her skin had little color. A slamming door or a dog’s bark made her jump out of her skin, and when she did sleep, the dreams that came to her were so disturbing she woke more tired than when she’d fallen into her bed.

She was not suspected of causing Tomas’s tragic fate. Who would suspect her? In the early days she had worried that perhaps someone had seen her slipping out of her window, or that Tomas had told one of his friends that he’d planned to see her that night. Her worries on those counts had been for nothing. The villagers and her stepfather, as well as Tomas’s friends and family, had decided that poor Tomas had been lured into the forest by a traveling witch who’d seduced him—hence the undone britches—and then used black magic to turn him to glass, perhaps as part of dark sexual ritual.

Some of the first to arrive on the scene had made the mistake of trying to move the statue that had once been a man, and when they had done so, what Tomas had become in the wake of Morgana’s anger had shattered into a thousand small pieces. All that was left of Tomas Glyn was a pile of ash his family had buried weeks ago.

Yes, a witch traveling through on the First Night of the Spring Festival made much more sense than even to consider the possibility that someone with such wicked power lived in their midst. Most chose to believe that whatever had transformed Tomas was now gone and would never return, but a few, a disturbing few, continued to question whether or not the monster who had killed one of their own was living among them or waiting nearby in the forest for another victim, hiding its dark powers until it chose to strike again. Morgana had become the fiend in a tale told to scare small children and skittish women—and men who might think to wander too far from home.

Now this. It was insulting that the emperor thought she’d agree to his inspection. Even if she had not decided—in the wake of the disaster with Tomas—never to marry, she’d be outraged. Her stepfather had refused to send a message of denial to the emperor, somehow thinking that he might be able to change her mind. Morgana planned simply to tell whatever official arrived to fetch her that she was not interested in the emperor’s offer. Perhaps she would apologize for the wasted trip—or perhaps she would not.

Her stepfather continued to be stubborn. He insisted such an insult to the emperor would be unforgivable, and that she had been offered a great opportunity and should grab it gratefully. What about the insult to
her
? Did that count for nothing?

And now, to add to the insult, she discovered that her planned escort was not to be a highly placed official at all, but instead, consisted of two common sentinels and whatever chaperone her stepfather might decide to send with the party—not that any party would be necessary, as she had no intention of leaving this house. Still, she did not even rate a highly placed escort! Not that she would agree to the ridiculous proposition if a minister or even a prince had come to collect her.

The sentinel who stood before her in the main room—pale-faced and squat, with his longish dark hair pulled back in a semi-neat braid—apparently realized the depth of her displeasure. He did not look her in the eye, and his fingers twitched often. No, he was not a man of influence and power. He took orders, he did not deliver them. Making him run back to the palace empty-handed would be easy enough.

It was the other one she was worried about.

The fair-haired, bearded sentinel was taller than his companion. He had intelligent eyes and, even though he was a common sentinel of low rank, a superior air. His long hair was worn loose, thick and straight and oddly streaked with different shades of blond. Above the untended beard, his cheekbones were high and well-shaped. He might be handsome beneath the beard, but perhaps he was one of those men who hid the fact that he had no chin with an abundance of facial hair. Why else would he sport a beard which seemed to be constructed of every color hair under the sun? Even from a distance she could see several shades of red, blond, and brown. Since he looked so annoyingly smug, she took some small pleasure from imagining that he had no chin at all.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” her stepfather said tersely. “Don’t be stubborn.”

Morgana responded as she always did. “You promised my mother that I would be allowed to choose my own husband.”

“At that time, I did not realize you would be so blasted particular,” he responded with apparent anger. His face turned red as he blustered. “You will soon be twenty-five years of age! The time for marrying and producing children will pass you by, and you must have children so all that I have created here will be passed on to family.” There was a distant nephew, but he was less than bright and had no manners at all. To leave him the estate would be unacceptable.

Morgana could not tell her stepfather that she would never marry, because he would insist on knowing why she’d come to that decision, and she could not explain it to him. That broke her heart, since even though he was not her real father and she had sometimes been mulish in the past few years, he still considered her his daughter as surely as if he had sired her himself. Could he not see that they would have a pleasant life here, just the two of them? She could care for him in his old age. No one would rile or enrage her, not if her life was quiet and well-planned from day to day, so there would be no repeat of the disaster with Tomas. She and Almund could play cards and throw the occasional party, and if people thought she was odd, well, she could live with that.

Morgana knew she could not allow herself to relent, not even a little bit. What Tomas had brought to life in her could be activated again, by some other man who made demands or roused fear in her. For years she had waited for the true love her mother insisted was real, and now . . . now she knew she was not fit for any man or for any love.

She could not share her deepest fears with anyone, not even her stepfather. “Everyone who has been presented to me is either too old, too portly, too arrogant, or too stupid. From all I hear, the emperor is guilty of all four, except maybe the portly. Since I have never seen him, I can’t say, but since he’s well-known to be indiscriminately lascivious, I suspect he’s guilty of gluttony as well.”

The sentinel before her went impossibly paler, and she could swear his lower lip shook. The taller man who stood in the corner seemed to suppress a smile. Her stepfather placed a hand over his heart.

“Morgana, the words you speak will be repeated to the emperor by these fine sentinels.”

“I do not care.” She looked squarely at the dark-haired soldier before her, hardening her heart. “You may tell your emperor all that I have said, and you may also tell him that I refuse, refuse,
refuse
his ridiculous offer.”

Both sentinels bowed crisply and turned away to exit the room. Her stepfather trembled with anger and balled his fists tightly. When the door had closed behind the two soldiers from Arthes, the man who had cared for her since the age of four turned on her. His face was truly and disturbingly red, and his hands trembled.

He screamed. He accused her of terrible things. None of them were as terrible as the act she had actually if accidentally done, but still, his words were hurtful. She was not horribly spoiled, and she
did
care about the feelings of others. She was
not
impossible, and in truth she was no pickier than any other woman of discrimination.

She was prepared to argue with Almund, to calm him down with sweet words, as she was usually able to do, but he did not seem to be in the mood for reason. So she told him the truth. Part of it, anyway. “I have decided that I shall never marry.”

Almund’s face turned red. “Ridiculous. You
will
marry.” He shook his head once and then shouted, “I rescind my promise to your mother, here and now. I swear to God, Morgana, I will marry you to the next man who walks through that door, whether you like it or not!”

She did not get a chance to argue, as the door opened and the tall, fair-haired sentinel walked into the room. He looked briefly at Morgana and then turned his attention to Almund. “It just so happens that I’m in the market for a wife, and I suspect your daughter would do quite nicely.”