Bride by Midnight (6 page)

“You’re not my friend.”

Lyssa gathered her courage, what was left of it, and looked the sentinel in the eye. “I need a husband by midnight. Don’t ask me to explain why now,” she added quickly, “because there’s not much time left before tomorrow arrives. It has occurred to me that though I must be a wife by midnight, it needn’t be a permanent marriage at all, but could be an arrangement that would satisfy a particular requirement until other, more suitable, arrangements can be made. So, what do you say? Will you marry me? Temporarily, of course.”

For a long moment the sentinel was silent. Then he asked, “What would I get out of the bargain?”

“What do you want?” Time was running out. He could name his price.

“If we’re man and wife, I might decide I’d like to fuck you.”

“All right,” she said quickly, and then she bit her lower lip. “What is that, exactly?”

The sentinel sighed. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” she responded. “What did you expect? I’m not like one of those women in the tavern, I’m...” And then she realized what he was most likely referring to. “Oh, I think I understand. Yes, that will be required as part of the bargain.” It wasn’t as if she wasn’t curious. She should have become a wife in all ways years ago. Besides, the witch had said she needed to be married and bedded before she turned twenty-three, which didn’t give them much time. She wondered if there was time to arrange for the sentinel to have a bath. “We’ll take care of that as soon as the vows are spoken. Is there anything else you want from the arrangement?”

Again he was silent for a long moment. The delay made Lyssa rise up on her toes in frustration, and then drop down again.

Finally he spoke. “I saw you and an old man leaving the palace today. Do you go there often?”

“My father is a shopkeeper, and he’s not an old man. Perhaps he is well on his way, but he has many years left in him.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“He makes occasional deliveries to the palace, and sometimes I help.”

“That will do, I suppose,” he whispered, his voice like velvet, smooth and deep and assured.

Precious moments ticked past. “
What
will do?”

“I will marry you, if you’ll promise to get me into the palace.”

That made no sense at all. “But you’re a sentinel. Surely you have access to the palace.” She felt as if something was crawling beneath her skin, she was so anxious to have this done. A temporary marriage to this man, who was a far cut above the others she’d encountered tonight, would solve all her problems. At least, she believed that to be the case. It was certainly worth a try, especially since it was all she had.

“I’m not a sentinel,” he said. “I stole this uniform.”

“If you’re not a sentinel, then what do you do?” And why on earth would he steal a uniform?

“I travel. I do jobs where I find them, when I need them. Once I was a sailor and a shipbuilder, but that was long ago. Now I am no one. I am nothing.”

She’d always loved the sea, but his connection to sailing and ships was in the past. Now he was a drifter, a beggar who stole clothes—and yet he managed to have enough coin to buy a bottle of whisky, which meant it was likely he’d stolen more than a uniform.

And he was her last chance.

A thief or a nunnery? A complete stranger or a life lived alone? What did it say about her that the thief seemed a better choice? “We must hurry,” she said, tugging on his stolen uniform and leading the way to the church at the center of town. It had already been a while since the newly installed palace clock had pealed, announcing the eleventh hour. She wasn’t certain how much time she had left to wake Father Kiril and convince him to perform an untraditional wedding ceremony before that clock struck midnight. “By the way, what’s your name?” she asked as she turned into a narrow lane.

“Blade Renshaw,” her prospective groom said.

Blade
. Unusual name. For a brief moment, Lyssa pictured the sword from her latest dream. The dangerous, sharp, gleaming blade had swung so close...

“My name is Lyssa,” she said, pushing the memory of the dream to the back of her mind. “Lyssa Tempest. Soon to be Lyssa Renshaw, I suppose.”

Considering her unfortunate history with prospective grooms, she wondered if she could keep Blade Renshaw alive and willing until they reached the priest and the marriage could be done.

Chapter Four

Blade willingly followed Lyssa down wide streets and narrow alleyways, past closed shops and stone houses where residents slept. Even though they passed through many dark shadows untouched by moonlight or the infrequent street lamps, she did not falter. She knew the way, as one who’d lived in Arthes all her life should.

It didn’t take long for the cool night air to sober him. The mental fog he’d found in the whisky faded, and he was left clear-headed and impatient. The woman who guided him through the city had not been in his plans even a few minutes ago, and now she was his best chance of achieving his goal.

He shouldn’t be curious about Lyssa Tempest and her need for a husband by a certain hour, but he was. A little. For the life of him, he could not figure out why a pretty woman—one of a class that allowed her to walk into and out of the palace—had to go to such lengths to get a husband, or why she felt that the deed had to be done before midnight. He could not deny his curiosity, but in truth her motivations didn’t matter.

She could get him into the palace. Perhaps not tomorrow, or even next week, but eventually he would walk through the main entrance, and once he was inside he would find Volker and take his revenge. He would almost certainly make Lyssa a widow in the process, but she would already have gotten what she wanted out of the bargain, too; a husband before the last strike of the clock on this particular day.

Perhaps before he went to die he would ask her what had led her to this point, but the truth of the matter was, it didn’t matter. She served his purpose, just as he served hers.

Lyssa rounded the church, and along the side wall she found and knocked on a small door. She had to knock several times before a sleep-rumpled priest answered. He wore a nightshirt and a cap, both thin with wear, and carried a single candle.

“What’s wrong?” the priest asked, sounding more alert than he looked. “Is your father ill? Sinmora?” he continued without giving her a chance to respond. “Wait while I dress.” He started to turn away, but Lyssa stopped him with her words.

“Marry us, Father Kiril. Right here, and quickly.
Now
.”

The priest stopped, turned slowly, lifted his eyes to look at Blade with curiosity. “Just this afternoon—”

“I know very well what happened this afternoon,” Lyssa interrupted sharply.

“I cannot....”

“You can,” she insisted.

Father Kiril turned his full attention to the insistent woman. “Lyssa, dear, this is highly unusual and totally unacceptable. I cannot—I
will not
—marry you to a stranger in the middle of the night. We’ll meet tomorrow, I’ll get to know your...” The priest cleared his throat. Twice. “. . . most recent betrothed, and—”

“That will not do, I’m afraid. How can I make you understand?” She sighed, once. “Fine, here’s the truth,” she snapped. “Years ago a witch told me that if I didn’t become a wife before I turned twenty-three I would never marry.” Her words were clipped and fast. “Actually, she said I would be alone forever.
Forever
, Father Kiril. I don’t like to be alone. Who does? I would not believe her. I tried not to believe her. But you know very well what my history in that matter has been like. And I have dreams of the terrible darkness and loneliness that will come to me if I don’t marry.
Now
.”

“Lyssa, dear...” The priest shook his head.

“If I don’t marry I will be a burden to my father always, or else I will be forced to join a nunnery.”

“The Sisters of Orianan do good work,” the priest argued.

Midnight was coming, and it was clear to Blade that if he and Lyssa weren’t wed by then it would not be done at all. If he let her slip away, his best chance at gaining entrance to the palace would be gone.

“Father Kiril,” Blade said, calling upon his most dignified voice, the voice of the man he had once been. “Lyssa’s reasoning aside, I pledge to be a good husband to her. And in order to thank you for your service in this hour, I also pledge to make a generous donation to the church.”

The priest’s spine straightened. “Why is it that I do not know you, son?”

Blade looked the priest in the eye, as if he had nothing to hide. Lying to a man of God was not his most egregious sin, not by a long shot. It was not even his most egregious sin committed on this long day. “I have only recently arrived in Arthes. The moment I saw Lyssa, I knew she was the only woman for me. If she has had misfortunes when it comes to marriage, then it is only because the fates were saving her for me.” Perhaps fate was not the proper argument, considering who was on the receiving end of this discussion. “God has brought us together. If it makes her happy to say our vows at this late hour and in such an unusual way, I will not deny her. I will be a good husband. I will give her everything she wants of me.” No need to reveal that all she wanted from him was a marriage ceremony and a bedding.

Lyssa stared at him, wide-eyed. He had managed to surprise her.

“Well, then,” the priest said, “since you swear that you will be a good husband to this child I have known all her life, and as you pledge a much needed donation to this church, how can I refuse?”

They were shown in through the rear door and led down a small hallway to the chapel proper. Father Kiril held his candle high, lighting their path a few steps at a time. The walls were a dark polished wood, plain, without any adornment, but also fine and well constructed. The air was sweet; it smelled of incense and candle wax and the oil that was used to polish the walls and furnishings.

Lyssa was in such a hurry to have the marriage done, she insisted that the priest perform the ceremony in his sleep clothes. The priest sighed in dismay but he quickly consented. He did have to leave them for a moment to wake the maid, so there would be a proper witness. Before Father Kiril left the chapel he lit three fat candles so Lyssa and her midnight groom would not be left in the dark while they waited.

It was a fine chapel, Blade noted, lit by those three candles. The flames danced, stirred by an unseen draft from one door or another. As in the hallway, the walls were constructed of fine dark wood, polished with oil and gleaming. The altar was constructed of a paler wood, but it, too, shone in the candlelight. The benches provided for worshippers were more roughhewn, but hardly the worst he had seen. They looked sturdy, well-built and well worn. When he tried to get Lyssa to sit on one of those benches while they waited for the priest, she refused, unable or unwilling to be still even for a moment.

She fidgeted as they waited, no doubt worried about the rapid approach of her twenty-third birthday.

Blade wanted to tell her that witches were often wrong, that they sometimes lied for their own amusement or simply did not know all they claimed to know. He wanted to tell her that the witch who’d predicted for him a happy life, marriage and sons and daughters, had been far off the mark, and it was more than likely that her frightening prediction was also false.

But if he reasoned with her and won, he would lose this opportunity. He’d sacrificed much to get this close to Volker, and he had no qualms about using a woman he barely knew.

Father Kiril returned with a sleep-rumpled housekeeper. The priest had grabbed a heavy robe along the way, so his appearance was a bit more dignified than it had been when he’d opened the door to Lyssa’s unusual request. The ceremony was simple and quick. Blade and his bride exchanged vows, promising eternal commitment; a prayer was said. When it was done and the priest declared them man and wife, Lyssa released a long sigh of relief. And still the bells announcing midnight did not ring.

Father Kiril yawned and bade them good evening, and then Blade and his wife exited the church the way they’d come and once again found themselves alone with the night.

“It’s done,” Lyssa said as they walked out of the alley and onto the main street, which was all but deserted at this hour. In the distance, a drunkard trying to find his way home stumbled along. “And you are still alive!”

“That surprises you?”

“Well, I have had difficulties with potential husbands in the past. A couple of them died on the way to the church.”

“That would have been nice to know beforehand,” Blade muttered.

Lyssa laughed nervously. “If I’d told you all of my wedding disaster history, you would have run from me.”

“That bad?”

“That bad. But it is done now. I am a wife, and it is not yet midnight.”

She looked at him and smiled, and in the glow of the moon and a streetlamp straight ahead, she looked even more beautiful than before. His body tightened; he ached.

“You must fuck me. Now.”

He was taken aback at her nonchalant use of the crude word he’d thrown at her before. Taken aback and oddly aroused. Clearly she did not
know
it was a crude word. He hadn’t realized there was such innocence left in the world.

Her chin came up stubbornly when she saw him hesitating. “It’s nothing to worry about, I suppose. I was rather prepared to endure my wifely duties tonight, before my previous groom left me for a...” She stuttered a bit. “F-for another woman.” She looked very much as if she were about to change her mind. “I barely know you, and you are in desperate need of a bath and a shave. And perhaps a kiss would serve as well as a, well, the other.”

“It’s up to you,” Blade said gently, as they walked slowly away from the church.
His
strides were long and slow. Lyssa’s were shorter and quicker as she attempted to match his pace. “As the priest said, the Sisters of Orianan do good work. I hear they minister to the sick and care for a number of orphans, and take in the most indigent. Some of them have taken on the task of educating the daughters of the Isen Demon, those who seem to be capable of redemption.” His heart hitched, a bit, but he felt no guilt. He would do or say whatever was necessary to make this marriage real. Otherwise, he suspected his way into the palace would disappear like fog burned away by a morning sun. “Only a few nuns have died because they were mistaken about the intentions of a demon child or two. They also pray a lot, I imagine, and—”