Everlasting (3 page)

 
She felt her mother’s hand slide into hers, and turned to the woman who bore her, who now suffered as equally for Abrielle’s pain as for
her own. She grieved for both husband and daughter, and Abrielle had to do what she could to alleviate her mother’s suffering.

 
“Mama, how is my stepfather?”

 
Elspeth sighed and spoke over the cheerful notes of music echoing through the great hall. “He will not speak to me now, not when others can see. But I know the grief and suffering in his heart. This unfairness to him causes me great sorrow. And as for what it does to you—”

 
“Speak not of it, not here,” Abrielle said, giving her mother a brittle smile that she feared might separate her face. “Everything will work out for the best, and this painful evening will soon be forgotten.”

 
But Elspeth’s expression was full of doubt, and Abrielle could look at her no longer without feeling the insidious threat of tears. She looked back at the crowd of dancing men and women, keeping her chin lifted as if she had not a care in the world.

 
And she saw Desmond de Marlé watching her with open interest that he no longer couched with simpering fawning. Nay, he was not one of those men who looked at her for her wealth; he stared with a lustfulness that sickened her to her soul. She quickly looked away lest he think her gaze an expression of interest.

 
Was he the only type of man she could attract now? A man who would own her like a rare tapestry and hang her about his great hall for all to view and envy?

 
And he wasn’t the only one, she saw with a quiet feeling of growing horror. Men who skulked about the edges of the hall now moved nearer, as if they were rats after only one small piece of cheese.

 
Yet Vachel stood guard over her, his face impassive, his eyes watchful, and she knew a feeling of temporary relief. But how long could it last? How could he protect her, when he had so little consequence at court?

 
And then she saw that Cordelia, who’d been given from one dance partner to the next, was now approached by Raven. Inside, Abrielle felt a tightening she couldn’t explain, but quickly asked herself why on
earth she should feel slighted that the handsome Scot would choose to dance with a wonderful woman like Cordelia? And Cordelia was not just any woman, but the very one who also happened to be her oldest and dearest friend. Later, in the privacy of her chamber, she would sort out her feelings, but for now, she fashioned a dazzling smile so that no one would suspect the turmoil inside her. She also felt true concern for her friend, as Raven had not yet been introduced to Cordelia, yet approached her nonetheless; such behavior did not speak well of his intentions toward her, for he should have presented himself to her father first.

 
As she continued to smile and pretend to be enjoying the festivities, she realized that Cordelia and Raven were not dancing, but speaking, quietly and with great absorption, occasionally casting a furtive glance in her direction. Unless her instincts were entirely mistaken, they were discussing her, and when the two suddenly turned to look at her, Abrielle was the one caught staring as her dear friend smiled and the Scotsman frowned. Abrielle held her breath as she wondered what they were about. She had to caution her headstrong friend to be more careful as well, for the Scotsman seemed to be overly bold.

 
They began to move toward her through the crowd, and with each step she felt dread mixed with a strange chilling excitement that she didn’t want to feel. To her horror, Cordelia was doing her the great favor of persuading a man to dance with her, and not just any man, but one whose manner of approaching both young women was questionable. It was true a part of her would not mind a dance with the handsome Scot, only under more appropriate circumstances.

 
She glanced toward her parents, only to see that they were, quite understandably, speaking intently between themselves. She was obviously doing nothing to attract the Scot, but to her he came, his long stride marked with easy grace and an air of quiet power that made others instinctively move from his path. As he drew steadily closer, Abrielle could not help noting how perfectly his traditional garb fit
his frame. It stretched taut across his broad shoulders and chest, and emphasized his lean hips and long legs, as if very talented hands had stitched it with him inside.

 
It was not his clothes that commanded her attention as he came within a stone’s throw, however. An infinitely more gifted artist had chiseled the man himself and she was mesmerized by the raw beauty of his countenance: full dark brows curved above alert blue-black eyes filled with awareness, a slight bump where it had once been broken only added to the appeal of an otherwise perfectly configured nose, and high, sharp cheekbones provided a thrilling hint of the fierce predator. Only his mouth, full and exquisitely shaped, added a touch of softness and…and then he stopped before her.

 
Cordelia’s smile was full of a subtle nervousness that only Abrielle could see. “Abrielle, this gentleman has requested an introduction to you.” Neither of the friends spoke aloud about the fact that this was not, could not be, a formal introduction, but they were indeed young women, and eager to learn more of the world, especially when the lesson involved such a devastatingly handsome, devastatingly masculine male. “May I present…”

 
Raven swept into a bow and spoke solemnly. “Raven Seabern, my lady.”

 
Abrielle managed a curtsy. “I am Abrielle of Harrington,” she said, thinking that he was even more skilled at hiding his true feelings than she was. Anyone looking on would believe Raven really had sought to dance with her, rather than being wheedled into so doing by the kindhearted Cordelia.

 
“And your late father is one of the braw men we honor this night?” Raven asked.

 
She nodded, not daring to look at Vachel, who also deserved such honor; she was relieved, as well, that her parent had other things to think about in the wake of the king’s announcement. Her stepfather
would be concerned that she was meeting a man whom he did not know, who had not presented himself to Vachel as custom required. Would he consider it an even deeper dishonor to have a Scot speak to his stepdaughter?

 
Cordelia placed a hand on her arm. “I asked if there were more like him at home, but he insists he has no brothers.”

 
Raven smiled faintly at Cordelia. “Only my da, but he’s become set in his ways since my mother passed on. Ta be sure, lass, ye’ve the looks that could quicken his heart ta a loud drumbeat were he here.”

 
Abrielle blinked in surprise, not knowing whether to feel affronted. Was Raven flirting with Cordelia brazenly in front of her? She felt greatly comforted when her friend actually giggled in response to the Scotsman’s gallant words. “You must understand, sir. I wasn’t necessarily asking for any particular purpose.” She lifted her shoulders, offering a reason for her question. “I was merely curious.”

 
Abrielle could have groaned at her friend’s remark, but just at that moment the musicians began another dance. It was this that Abrielle was truly dreading, as Raven no doubt would feel obligated to dance with her. To refuse outright would publicly dishonor him and herself, but her fierce pride ached to do precisely that. Her fortunes may have changed in the past hour, but she refused to be the object of any man’s pity and was frantically searching for a way to balance honor with pride when his deep voice intruded.

 
“May I have this dance, my lady?”

 
Abrielle lifted her chin, keeping her voice low so only he could hear. “You honor me with your request, sir, but surely you would enjoy the dance more with your first choice of partner.” She gave the slightest of nods toward Cordelia, who’d been drawn into conversation with an older woman on her right.

 
“I couldna agree more,” replied Raven. “Which is why I stand before ye, my lady, hoping beyond reason your kind heart will move ye
ta take pity on a clumsy Scots oaf and keep him from appearing a total clod amongst the local talent.”

 
Abrielle couldn’t help smiling at how cleverly he’d turned the tables, as she’d been chafing at being the object of his pity and he’d very openly and charmingly made a plea for hers. The man might not have a talent for dancing, as he claimed, but his persuasive skills were of the highest order. Clearly he’d been born to be a diplomat, and when he held out his hand to her, Abrielle couldn’t have resisted if she wanted to.

 
The moment the beautiful young woman was in his arms, Raven Seabern knew he’d made a terrible mistake. He was leading her by the hand into the quickly forming circle as couples young and old merged together. The steps were simple enough to follow as others began to demonstrate their talents and abilities in time with the music, doing a sprightly jig or a tapping of a toe and heel as they moved around in a never-ending wheel of cavorting dancers. Henry’s booming laughter evidenced the pleasure he was savoring as he watched his guests enjoying themselves. To be sure, those who had been inclined to think the banquet would be a dull, solemn occasion came quickly to the realization that it had changed into a very lively affair indeed, obviously the sort His Majesty preferred over more somber events such as the one that had just been concluded.

 
But rather than watching the earlier dancers, Raven had been watching Abrielle far too much this evening, for she was the most stunning creature he had ever seen. From the moment he’d first seen her tonight in the great hall, he’d found it nearly impossible to keep from openly staring. Her red-gold hair tumbled freely as a maiden’s should, a shining, flaming glory to the torch that was her beauty. Her pink lips had called to him for kisses; her smooth, creamy skin, glowing beneath the softness of candlelight, had beckoned his trembling fingers to touch and caress. Never before had he felt such a response on merely seeing a maiden.

 
It was because he’d been watching her so intently that he’d seen the change in her. He’d seen the light of exhilaration so suddenly and utterly extinguished and how, for a fleeting moment, it was replaced with a look of total desolation. It was the sort of look that could break even the hardest heart. It had taken everything in him to avoid her after the banquet, to watch her stand between her parents with quiet courage when no young lords asked her to dance. And that was when he’d realized that her stepfather must have felt it was his time to be honored, and the king’s decision had dealt him a blow, thereby affecting this sweet maiden. But how? What secrets did this small family conceal? So taken by her was he that he approached her friend and then her without having been formally introduced to either young woman.

 
Her young friend Cordelia of Grayson had obviously wanted to help her by presenting Raven as a dance partner He watched her watching him as he approached and saw her every thought reflected in her translucent eyes. Interest, uncertainty, suspicion, dread. All girded with that dauntless pride of hers. She was not the sort to take pleasure in a man trammeled on her behalf and served up to her on a platter…not even by a friend with the best intentions. She clearly had not wanted his attention, and where with another woman he would have felt merely challenged, if he felt anything at all, Abrielle’s rejection, delivered with that sweetly slashing smile, cut dangerously deep. Raven rarely encountered an unwilling woman, and rarer still were those occasions when he bothered to exert himself to change her mind. But a man like Raven Seabern got what he wanted, and dance with her he would.

 
And dance they had, separating as the pattern required, coming together, and joining hands repeatedly. Each time it was as if he were burned, scorched by her beauty and softness. He didn’t like feeling as if his own control meant naught. At one point, he lifted her high, his big hands spanning her fragile rib cage. It was then that he saw the
tinge in her face and sensed her breathing stop and felt a momentary wonder: Could she, too, be feeling the lure of deep attraction?

 
The dance was over too soon, and all he could do was escort her back to her parents. Her mother gave him a smile, her stepfather a simple nod, and Abrielle a deep curtsy. And then she wouldn’t look at him. After that moment they’d shared on the dance floor, he was even more intrigued by her reticence. He wondered what it portended, though he doubted whether he would ever know for sure, for on the morrow he was yet again to be off in the service of his king, was not even cognizant of when he would return to his beloved highland home.