Heather Graham (14 page)

Pierce’s lip curled. “I’m afraid that she is not.”

“She will do as I command her, I am certain.”

“Charles, I will not simply forget all that happened!”

“Pierce!” the king persisted. “I am not asking you to forget anything. I am asking you to do what is right.”

His spine stiffened. Fine. He would marry her. And he’d lock her in some damned tower somewhere and throw away the key.

“Your wish, Your Majesty, is ever my command!” he said tensely.

“Good.” Charles stood. He waved a hand to his servant. “Fetch Father Martin and the papers I’ve had drawn up. I shall give her to you in marriage in her father’s place. Damon there and Lady Bower can be witnesses. We’ll have it done this night. Ah, Pierce! You may go for your bride.”

“You want me to fetch her? And wed her here and now?”

Stunned, he looked at the king. Charles had started making these arrangements the moment he had learned about Anne, Pierce realized. Why?

Because of Rose Woodbine’s father’s money and position in the colonies. Charles was a careful king. A king who meant to keep his crown—and his head.

Pierce almost laughed at the irony of it. Then he quickened, tightening his jaw, as a startling jolt seared through him. She was here. Near. And the king intended that they would be wed tonight. She’d be his wife. His bride. Legally. His possession. His to take …

Love was lost. Tempest remained.

Was it hunger, was it a wild fury? He stood. “Indeed! Let me fetch my enchanting little bride to be!”

He bowed low to the king, then exited his chambers. Fine. He’d bring Rose Woodbine. In his present mood, it should be quite a wedding.

In the hallway he paused, and laughed aloud, a hollow sound, one filled with irony. It was rich! Dear God, it was all very, very rich! Now he knew why the king had sent for Garth. To prepare his chambers for the bride.

Well, Garth needn’t have bothered much here. He was going to find the man and send him back home again.

He wouldn’t be staying at court. The moment he had wed Rose, he’d be taking her home. If she had been any part of the plot, she would get all that she had desired. She would be a wife!

Rose set the last of her folded garments into the trunk, then sat down at the foot of the bed. It was beginning to seem like forever since the disastrous hunting party. She had barely seen a soul since then, and she didn’t want to see anyone. Except Mary Kate. And she was sick with worry about her, even though the king had promised to find the woman. From what his men had discovered so far, it seemed that Mary Kate had already been put aboard a ship bound for the colonies, unconscious, as someone’s ailing and elderly aunt!

Jerome and Jamison had planned this so very well! And DeForte had the nerve to believe that she might have been involved!

She felt a trembling within her, and determined that she would not think about DeForte!

Rose had discovered through a friendly guard that a ship was leaving the London docks that very night for Jamestown in the Virginia colony, and she wanted to be on it. She didn’t care if she had anyone’s permission to leave or not—she was going to do so!

She rose, determined to find some servant to help her with her trunks, but even as she opened the doorway to the hall, a dark presence appeared like a storm, such a whirlwind of energy that she found herself instantly backing into her room once again. DeForte! As he approached her, she jumped, wary, her temper flaring, every humiliating memory of the hunting trip rushing to the fore of her mind.

“Leaving, Mistress Woodbine?” he demanded, quickly taking in the packed trunks along the wall.

“Get out of here!” she commanded him. Hands on his hips, silver eyes flaming, he took a step closer to her. She jumped back, returning his gaze with wary hatred.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he demanded angrily. “I’ve never hurt you!”

“You’ve never—” she began to repeat, but she exploded. “Oh! Get out! Get out! How could you have the awful arrogance to come here! I don’t want to see you, I don’t ever want to see you again; I thought that I had made that quite clear!”

“Mistress Woodbine, I don’t give a damn what you do or do not want. The king commands you appear before him. With me.”

“Why?”

“Why? You are an arrogant little witch. He is the king. And I am to bring you to him.”

Rose backed away again. “Why?”

He swept his hat from his head, bowed elegantly low. There was a fever about him tonight. One that made his silver eyes glitter, his every movement charged with lightning and energy. His eyes seemed to impale hers. His piercing stare brought back vivid memories. Awaking with him. Being touched by him. So intimately.

“Why?” she gasped out again.

“There is to be a wedding.”

“Whose?”

“Ours.”

“Ours!”

“Indeed, mistress! And I am glad to discover that you are not hard of hearing! I’m also glad that you are packed. It will save time.”

“Time?”

“We’re going home. Tonight.”

“My home is across the Atlantic!”

“Mine is an hour’s ride south of London.”

She shook her head wildly. “What jest is this! You nearly threw me upon the floor in your haste to be rid of me—”

“Never, Miss Woodbine, did I throw you on the floor.”

“You threw me on the bed.”

“Now, that I may do again.”

“Oh! This is a joke, surely! I’ll never marry you. Never!”

“Fine. Inform the king. Then we’ll be done with it.”

She couldn’t begin to tell if he was serious or not. All she knew was that it was the most horrible suggestion she had ever heard. It seemed tonight that he longed to throttle her more than ever. They could never, never be wed. They were like fire and oil, ungodly explosive together.

“What of the Lady Anne?” she demanded. She backed away again, for his expression grew dark.

“Anne has married Lord Bryant,” he said.

Rose gasped, then stuttered out, “But—but surely she did not do so on purpose—”

It was the wrong thing to say. He only looked more furious.

“The king,” he stated harshly, “has said that the marriage will stand.”

She stared at him hard, at the rigid tension in his towering frame, at the flames in his eyes.

Oh, God. She felt ill. Anne was lost to him. He didn’t want to marry her. But he would do so.

Dear Lord. It would be a living hell.

“I will see Charles!” she declared. Slipping around him, she ran into the hall. He was behind her, following her. She started to run, then realized that she didn’t know where to find the king. It didn’t matter. DeForte was right behind her. She spun around to see him, and in that moment he caught up with her, taking her arm.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Don’t be absurd. I’ve touched much more than your arm.”

“And I will never forgive you for it!”

“Really?”

She inhaled sharply, fiercely trying to free herself from his hold. “Don’t start that again. I warn you, don’t!”

He fell silent, then whirled her around. They had come to a door. She gasped, realizing that it was the king’s bedchamber. Pierce knocked softly. The door opened instantly and a servant led them in. The king was waiting for her, his arms outstretched. “My beautiful Rose! I hope DeForte has told you that we mean to atone for what things we might this night! I shall give you to Lord DeForte in your father’s stead. The good Father Martin here will marry you, Lady Bower will see to your needs, and Pierce’s man Garth sees to it even now that Lord DeForte’s quarters will be a fitting bridal chamber!”

Rose shuddered. Dear God! It was true. The king himself meant to press this thing!

Because he thought her wronged, she determined. An innocent woman—tarnished, ruined. He didn’t understand. She might bemoan the loss of her innocence, but certainly not enough to marry DeForte!

“Your Majesty, forgive me. I greatly appreciate your kind concern. But I don’t want to marry him.”

“Nonsense. It is your father’s desire.”

“I don’t want—”

“Rose. It is seldom, if ever, that such a nobleman would marry a commoner! You must thank God for your good fortune.”

She couldn’t seem to speak, the king was so insistent. Her knees were trembling. She was so strong! She could always fight. And now, in a matter that was this important to her, she couldn’t seem to wage her battle at all.

“Your Majesty, please! Where I grew up, we really do not think so highly of titles! We were both part of a wretchedly cruel trick. This is a gracious gesture on your part, but I don’t want to marry him! Please—” She stared hard at DeForte. If he would only say something!

But he didn’t. His teeth were gritted. He still just stared at her. Then smiled. Like a cat with a bird. Oh, he meant to devour her!

“Your Majesty,” she began as reasonably as she could manage. “I am truly well, I wish only to go home—”

“I couldn’t possibly allow you to return to your home, my little beauty, no longer a maid and still no man’s wife! What would your good father think?”

“I can talk to Father, and Sire! You are the king!”

“Indeed, Rose, I am the king. And I command it!”

She shook her head. Charles had his hand on her wrist, drawing her forward. He lifted a hand, summoning the priest from the shadow of the draperies at the edge of his bed. Then she realized that there was a buxom, smiling older woman in the room, and others. A few of the older ladies, two more servants. They were all coming forward.

She began to feel the jaws of a trap falling shut.

“Your Majesty, I am your loyal subject. In all things but this!” Rose declared. “Please, Sire, I—”

Charles kissed her fingers, smiling assuringly. “Read from the good book,” he told the priest. “As short a ceremony as will be binding before God, I think.”

They really meant to do this to her. She slipped her fingers from the king’s. She turned, meaning to flee.

To her astonishment, the king pulled her back, pressing her toward DeForte. DeForte lifted her and threw her over a shoulder.

“Read!” the king commanded pleasantly.

The priest began to read. Panic was settling over Rose. She pushed against DeForte’s shoulders. “Stop this!”

He shrugged. His hold was like steel. “Oh, I am quite resigned to it.”

The priest read on, raising his voice over hers. DeForte lowered her to the ground, still holding her tightly. His hand wound around hers.

The priest was droning on, louder and louder, speaking above her furious words. “Damn you! Why?”

Pierce’s voice lowered. He whispered only to Rose. “Perhaps to make you pay!” His fingers tightened around hers. “Yes. I do!” he said suddenly.

“And do you, Rose Woodbine …”

“There is nothing to make me pay for! I was the injured party, don’t you understand?”

“Mistress Woodbine?” the priest inquired.

“Say, ‘I do,’ Rose!” Pierce commanded, his silver eyes burning.

She shook her head. “But I don—” she broke off with a scream. A booted foot had hit hard upon her toes.

She looked to her left with amazement. It had been the king’s foot. He smiled at her quite pleasantly.

“She does!” he told the priest. “Didn’t you hear her? I did, distinctly. That was an ‘I do.’ Now, get on with the ceremony, my good man!”

A moment later, they were pronounced man and wife. The king had apparently already had the papers drawn up. She found herself signing them. Charles signed them. Her marriage had been witnessed by God and the king. What could be more binding?

How in God’s name had this happened? She stared at her new husband. He still looked as if he longed for her throat. No one could be happy with this, not the bride, not the groom …

Just her father! Oh, yes, he would be delighted! Somehow the impossible had been achieved for him.

While for her …

She had just been married to a man who hated her.

“A wedding toast!” the king cried. “To the greatest of my cavaliers—and the most beautiful new lady within my realm. Long life, strong sons and daughters, and the greatest happiness!”

Wine was poured. She wanted to throw it at all of them, the very charming king of England included! But she could not do so. She swallowed a single sip.

“Pray, lady! One day you will thank me!” the king whispered to her.

She didn’t think so.

He kissed her cheek. Someone else did the same. She could scarcely feel anything, she was so numb.

Then her new husband had her hand again. “You will all forgive me. I have made arrangements to take my bride home tonight, and we’ve quite a ride ahead of us. We thank you all for witnessing this joyous occasion, and beg that you allow us to take our leave.”

The king seemed startled. “Pierce, I assumed you would stay here.”

Rose looked swiftly to the two of them. She knew instantly that the king wanted Pierce to remain. He was afraid Lord DeForte would still go after the Lady Anne, try to avenge her kidnapping somehow. She felt very much like a pawn. The king might care for her—but she was certain that she had also been given to Pierce just like a bone might be given to a hound. She was to entertain him, distract him.

“Ah, Sire! I would very much like to begin our wedded life where we shall live in our newfound bliss.”

“It would be so much nicer to remain here!” Rose cried. She was suddenly very anxious to remain near the king.

At the very least, Pierce would not dare throttle her here.

But his eyes were on her suddenly, burning their silver fire. And his whisper was very soft, for her ears only, when he spoke. “Unless you wish these lovely ladies to strip you, and the king to attend a public bedding, I suggest you agree with me!”

She paled and felt faint. Yes. It was done all the time. All these people might well follow them to Pierce’s chambers here, rip away their clothing.

“Come with me. Now!” Pierce commanded.

The next few moments seemed a wild rush. The king kissed her cheek again. They bid the assembled company farewell. They ran through the hallways. He moved so quickly. She was breathless. “My things—”

“My servant will have seen to them.”

They were outside in the darkness of the night and he was shouting for his horse. And before she knew it, she was seated atop his great Beowulf, and he was behind her. She began to tremble.