Nightshade (27 page)

“Your dress is very beautiful, Jessa.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“How are you finding your stay with us? Arravan is very different from Lyoness, but perhaps you’re discovering some of its many virtues.”

Jessa was staring at his boots, which made him notice the sheen of dust upon them. He hoped she realized he was just a man with dust upon his boots.

“I like your land very much, my Lord. I am unaccustomed to so much color. The earth here is rich with rain.”

Owen looked about the gardens as he clasped his hands behind his back, feeling relaxed. “Yes, it is very green. The land in Lyoness can be unforgiving.”

“Yes,” she said. “Much about my home is unforgiving.”

Owen tried to decide if her comment held more than he heard. “My wife and my daughters, they’ve been kind?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, holding his gaze then looking down as if afraid she would offend him. “They have all been most generous, and the Lady Alisha as well.”

Her words pleased him. “My wife was very nervous, you know,” he said, bending toward her, “that you would not like her.”

Jessa’s surprise was obvious. “My Lord?”

“And Emmalyn as well. This is the first visit, you must understand, that your father has ever sanctioned. The royal blood of your line has never set foot so deeply within my country before.”

“More is the pity for that,” Jessa said. “For I find that your family is…” Her words failed her.
Your family is
…

“My family is what?” he prompted her gently.

“Your family is…a family.”

Owen glanced at the trellis where his wife and Emmalyn spoke with Margery, no doubt discussing how the tea was to be served. “Perhaps not as proper as we should be at times,” he said. “The Lewellyn blood that is my wife’s family has always been, well, let us say
bold,
and we’ll leave it at that.”

“If love is bold, then yes, they are very bold.”

“You will stop wearing your veil after today?” he asked. “It is my understanding that custom allows you to remove it, once you’ve spoken alone with my son?”

“Yes, my Lord. I may remove the veil.”

“That would please me greatly,” he replied, surprised by how much he wished to see her face. Her eyes were a wonder. “I imagine that eating must be somewhat interesting, wearing such a thing.”

Jessa let out a breath of laughter. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Soup. Soup must be difficult.”

“Yes, soup.”

“And creamed leeks,” he said, wishing that she would look up once more. “I have a hard time keeping them from the front of my shirt, after which my wife scolds me like a child. It’s very troubling for a king.”

He hoped his feeble attempts to charm her were successful. He very much enjoyed trying to make her smile.

“Yes. Leeks are troubling all on their own, much less with sauce.”

“I don’t like them either.” Owen laughed, and Cecelia and Emmalyn came into the courtyard, obviously drawn by the sound. “Ah, yes, now I’ve done it,” Owen grumbled. Cecelia raised an eyebrow at him from across the courtyard. “She will see me talking with you, which I’m sure isn’t proper in some way, and she will box my ears.”

“Have a care for her ring then, my Lord,” Jessa said.

Owen turned in surprise but she had lowered her eyes. He studied her closely, noticing her black curls and the braids that were scattered throughout. Her posture was perfect, yet she had a vulnerability about her as she stood before him, her hands together at her waist and looking as if she would flinch at the slightest provocation. She did not appear frail, but it seemed as if she waited for a blow of some kind, an anxiousness about her demeanor that made him want to take her hand.
Waiting for what, I wonder.

They heard Malcolm’s voice across the courtyard and Jessa’s shoulders twitched just as he had predicted they might.
Waiting for that, I should imagine.

Cecelia took Malcolm’s arm after a few quiet words and they moved across the courtyard. Malcolm looked handsome in his black trousers and jacket with a green tunic, his thick hair brushed back and his mustache and goatee neatly trimmed. His blue eyes were on Jessa and he smiled as they approached. Jessa gave a low bow.

“Princess Jessa-Sirrah,” Cecelia said, letting go of Malcolm’s arm as he stepped close, too close in fact. She pulled at his jacket and Malcolm took a step back. “May I introduce, once again, our son, Prince Malcolm Edmund Durand, heir to the throne of Arravan and all the provinces held therein. Prince of Ishlere and Duke of Treemont. Liege Lord of Kenton and barrister to the High Court, and second to the High King in Council.”

Bloody hell, woman
. Owen scowled.
Why not just pound her on the head with a rock and be done with it?

Jessa rose smoothly. Owen’s eyes were drawn to her hands as she took hold of the jeweled clips within her hair and undid the veil, first one side and then the other.

The silk slid away and Owen saw her in full for the first time.
Sweet Gamar.

“I am the Princess Jessa-Sirrah de Cassey LaMarc de Bharjah,” she said, and met Cecelia’s gaze. They held each other’s eyes and Cecelia’s expression filled with question at the lengthy exchange.

Jessa held out the veil to her.

Cecelia stared at the delicate silk for several heartbeats before taking it in a stilted manner. Etiquette demanded that the veil be handed only to Jessa’s own mother or not at all. “Jessa,” Cecelia said under her breath.

Jessa’s attention returned to Malcolm. “And though I hold no lands or titles other than my name, I hold the hearts of my people with great care next to my own. Unlike my brothers, who are neglectful of such things. And unlike my father, who has forgotten them altogether.”

Sweet seven hells
. Owen could not remember when he had last been so intrigued by another person, unless it were Darry. But then his youngest child was her own sort of revelation and one that could not be compared to any other he had yet encountered. And though he felt he had ruined that well enough for himself, the surprising joy that was her wild blood, he could still admire it from a distance. Darry had taught him that much at least, though the lesson had come at a terrible price. Not everything was meant to be tamed, and one man’s propriety could be another man’s hell.

“I am most pleased to make your acquaintance once again, Princess,” Malcolm said with an easy smile, though his eyes studied her with an awareness they had not held but a moment before. “Perhaps we might have tea?”

“I would like that very much,” Jessa said, remembering how he had spoken to Darry upon the balustrade and his cruel tone as he goaded her.

How would you speak to
me
, I wonder, if you knew that…if you knew that I would give all that I have at this moment to have your sister standing before me instead of you?
A terrible wave of panic moved through her and she felt like laughing as she realized the man before her might very well end up her husband.
And what would I do if he were? What would
you
do, Darry?

Malcolm waited patiently for her to take his arm. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and they moved away from his parents, walking to one of the far tables where the tea had been set for them.

Owen placed a hand at the small of Cecelia’s back. “She cannot possibly be Bharjah’s child.”

Cecelia studied the veil, her heart pricked by the fact that Jessa had given it to her. It was the mother’s honor to keep the veil, which symbolized that her daughter would no longer be hers and was a keepsake of immense significance. Cecelia swallowed over a tight throat and took a deep breath, honored and humbled. “Her mother was said to be the most beautiful woman in Lyoness.”

“I remember,” Owen said. “The girl from the Ibarris Plains.”

“I imagine,” Cecelia said as Malcolm held out a chair for Jessa, “that she’s more her mother’s than his, for all that she died years ago.”

“You’re to stay and chaperone?” he asked. “To make sure Malcolm does not insult her?”

“Yes. Emmalyn and I will sit within the solar.”

“Perhaps just Emmalyn?” he asked in a tone of voice she recognized all too well. “My morning is surprisingly free.”

Cecelia chuckled and slapped at his chest with the back of her hand as she moved away. “Go and do something stately, Owen, and let me attend to my duties.”

“As you command, my love.”

Owen watched Jessa once more and his humor faded as Malcolm poured the tea. Her shoulders were tight with the same anxiousness, only perhaps now it had spread. Jessa seemed to hold herself at a strange distance from what was happening around her.

Owen walked down the garden path, thinking upon his greatest enemy and the beautiful child he had sent in offer of a lasting truce, wondering what the price would be if his son chose to keep her. He understood the long-term payment, a child of Lyonese blood on his family’s throne, but he knew as well that Bharjah wanted something more immediate. The Lowlands would never be Bharjah’s unless he took them by force, so what would the Butcher of the Plains demand instead?

Jessa took up the teacup with a graceful hand as Malcolm began to talk. He was indeed quite handsome, as Jessa knew, but near at hand and with his attention on her, his eyes held a different sort of spark. He spoke of how glad he was that she was there, and that he was pleased at the opportunity to treat with her brother. She sipped her tea and smiled, as Radha had counseled, and searched his eyes. When she found them, he would look away. His reaction was discreet, but it was something she could not miss.

He spoke easily of Arravan and how when etiquette would allow, he would like very much to show her his city, for Lokey held many wonders that Karballa did not. He said this, and Jessa knew that he had never been to her city and could not possibly know what wonders it might hold. He did not ask her of Karballa or the Jade Palace, nor did he speak at all of Lyoness.

He smoothed his beard and Jessa noted that his nails were well-kept and his skin soft-looking. This was an affectation, she realized, that he would indulge when he was searching for something to say. He was polite, of course, but she saw almost at once that his mind was elsewhere. When her porcelain cup was empty of tea she waited as form dictated, but he did not fill it until his own cup was empty. She thanked him and he nodded absently, after which he engaged in more courtly talk.

He spoke of the Green Hills and how he hoped she would not mind that he would steal her brother away for the hunting. And then he spoke of his skill with the bow and how he hoped that they would bring down a stag, so that once more they might enjoy the rarity of its prized flesh. He asked how she had enjoyed such a delicacy, and when she expressed her appreciation in a lie, he leaned back in his chair, looking pleased.

After an hour or so he glanced at the trellis and Jessa saw that his councilor Marteen Salish was waiting. Malcolm nodded to him. He made his excuses politely and thanked her for the wonderful visit even as he rose from his chair. He stepped about the table and held his hand out, and she took it gently. She had to turn somewhat awkwardly from her chair, which he had not pulled out. When he asked if they might have lunch on the morrow and a walk within the gardens the next, she said yes.

Emmalyn was there then, taking her arm as Malcolm bowed and left them. He moved toward the trellis with more concern than Jessa had witnessed the entire time they had just spent together.

And within that moment Jessa knew the truth. She knew that Prince Malcolm Durand had no intention of marrying her and most likely never had. He had no interest in her at all, not as his future wife or even a friend. She knew it as surely as she stood there, and the knowledge struck her like a fist. If she was not here as a possible wife then why was she here at all? The question was the same as always, yet she had not expected it from the Prince himself.
What are we in the middle of, Radha?

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Emmalyn asked.

“Might I go back to my rooms now, Emmalyn?”

Emmalyn squeezed Jessa’s arm and stepped closer. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll come for you at lunch?”

“I don’t think so,” Jessa replied. “I did not sleep well last night, and I think perhaps…”

Emmalyn waited but Jessa said nothing more. “An afternoon nap,” Emmalyn said with a friendly smile. “A splendid idea.”

She led Jessa toward the trellis and the path that would take them to the residence, casting her mother a worried glance.

Cecelia felt a twitch at her temple in response. She had not missed Malcolm’s breaches in etiquette or the fact that he had barely let Jessa speak. She could only imagine what he might have been saying the entire time, and she surmised that nothing was quite so boring to a prospective bride as talk of the millosha wheat harvest and the imported silks from Greymear.

“Dammit, Mal,” she said softly, staring at the veil in her hands.

Darry pulled herself up with a grimace, gripping the turn in the stone firmly as she swung to the right. She threw her left arm up and grasped the top edge of the balcony rail, hauling her body after.

She rested her waist against the stone, her lower body dangling some thirty feet above the ground. She was just in time to see Jessa take down several dresses from the pole between the hearth and the balcony archway, freshly laundered and dry from the warmth of the hearth and the fresh summer breeze.