Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls (4 page)

“Perhaps while we wait this would be an appropriate time for introductions.”

“Perhaps it would.”

Vivienne waited, but so did her hulking nurse. The man had an impressive capacity to loom ominously. She tried to think how to answer him. Perhaps the wolves hadn’t planned to eat her after all, but he’d surely still saved her from freezing to death in the snow. She owed him some gratitude, and it would be churlish to withhold her name. On the other hand, well…

On the other hand, there were several very good reasons for her to lie her tongue black right now. After all, if she told the truth, the best that was likely to happen was that he would send a note to her father, informing him of her whereabouts. There were other, less savory scenarios, as well. She was a very valuable person, and her father was only one of the people who would pay a great deal of money to a man demanding ransom.

In the end, it wasn’t a very difficult decision to make. After all, she could always apologize later, if he turned out to be completely trustworthy.

“I’m Isabelle Wellesley.” Isabelle was her mother’s name, that had been an easy choice, but it was a calculated gamble, using Max’s last name. His lineage was public knowledge, and if this man knew enough of the Albian peerage her lie would be obvious. She judged it was worth the risk, though. If he wrote to the Wellesley house, Max would intercept the message, and he’d play along with anything she claimed.

“Related to the Duke?” The mountain man’s eyebrow shot up as he recognized the name. Drat.

Vivi gave a charming smile. “The Duke is my father’s second cousin.
My
family is in trade. We run a merchant fleet.” With all the time she’d spent studying trade negotiations with the Chins, she could easily pose as a tradesman’s daughter.

“And what is a merchant’s daughter doing, running alone through the Toldan mountains, Miss Wellesley?”

F rom his carefully bland tone it was clear he was suspicious, but Vivienne wasn’t worried. She lied like a champion. The trick to a good lie, she’d found, was to always use as much truth as possible. So she answered him honestly.

“My mother was from Toldas, and when she died my father refused to speak of her ever again. I wanted to visit my relatives and learn more about her, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She wasn’t faking the petulance in her voice now. Really, she was quite put out with her father. “In fact, he tried to marry me off to keep me home.” The parade of men she had been presented with was too humiliating to contemplate. Some were grey-haired lechers looking for a second wife, and some were so young it would have been a marriage in name only for years to come. But all had been loyal subjects of her father, guaranteed to tie her down in Albion. It had been intolerable. “So I left.”

“Just like that? Most fathers don’t let their daughters run off.”

“My best friend, Max, and his friend, Ella, helped me escape.”

“They let you ride off alone?”

“Of course not.” In fact, she had left with three guards, but Verit came down with a raging fever, and Vivi had ordered Martin to tend him until he was well enough to be escorted back to Albion. That left just Wallace. “My guard’s horse came up lame in one of the towns we passed through, and the innkeeper there recognized me from my trips with my father.” The innkeeper had, indeed, recognized her, but not from a mundane trading trip. She and her father had passed through several times on their regular tours of the kingdom. “He would have escorted me home, or alerted my father to my whereabouts, but Wallace wouldn’t listen. He thought I was overreacting. So I snuck out that night and headed for the hills.”

“I imagine he followed you.”

She shrugged with her left shoulder. “Perhaps for a while. I’m sure he returned home when he couldn’t find me.”

“It will be hard on your man when he shows up without you. What do you think your father will do?”

Vivienne blanched. She honestly hadn’t considered what would happen to the guards if they reported back to the palace without her. If she were really a merchant’s daughter then Wallace would return home to an undeserved sacking, but given that her father wasn’t a merchant at all, all three of her guards faced a far more dire punishment. Would he throw them in prison? Most likely. Vivi felt sick. She’d never thought they’d be returning without her, so she’d made no provision to shelter them from blame. She was furiously trying to think of a way to help them when her interrogator broke in.

“Cat got your tongue? Or do you just not care what happens?” His voice was full of disdain, and despite her guilt Vivi’s temper flared.

“Of course I care! Wallace has been my guard for over ten years; besides Max he’s the closest thing I have to a friend.” All her guards were. The remorse was still there, but her anger was stronger. This bumbling giant had no right to pass judgement on her. She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it was merely an oversight on my part. It never occurred to me that Wallace would be punished until you mentioned it.”

“Well, you certainly
sound
like a typical member of the peerage.” His voice was loaded with cynicism and doubt.

“I beg your pardon?” Vivi spoke frostily.

“You know: flighty, thoughtless, spoiled. Self-centered. Just what I would expect from a wealthy young woman.”

“Excuse me?!”
Except for the lie about her name and rank, she had told the truth. He thought she was flighty and thoughtless? How
dare
he?!

“Oh, no need to act offended. It’s not like I believe a word you’re saying.”

She glared at him. She really was an excellent actress. If Fain hadn’t learned long ago to trust his instincts, he’d even believe her. She had a fine-boned face and a patrician nose that could easily have come from one of the high families of Albion. He wondered where they found her. “No need to glower. It’s a good story. A young woman running away from a forced marriage isn’t implausible, and you certainly sold it well. But the little voice in my head tells me you’re lying.” And for the past twelve years he’d trusted that little voice implicitly.

“Would the little voice care to elaborate precisely why?” Her eyes glittered with irritation, while her voice dripped sarcasm.

“No need to mock me, lass. It isn’t as though I’m the only one who talks about things that aren’t really there.”

“I assure you, I never speak of things that—”

“Really?” he broke in. “How are the sparkles?” He smirked at her and saw her spine stiffen.

“What?”

“The sparkles. You know, swirly golden sparkles? You kept talking about them.”

“Clearly I was drunk and hallucinating.” She spoke through a clenched jaw. “They’re gone now. What
do
you make that vile beverage out of?”

“Pine needles and bread mold.”

The look on her face was priceless, but her retort came swiftly.

“You don’t happen to add raw sewage to it, do you?”

“Now that you mention it—” he almost laughed, but caught himself and turned away to attend to the tea. The kettle began to hiss, and he dropped a bundle of herbs into a mug and then filled it to the brim with boiling water. “This should taste slightly better, but only slightly. Once it’s cool enough, drink it down.”

The lass clutched the mug in the long tapered fingers of her good hand, and he watched her blow across the surface of the tea. She finally lowered her eyelashes, taking her murderous glare off of him, but he kept staring at her, his lips twisting in a grimace born of bitter amusement. He wondered if he would have been convinced that she was nothing but a spoiled heiress, if he hadn’t seen her arm set. The woman who never screamed while her bones were realigned just didn’t seem like the same person as the petulant girl who spoke casually about running away from home.

“Tell me the rest of your tale. How did you end up outside?”

Fain leaned his weight against the bed and studied the violet-eyed lass who grated out a tale about being chased by wolves and thrown from her horse during her bid for freedom. He didn’t believe her, but he was sure another man would have. She was beautiful. She was sincere. And he was convinced in his bones that she was lying. Her clothes, person, even the casual grace with which she shrugged her shoulder… all were consistent with her story, but it didn’t matter. Someone must have gone through a lot of effort to set this up, which made him wonder what exactly his enemies were planning on doing with the information she retrieved.

“Well, Miss Wellesley, that is an amazing story. Your tea should be cool enough to drink, now.” He spoke blandly, but she raised her eyebrows so high that they almost disappeared beneath the dark fall of her hair.

“You really don’t believe me.” She sounded bewildered.

“I’ve a suspicious mind. Tell me, though, where were you bound?”

“Inisle, of course.” She took a cautious sip of her tea, and made a face. That was to be expected; all of Connelly’s healing concoctions were foul. As she slowly drank, she kept speaking. “I want to know what happened to my mother, and I want to meet my kin.”

“Right.” He acknowledged what she said without giving any sort of indication that he accepted it in the slightest, and the lass rolled her eyes.

“Fine, don’t believe me. After all, I’m sure you get any number of hapless goose girls and lost milk maidens who stumble upon your keep and instantly claim to be wealthy women who have lost their way. It must happen all the time. I bet you’re knee deep in stranded young women. Your cynicism is
completely
understandable.”

Fain couldn’t keep from grinning at the overdone sincerity she loaded into her response. He was surprised when she offered back a mischievous smile, instead of pouting or demanding he believe her.

“I’ll say one thing, Miss Wellesley. You’re a bundle of contradictions.”

“So I’ve been told. I choose to believe it’s part of my charm. But, please, call me Isabelle. Now perhaps you would be so good as to let me know to whom I am beholden for such fine hospitality?”

“I’m Fain MacTíre, and this is my keep.”

“Well, thank you for the incredibly suspicious welcome, Master MacTíre.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m suddenly very sleepy.” She handed him the empty cup, and made herself comfortable on the bed once more.

Fain watched as she straightened the blankets awkwardly with one hand. Even dirty, and tired, and injured, the girl was beautiful. Wherever she was from, whoever she was, she certainly wouldn’t have passed unnoticed. Which should make checking her story a relatively easy task.

Fain closed the heavy slab door with a muffled thud, and strode off through the echoing stone hallway. Most of the keep’s inhabitants were abed at this hour, but there were still torches alight in their sconces, allowing the guards to see during their rounds and filling the halls with the tang of smoke. In a happier time these hallways would be softly illuminated with oil lamps or candlelight, but both were difficult to smuggle into the mountains in large quantities. It galled Fain to know that in Inisle, the capital of Toldas, the palace was filled with gas lights, while his people had to make do with the ever-present scent of pitch.