Princess Annie (34 page)

Kathleen, who had been sleeping in a chair next to the fireplace, woke with a start and launched straight into a protest. “Now, miss, you mustn’t act as if this were an ordinary day. You’ve had a terrible shock, after all!”

Annie smiled, poured tepid water from a crockery pitcher into a basin, and scanned the surface of the washstand for soap and a cloth. “That’s exactly why I must act as if this were an ordinary day,” she replied. “It’s just like taking a spill from a horse. One gets back into the saddle without delay.”

A resigned expression came over Kathleen’s face, though there was a zealous light in her eyes. “But you were almost killed,” she reminded Annie stubbornly. “It’s hardly the same thing as a topple off a mare’s back, now is it?”

Annie had completed a hasty washing, and now stood with her hands on her hips, looking around the room to which she had been carried in the night. “It appears that I have no clothes to wear. Would you please be so kind, Kathleen, as to fetch me the brown dress and my sturdiest shoes?”

Kathleen hesitated only a moment. “That frock is being laundered, miss,” she said. “There were plenty of nasty things on the skirt, in case you’ve forgotten.”

She wrinkled her nose. Caring for the sick was messy business, and the dress had indeed been soiled. “Something else, then—my black gaberdine skirt and a shirtwaist with as few ruffles as possible.”

Another hesitation. “Yes, miss,” Kathleen agreed, with an unuttered sigh underlying the words. In a moment, she was gone.

Half an hour later, circumspectly clad, her hair wound into a single braid, Annie descended the stairs to the great hall as if nothing untoward had happened the night before. Because the trial had ended, the vast room was virtually empty and Annie proceeded through it at a brisk pace while Kathleen hurried to keep up.

They’d gained the courtyard and were moving toward the chapel when Lucian appeared, moving as casually as if he’d been out for a morning stroll. Annie felt a tingle of uneasiness in his presence, though he’d been behaving himself of late.

All geniality, Lucian stepped in front of Annie, forcing her to stop. “What’s this?” he said, arching one eyebrow in a way that made him vaguely resemble Rafael. “The lady is out and about? After coming within a hair’s breadth of being murdered?”

Annie folded her arms and tapped one foot. While she certainly didn’t find her duties among the sick enjoyable, she wanted to do something that would serve a useful purpose and, at the same time, distract her from thoughts of Lieutenant Covington’s attack. “Lucian, I am in no frame of mind for nonsense this morning. Either step aside or let us put you to work in the chapel or the village.”

He sighed and, after a maddening delay, moved out of Annie’s path. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help.” Annie went briskly past him, Kathleen beside her, but Lucian kept pace and, at the door of the chapel, caught hold of her arm and held her at the threshold. His tone, affable before, was now earnest, and he spoke rapidly. “For God’s sake, Annie, let me take you away from this place before we’re overrun by barbarians! Don’t you understand what’s happening in this country—within the very walls of this keep? In a matter of days, maybe hours, the whole place will be awash in blood!”

He was probably right, Annie reflected, with a curious sense of calm. In any case, she had no intention of leaving St. James Keep without Rafael.

“You know my answer,” she said, and then pulled free of his grasp and marched into the chapel, rolling up the sleeves of her shirtwaist as she went.

Throughout that morning, Annie listened with half an ear for more cannon fire, expecting another attack by the rebels. Incredibly, more wedding guests arrived instead.

Late in the afternoon, while she was sitting beside the courtyard fountain, Annie caught her first glimpse of Rafael. He stood on one of the battlements and, as usual, Mr. Barrett was at his side. As if he’d felt Annie’s gaze on him, the prince turned and looked in her direction.

Mildly stung that he had not inquired about her, given his attentiveness the night before, Annie stared brazenly back at him, refusing to avert her eyes.

Rafael started down a steep set of stone steps, motioning to Barrett to stay behind, and strode toward her. As he drew nearer, Annie saw that the prince’s manner was grim, and his lithe, powerful body was taut with tension.

In the hope of forestalling some of the things he might say, and because she truly was concerned, Annie blurted, “Is Felicia all right? Where is she?”

For a moment, Rafael looked even more solemn than before. He shoved a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry,” he replied irritably, “I haven’t clapped the woman in irons. She’s in a comfortable chamber, with a maid to take care of her. When the next ship drops anchor off the coast—and I admit to a wild hope that it will be one of the Trevarren vessels—Felicia will be brought aboard and escorted to a hospital in France.”

Annie felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I didn’t think for a moment that you had thrown the poor woman into the dungeon,” she said, her voice trembling with the effort to speak calmly. She drew a breath and released it slowly. “Do you have reason to expect a visit from my father?”

“Beyond the fact that I’ve written him, on several occasions, begging him to come to Bavia and collect his daughter?” Rafael asked coldly. “No.”

Annie was stunned. She should have known, she supposed, just how much Rafael wanted to be rid of her. It was difficult to believe that this was the same man who had taught her how to love with passion and with power, who had held her so tenderly after the tragic incident with Lieutenant Covington.

“Are we still under siege?” she asked evenly. Rafael, she realized, was trying to distance himself from her emotionally, and she knew he wouldn’t retreat from this stance.

“No,” he said, folding his arms—another barrier, Annie thought. “It might be days before anything else happens. How are you and the others faring against the fever?”

She sighed, feeling inexpressibly weary. “I think we’ve seen the worst of it,” she answered, “though heaven knows I’m no expert. Several of our patients have recovered and gone back to the village, so the chapel isn’t quite so crowded.”

Rafael turned at the clatter of carriage wheels on the drawbridge and watched as yet another horde of guests arrived. “Oh, to have this damnable wedding over and done,” he muttered, speaking more to himself, Annie suspected, than to her. “You’d think people would have the good sense to stay home, given the fact that the country is at war, but instead they risk their fat, foolish necks for free-flowing wine and sugar-cakes.”

“Occasions for joy are rare in Bavia these days,” Annie observed softly. “They can be forgiven for wanting to celebrate instead of mourn.”

Rafael made no move to go and greet his guests, though he watched them alight from their dusty carriages for several moments before turning his attention back to Annie. “How ironic,” he said, in the voice of a stranger, “that there is to be both a wedding and an execution within the week.”

Annie stared at him. She’d known about Peter Maitland’s sentence, of course, but she hadn’t expected it to be carried out so soon. “But Mr. Maitland had escaped with Jeremy Covington. Kathleen told me—”

“He was recaptured,” Rafael interrupted. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must oversee the building of the gallows.” He would have walked away from her then, but Annie caught hold of his arm as he passed, the color draining from her face.

“Rafael, you can’t erect a scaffold now, of all times—you’ll spoil the wedding. Think of how Phaedra will feel.”

His smile was cool and belonged, like his voice, to someone Annie had never met before. “You’ve apparently forgotten,” he said, “that I am still the ruler of this godforsaken country. I can do whatever I wish, Miss Trevarren. And I’m afraid my sister’s tender sentiments are the least of my problems at this point.”

With that, Rafael St. James, prince of Bavia, walked away, disappearing into the great hall.

Annie stood where she was for a few moments stewing and then went into the chapel. She was taken aback to find Phaedra there, with a flock of servants and half a dozen soldiers, spouting genteel orders.

“Please carry these people out,” the princess said, making a fluttering gesture with her handkerchief that took in all the patients who remained within those hallowed walls. “Every last one. Then I want the floors and pews scrubbed, and get as much air as possible flowing through this place.”

Annie approached slowly. “Phaedra?”

The princess turned to her with a slightly frenzied smile. “Hello, Annie.” She frowned and touched her friend’s arm, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Are you all right? Dear heaven, after what happened last night, anyone else but you would be crouched in a corner, blathering and biting their nails—”

“I’m fine, Phaedra,” Annie broke in, a bit tart in her impatience. “Where are these people being taken?”

The smile was back, too bright and very brittle. Phaedra was not herself, though Annie supposed that was natural, given the upheaval and chaos all around them. “Away,” she said reasonably. “Annie, the wedding is to be held in this very chapel in only five days. I can’t have the place looking and smelling like a pesthouse.”

Annie closed her eyes for a moment. “Of course you can’t,” she said, after a brief pause. “But where will you put them?”

Phaedra waved one of the soldiers over, her pretty face full of polite confusion. “Pardon me, but where exactly are we going to put these poor people?”

Annie bit her lower lip and waited, barely resisting the urge to tap her foot. The soldier flushed at the princess’s inquiry, but answered with admirable restraint.

“We were expecting you to tell us that, Your Highness,” he said.

“Oh, dear,” said Phaedra, blotting her forehead with the handkerchief. Then she turned bewildered eyes to Annie. “Where
shall
we put them? It must be a place where they won’t be in the way.” There was a queer, greenish cast to her skin.

Patience, Annie told herself. This is your dearest friend, and she is overwrought, and as exasperating as Phaedra St. James can be, you love her devotedly.

“There are unused rooms in the area behind the kitchen,” Annie said, addressing the young soldier. “I believe the wounded rebels are being cared for there.”

There was a look of wry gratitude in the man’s eyes. He nodded and the process of transferring the patients progressed. Annie watched attentively as they were lifted onto makeshift stretchers, old doors and planks, and borne away to the interior of the castle.

The maids were already scrubbing industriously, and those few windows that could be opened were pried, squeaking, from their sills so that fresh air could enter. The front door was propped ajar as well, and Annie felt a touch of chagrin, along with her irritation, because she hadn’t thought of doing those things herself.

Phaedra linked her arm with Annie’s. “I need to talk to you,” she announced. “In private.”

“Heaven help me,” Annie muttered.

The princess laughed, a little wildly. “Do you really find me so difficult, Annie, dear?”

“Yes,” Annie answered forthrightly, but she let Phaedra take her hand and lead her to the back of the chapel, where they sat together on a pew, beneath a stained glass window. The light bathed them in dusty shades of blue and red and green and yellow.

“The dress is finished, you know,” Phaedra said.

Annie felt another flash of annoyance, recalling the fittings she’d endured for that blasted gown. She’d gone to great lengths to avoid Miss Rendennon and her minions for the past several days, lest she be made to stand still for more pinpricks and grumblings.

“I’m relieved to hear that,” Annie replied, smoothing her skirt.

Phaedra scooted closer, and her voice was barely more than a breath. “There’s something I must confide.”

Alarm niggled in the pit of Annie’s stomach. “What?” she demanded, almost angrily. Her own patience was greatly taxed.

The princess started, and her great gray eyes brimmed with royal tears. “I thought you of all people, Annie Trevarren, would be on my side!”

“I am on your side,” Annie insisted furiously. “But that doesn’t mean I never wish I could murder you!”

“I can’t marry Chandler Haslett.”

Annie’s very bones seemed to melt; she slumped against the back of the pew, amazed.
“What?”

A tear escaped and ran, shimmering, down Phaedra’s cheek. The look of desperation in her eyes pulled at Annie’s heart. “I love someone else. I’m going to leave with him.”

“You can’t do that,” Annie cried, though in a low voice. “There are more wedding guests arriving every day, and the dress is finished, and Rafael will be furious—”

“There will be a wedding,” Phaedra said. “I just won’t be the bride, that’s all.”

Annie gaped for a moment, then recovered herself sufficiently to ask, “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Goose,” Phaedra chimed good-naturedly. “Don’t you see? I never intended to go through with the ceremony in the first place. That’s why I asked you to be fitted for the dress.”

The implication of that loomed before Annie, and she wondered that she had missed it before.
“You want me to stand in for you at the wedding?
Well, I won’t do it.” She folded her arms and spoke firmly, even though she already felt her resolve slipping. “Do you hear me, Phaedra St. James?
I won’t do it!”

Phaedra seemed undaunted. “Of course you will,” she said reasonably, “because you know we’re talking about the rest of my life. Imagine it, Annie—my happiness, perhaps even my sanity, is in your hands!”

“Don’t,” Annie warned, but the word wavered. She had always protected Phaedra, and the habit was hard to break.

“Please,” Phaedra pressed, clutching both Annie’s hands in her own. “It’s the only way.”

Annie cast an uneasy glance toward the maids, but they were all busy, scouring and chattering among themselves. “Why can’t you just go to Chandler and tell him the truth?”

“He
knows
how I feel,” the princess said, “and he doesn’t care. Even with Bavia falling apart the way it is, Mr. Haslett has much to gain by marrying me. And you know how Rafael is—he’ll sacrifice me like a she-goat before he’ll go back on his precious honor.”