Shana Abe (9 page)

It was almost her undoing. She held her arms out stiffly from them both, her fingers spread wide. With every last ounce of her willpower Solange fought the drugging desire he produced in her. This was Damon, the other half of her soul. How easy it would be to just give up, to submit to the darkness washing over her, to let go of it all and kiss him back. And what could her father really do to them that would be worse than separation? Her own life was of little importance to her without Damon, but his survival depended on her now.…

Damon ended the kiss by pressing his face against her neck, a rough feeling that made her shiver. “I am not your brother, you know that,” he whispered harshly. “Run away with me! Come away and be my wife.”

He couldn’t see, but her face twisted in pain, her
mouth opened on a soundless cry of grief. Her father would hunt them down, she knew, aided by Redmond. They would be caught and punished before they got far, she would be forced to marry the earl anyway, and Damon—

“Solange, I need you. You need me in spite of what you say.” Damon shook her gently, then rocked her close again. “Come with me. We can do it.”

“No.” She struggled to push herself away from him. “You ask too much! It’s not
worth
it to me!” She pushed her hair back with trembling hands and said wildly, “Don’t you understand? You are not worth the sacrifice! I don’t want you!”

His face turned ashen before her eyes.

“It is impossible. Please go now.” She tucked her hands behind her back to keep them from reaching for him.

He stood mute, unmoving. She took another step away from him.

“I’m sorry, Damon. I must prepare for my wedding now. You must go.”

Time suspended, brittle as December grass. Seasons of knowledge of each other tumbled and fused with dreams of their future together. Gossamer dreams, so fragile. Then the moment shattered, everything blown away with her unyielding refusal.

“My apologies,” he said presently. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He turned and left the chamber, walking quietly into the midst of the waiting women outside.

He closed the door behind him.

Solange stood still amid the rubble of her dreams. She felt an aching pride at her performance, just before the choking cry trapped in her throat overtook her. She ran over to the bed and smothered her face in the furs, burying the sound in the pelts. Her body bowed with racking, dry sobs.

Soft hands touched her shoulders; hushed voices urged her to rise.

Solange collected herself. She raised her head from the bed. Her eyes were feverish and bright, her cheeks like parchment.

“Enough, I am fine. Let us continue.”

And the marriage ceremony dragged on. The Earl of Redmond repeated his vows in that mellow voice that had the ladies sighing. Solange watched him with curious detachment, the wetness of his lips, the way he grasped her fingers, using his whole hand to control her.

The priest now turned to her, and she said the words after him without thought, her mind on the clouds outside, flying with the hawk over golden fields.

Her voice was so muted that the members of the congregation had to lean forward to catch the words at all. Redmond listened thoughtfully to her melodious inflections, marking the absence of life in her voice.

Not that it mattered. She would revive soon enough, he knew.

The priest gave the final blessing upon them both, and declared them husband and wife in the eyes of the Lord God, amen.

Redmond turned to his bride and lifted her chin with one finger. She appeared dazed, unaware of what
was happening. He lowered his head and kissed her lips.

Approving murmurs broke out in the crowd. Redmond raised his head and threw the audience a rakish grin. Many of the women were wiping tears from their eyes. The gentlemen looked relieved it was finally over. Now was the time for the feast.

Solange followed the earl back down the aisle through the patchwork of colored sunlight, heedlessly crushing the flower petals strewn beneath her feet. Behind her a choir of young boys soared into an aria, the sound resonating throughout the chapel.

How strange it all was, she thought. How unreal. Here was the earl by her side now as her husband, instead of the man she had always expected to see in that place.

Here was her father congratulating them both, joining them to accept the felicitations of the gathering group that crowded around them.

Here were all the people who had made up the folds of her life, yet who had never seemed to like her, suddenly all smiles and charms in her direction. Here was her father’s mistress, a woman who had openly and deliberately ignored her, now kissing her cheek and telling her how much she would be missed.

Perhaps it was all just a bad dream, Solange thought remotely. Yes, a bad dream, the worst dream possible, really. She would wake any moment now to her normal life. She would find Damon and tell him about it, ask him to interpret all the nuances of it for her. He was so good at that.

But to be a true nightmare, surely Damon himself would appear now. He would be staring at her, the new Countess of Redmond, probably shaking his head at her folly. She would begin to realize just what it was she had sacrificed for this future, and the pain in her would reawaken.

Solange shook her head, fighting back that treachery.

“Are you tired, my angel?” Redmond pushed his hand under her hair to cup the back of her neck. She hated the creeping chill of his touch.

“A little,” she replied, taking a careful step away from him.

His fingers tightened, holding her firmly. He greeted another couple cheerfully as they filed into the greatroom for the banquet, then leaned down again. “You may sleep in my arms during the ride. I’m afraid I brought no carriage for you, since a carriage would not make it through some of the paths on our journey home. But you will be comfortable with me, my lady.”

Her attention flickered to life. “We leave today?”

“Of course. You heard the conversation last night. We will be off as soon as the feast is done. Your women are packing your belongings for you now.”

The last of the guests entered the hall and were seated. Redmond escorted Solange up the pedestal to the main table, where her father and the rest were waiting for them.

Henry raised his goblet.

“To the happy couple, the Earl and Countess of Redmond. God bless their union!”

Everyone cheered, raising their goblets in return, pounding the tables. The world was taking on an unreal edge for Solange; last night’s events were repeating themselves before her. They couldn’t leave today! How could they possibly leave today? It was too soon, too abrupt. She was not ready to say good-bye yet.

The earl pressed the rim of his goblet to her lips. This time she automatically opened her mouth and swallowed the contents. Why fight now, she thought wearily. The battle is over.

Servants dressed in festive colors offered delicate treats that must have taken days to prepare: baked pheasant, glazed duck, roasted venison and boar. Marzipan treats in the shape of two crowns interlocked were given to each man and woman, honeyed nuts and sugared fruits were offered freely. Even the kitchen servants, it seemed, had known of her fate before she did. Throughout the meal she caught herself searching the room for Damon. He was gone, pointedly absent from the entire affair. She supposed she would never see him again.

She dropped her head into her hand, unable to bear the weight of it any longer. Redmond quickly stood.

“My bride is eager to begin our journey,” he called out, then added suggestively, “As am I.”

A chorus of whistles and shouts greeted this announcement. The earl’s men, in particular, roared their appreciation.

“Finish your meals, then.” Redmond grasped the hand of Henry, who had stood with him. “My wife and I will go now. I have scouts already in place for the
journey. We will gain a head start. My steward”—he indicated a bowing man who had appeared behind him—“will take care of the details of the dowry, and my wife’s personal items.”

Henry ignored the man, addressing the earl. “Are you certain you don’t wish to wait an hour more?”

“No, we will leave now. Come, Solange. It’s time to go.”

She stood up and looked at her father, saying nothing.

Henry coughed uncomfortably. “Well, my dear. I wish you good journey. Obey your husband and you will lead a happy life, I am certain.”

He leaned over and embraced her awkwardly. Solange did not return his hold, but when it was over she spoke quietly.

“Keep your promise to me,” she said.

Redmond took her arm and led her away down the great hall and out the main door, where they were swallowed up by the daylight.

Among the crowd watching them leave was a trio of minor noblewomen, seated together at one of the far tables.

“A thorn from Lady Margaret’s paw, plucked out once and for all,” observed one.

“Aye, but not the thorniest rose in her crown,” said another. “Margaret sets her aim too high this time. I have heard on good authority that Ironstag is interested in a fair dame from Lincolnshire as his next wife.”

“I have heard that same story, but of a damsel from Leeds,” added the third. “It’s said that Ironstag has an eye for both her person and her lands.”

The first one laughed. “Indeed? I think my Lady
Margaret will be fair surprised by the news of
both
these ladies.”

The third patted the scarves of her headdress and replied, “Oh, no, my dear. Everyone knows she’s as barren as a fallow field. Ironstag would never risk marrying that.”

H
er new husband barely allowed her time to hand over her jewelry to one of his attendants before ushering her to the mounting blocks. She had to lean down from the saddle to give the crown of precious flowers to the page holding the horse.

Redmond would not allow her to ride her own horse, which he left behind to follow with the rest of his retinue. Instead, he insisted she sit sideways in front of him on his own steed, a strutting stallion with rolling eyes.

“We shall both be more comfortable like this,” he told her, settling her in his lap. He had not even stopped to get her cape, so now he gathered his own about them, tucking the ends around her.

She was swaddled as a babe, tightly bound to him. “My lord,” she said. “I urge you to reconsider. I am an adequate horsewoman. It will be no problem for me to keep up with you. If you’ll simply give me a moment to change my dress—”

“Keep up with me on that mare of yours? I think not. You will ride with me. I wish to reach our first
encampment before nightfall. And your dress is fetching enough.” He cut off her reply by digging his heels into the flank of the stallion, which bounced forward eagerly, jostling her into his chest.

“Hold on to me,” Redmond ordered. She had no choice.

The gray stallion with the two riders galloped from the courtyard past the gate, then kicked up dust on the eastbound path from the castle.

And that was the end of it. Her life at Ironstag was over that easily. Solange didn’t try to look back. She didn’t want to see what she was leaving behind.

From his solitary post on a turret, Damon Wolf watched the horse with the two riders until it vanished in the forest outside the town. Then he went back to his room and resumed the packing of his belongings.

T
he steed was well bred, his gallop smooth and airy. But once they entered the trail of the forest, Redmond reined in the animal to a steady trot, and then a walk.

Neither of them spoke. Solange was fighting off the heavy-lidded sleep of exhaustion. She would have dearly loved to succumb to it but resisted leaning any more of her weight against the earl. Pride kept her upright as long as she could stand it, but as the hours passed she lost this battle too, and slumped against his chest in deep slumber.

He studied her face at leisure, fascinated with seeing her this close for the first time.

She really did resemble an angel in her sleep, he thought dispassionately. Her features were relaxed and peaceful, her coloring a dramatic contrast that pleased the eye. Dark, long eyelashes, slanting brows, full red lips, and a faint, becoming blush on her pale cheeks.