“I’m sorry, Abella. Really.”
Sighing, she seemed to stand up taller. “You don’t need to apologize for feeling, Sam. I understand. I would have done the same thing if I’d remembered something unpleasant like that suddenly. I am, however, starving. Are you ready to eat? Monsieur O’Rourke is waiting for us. He looked like he was ready to faint from hunger.”
Laughing, I nodded, letting her lead the way out of the suite, glancing back at my form in the mirror once.
Breakfast went over without incident, with only the occasional odd look from Abella, before Tristan announced he would be leaving us for a few hours.
“Bevard asked me to escort him away from his wife and daughter before he went mad from their talking of dresses and fashion.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Do ye need anything while I’m away, Sam?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” Smiling warmly, I watched as he left, a servant coming in and clearing his place.
“Abella,” I said, once the woman left the room. “Thank you for not saying anything to Tristan. I don’t want him to worry.”
“Does he not know what day it is?” She was curious, suspicious even, her eyes narrowing some.
“I don’t think he does.” Swallowing hard, I stared down at the fruit on my plate, feeling a little less than enthusiastic about eating right at that moment. “I’d like it to stay that way.”
“If that’s what you want.” She sounded all business again, like I was ordering her to do something.
“Will you keep it a secret, as my friend?” I asked her suddenly, very much wanting someone to confide in. “Not because you do work for me and think I’m your boss, but because you want to?”
She was surprised, her features softening into something that could only be described as kindly. “Of course, Samantha. I am your friend, after all.”
“How awful must I be that I have to pay people to spend time with me?”
The joke broke the tension between us and she laughed, her eyes lighting up in her mirth. “You pay me to help you get dressed, not to be your companion. That I’ll do for free.”
“Good.” Happiness flooded me at her comment and I started to feel like maybe—just maybe—I could handle being pregnant if I had a good friend at my side to help me through when Tristan wasn’t around.
“This damn corset is too tight,” I growled, trying to keep pace with everyone as they walked through the garden to The Ballroom that had housed dance lessons the night before. There would be no skipping out this time; tonight I would be formally introduced to the king.
Unfortunately, my hormones made me feel more like wrestling a grizzly bear at the moment.
“It’s not so bad,” Abella tried to reassure me. “I left room to breathe and move easily. It’s a little tighter than normal, though, since your meeting is tonight.”
“Thank you for that.” Grumbling, I shot Tristan a look that could kill as he smirked at me. My grimace only made him laugh harder, aided in part by the ridiculous dress I was being forced to wear.
I would’ve been more than happy to attend the ball in the beautiful dress I’d started the day in. However, custom dictated I dress up for the party even more. What I wore now gave me the feeling of trying to land a plane blind. The massive, emerald skirt leaving no opportunity to see where I was stepping and shined like a beacon for all to see. Lace lined the edge and around the waist, matching the same design on my white jacket. A matching green stomach piece was sewn in, the laces on the back of this three quarter sleeve jail cell as tight as the horrid contraption holding my insides in underneath. To make matters worse, I kept wondering if I might accidentally be squishing the baby to death with all of this fashionable nonsense.
“Truly, Samantha. Ye are a vision to behold,” Tristan said, trying to calm me some with his tone. “Corset and all. Just think, tonight ye get to take it off. Won’t that be a treat?”
“I don’t appreciate your teasing,” I snapped back, smiling in spite of myself.
“Ye look beautiful,” he responded sincerely, stopping our march to kiss me on the forehead. “It’s glowing all around ye.”
Smiling tightly, I felt my breath catch. What would he say when he found out? It was happening so fast. We’d been married for a little over a year. I wasn’t old enough to be a mom! Well, not by my standards, anyway. Would he be mad? Probably not. Disappointed? Possibly. Would it matter? I was going to have to stay behind now, always waiting to see if he’d made it out of his missions alive.
I didn’t know if I could handle that.
Thankfully, my thoughts were sidetracked as we came into the grove, a gasp escaping me as I took the area in. Hedges lined the space like stadium seats, a large, marble disk making up the floor. On the other end of the circular garden, a large fountain ran, the water pouring over rocks and seashells, some of it spurting into the air in places.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
Turning, I saw that the Bevard’s had descended on us like hawks, circling our group with ease.
“They don’t usually run the fountain. It wasn’t on last night. Oh, how wonderful!” Wanting to stop Gloria before she really got going, I nodded and smiled.
“It’s very pretty. Do you know what songs the orchestra will be playing tonight?”
Her eyes grew round and she promptly hurried off in the direction of the band, holding her skirts out of the way with one hand.
“Quick thinking,” Tristan laughed, pulling me away from her mother and father as they watched her go. “I thought we were about to be regaled with the tales of how the shells came from far off countries by the hand of the navy.”
“Were they?”
“Of course. Gloria could have made it into an hour long spectacle involving pirates and true love, though.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling as he looked at me.
“You have to be careful about those pirates. I heard they can sweep a woman off her feet with just one look.” His touch made my insides feel warm and fuzzy, calming the rest of the earlier anger I’d been battling with.
“Aye, ye would know that story best, lass.”
More people filtered in, the musicians tuning their instruments, until finally, a still seemed to settle over the crowd. And then, suddenly, the king was there, a beautiful woman at his side, his golden outfit shining like the statues of Apollo that dotted his lovely gardens as he was announced with a fanfare and applause from everyone. It was like looking at the sun as he made his way through the crowd, taking hands here and there, pausing to speak with a man whenever he wished. Curtseying as he passed, I took the time to notice that even his shoes were gold, with what appeared to be real gold buckles.
King Louis was lucky his people wouldn’t be angry about how much money the monarchy spent until he had been in his grave for quite some time.
Once His Majesty had made his way to the other side of the dance floor, the music started up, he took his escort in his arms, and the dancing began. It was a waltz, which quickly became stunning as people joined in around the king on all sides. Letting myself be lost in watching, the music hummed lightly in my ear while the laughter and conversations of others drifted to the background.
A tug at my hand brought me back to the present, Tristan inspecting me happily.
“Do ye want to dance? Ye look like ye’re in another world.”
“I think I was,” I answered, laughing slightly. “And, yes, I would love to dance.”
Taking my waist in his other hand, we fell into the formation easily. He was more than faking his way through the steps—he knew just what to do and led me through the movements gladly. I almost didn’t even notice when the song ended, I’d been having so much fun.
Clapping for those around us, another number started up and we drifted back to the sidelines, watching as the king, yet again, proved his skill and love for dancing.
The night felt like it would stretch on forever, my feet beginning to ache after a few hours, but I couldn’t seem to care. The party had given m
e an excuse to let my stresses go for a while, and I was embracing the opportunity with open arms.
As Tristan and I danced happily together, I suddenly caught sight of the king, heading our way. Eyes wide, I whispered as much to Tristan, who immediately turned and bowed. Following suit, I curtseyed low, staring at the ground and waiting for something to happen.
“Tristan O’Rourke,” the royal voice said above me. “How long has it been? Five years? I was beginning to think you were a stranger to us here in France.”
“No, Your Majesty,” Tristan replied warmly. “Just a man busy with work and love.”
Feeling him rise beside me, I came out of my show of submission and carefully glanced up. Surprisingly, King Louis was staring right at me, a wide smile on his face.
“So I see!” Laughing, he motioned to the woman beside him, who melted into the crowd behind him with a blink of eye. “And you are, my dear?”
“Samantha Green O’Rourke, Your Majesty,” I replied, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
“Such a strange accent,” he mused.
“I was born and raised in America, Your Majesty.”
“How extraordinary.” He regarded me for another moment before holding his hand out. “I wonder, Mrs. O’Rourke, if you wouldn’t mind abandoning your husband for one dance?”
My heart practically leapt out of my chest at his words, fear freezing me on the spot. “Um. I mean, of course I wouldn’t! However . . .” Biting my lip, I tried to think of how to phrase the next part. “I’m afraid I’m a much better follower than I am a dancer, Your Majesty.”
He chuckled at that, as did his party of people behind him, and waved his hand in dismissal. “I assure you, Madame, I will lead you just as finely as your husband has been all night.”
Glancing at Tristan, who gave me a nod, I swallowed hard and took the king’s hand, hoping I didn’t look like a frightened schoolgirl as he touched my waist and began moving me across the floor.
“Are you enjoying your stay at the palace?” he asked me, as if this were any old dance and he was someone of no importance.
“I am.” I knew I should say more, but the words seemed stuck in my throat. How did I talk to a king? Right then, it dawned on me that this was a regular old dance for him. I was the new one at his house. I’d been “trained” for this moment for months. What had I learned?
“The Sun King loves to be praised,” Tristan’s grandmother had told me while we were in Africa. “Give him enough of it, and ye can get anything ye want while ye’re in his care.”
Smiling, I latched onto that one tidbit of information and held on for dear life.
“Your home is very beautiful. I can see why you moved it out of the city. It was very wise and becoming of you to do so.”
King Louis grinned at that, moving effortlessly to the music, carrying me with him. “Do you not like the city?”
“I love what you’ve done to it,” I replied instantly. “People will be talking of the Sun King and his glorious creations for centuries to come.”
Well, that part was true.
“Wonderful!”
The advice I’d been given was spot on; the more compliments I gave him, the friendlier he became. One moment we were talking of the gardens and the next he was sharing stories of his other homes, to which I emitted approving noises whenever necessary.
When the dance came to an end, he bowed, as was custom, and I curtsied, feeling a little like I’d just won a game of Russian Roulette.
“My dear,” he stated, holding his hand out to accompany me back to Tristan. “You simply must stay after the ball is finished. The Royal Ballet Company will be performing in one of my theaters and I have a feeling you would wish to see the show.”
“Will you be performing? I heard you are extraordinary as a performer, as well.”
“Oh, no!” He tittered, obviously pleased with the amount of sucking up I’d done. “Not this one. You will stay, though? The performance is in two weeks’ time.”
“I am honored that you would even invite me.”
Tristan, having caught the end of our conversation, bowed as I was deposited safely back in his care. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he spoke kindly.
“You will stay, too, of course,” King Louis said, in an air that made it sound more like a command than anything else. “You’ve picked well for a bride, Monsieur. Do not remain strangers for so long again, oui?”
Tristan bowed again and I hurried to curtsey, watching as the Sun King casually strolled away from us.
“Ye did wonderfully, Samantha,” Tristan breathed as we both straightened. “He took to ye like a ship to sea.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked nervously, feeling somewhat faint from all the spinning around.
“Ye couldn’t have done any better.” Grasping my hand in his, he smiled.
Rather badly named morning sickness grabbed onto the edge of me then, warning that I was about to hurl in front of the entire party. “I need some air,” I croaked out, desperately searching for any way out of the mass.
“Tristan!” Grand Master Bevard was waving him over, a grin plastered on his somewhat drunken face.
My poor husband was aghast at what to do, mostly because he didn’t seem to know how to tell his boss to leave him alone for a moment.
“Go,” I rasped. “I’ll have Abella come with me.”
She appeared at my side, as if saying her name had magically summoned her, the red of her dress making her skin look somewhat flushed and aroused. Carefully, she led me from the grove, instructing me to breathe slowly as we walked down the paths, leaving Tristan behind without another word.
Once we were far enough away that the sounds of the party were only a haze in the background, I let my knees buckle, threw my head in a bush, and emptied the contents of my stomach.
“How far along are you?” she asked pleasantly, helping to hold my skirt out of the way.
“I don’t know,” I moaned, laying right down on the path and resting my face against its cool surface. “I just realized today. I think I’m about five or six weeks along. Too early to know for sure.”
“I wondered if that was what had happened. You’ve seemed sickly and tired, but I didn’t know if that was just how you were.”
“Gee, thanks,” I replied humorlessly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been described like that before.”
“You are with child. You will be sickly and tired for a little while longer.” There was laughter in her voice, but compassion as well.
“Abella” I looked up at her with pleading eyes. “Tristan doesn’t know yet. Please don’t say anything.”
“It’s your news to tell,” she replied simply. “I would be surprised if he doesn’t already suspect.”
“I want to be sure before I say anything. I—”
Voices on the other side of the hedge were coming closer to us, arguing. As they neared, I was able to make out some of the conversation.
“—doesn’t just go right for the treasure is a mystery! What is he waiting for? The Natives to hand it to him?”
“You know Randall,” the other voice said coolly. “He wants all of the crew to be the best he can get. This isn’t going to be another crackpot mission like Columbus and Cortés put together. We’re going to get it this time, and Thomas Randall is the man who’s going to get it done.”
It felt like all the blood had drained from my body. Treasure? Thomas Randall? The conversation we were overhearing could only mean one thing.
The men on the other side of the hedge were Black Knights.
Abella, having become frozen at the look on my face, listened intently with me to the continuing conversation. She didn’t show any recognition of the voices, which meant she was probably clueless to the entire plot unfolding in front of her.
I, on the other hand, felt my insides growing colder and colder as the unfamiliar men spoke, their voices rushed, but not discreet. They must have thought they were alone in the maze.
&n
bsp; “Why England?” the first voice asked bitterly. “What is he looking for there?”
“Not what, you dolt! Who! There are members joining up there. By the time we make it to the Americas, we’ll be more than one hundred strong and ready to fight!”
“You mean to tell me that old Joseph, who spends the vast majority of his time three sheets to the wind, is considered strong and ready to fight? The man has a bloomin’ peg for a leg! If O’Rourke so much as looks at him, he’ll faint dead!”
“Quiet!” the other man growled. Silence filled the air, and I wondered if the pair had left, when suddenly, the talk started up again. “Shark bait, O’Rourke is. I heard Randall say it himself; he knows the man is coming for him. When he does—”
There was a sound like I heard people make in the movies, whenever they mimicked slicing someone’s throat. It felt like I might faint from hearing it, just the thought of Tristan killed by Thomas Randall making me wish I hadn’t heard the entire conversation. Abella clapped a hand to her mouth, understanding that someone she knew was in trouble.
“He’ll be sleeping in Davy Jones’ Locker before that wife of his even has time to scream.”
I was ready to scream and yell right then, but it wouldn’t have done any good. The men would get away before anyone would come, if they even heard me over the festivities.
“How long till Randall makes landfall in England?” the second man asked.
“They sent word he’d be there by next weekend. After that, it’s another month or two to the Americas, where we’ll be living like kings.”
The men laughed, their footsteps starting to fade down the path, until there was nothing but silence in our immediate area.
“Sam,” Abella said, fear in her eyes. “Was that Tristan they were talking about?”
Feeling sick, and this time not from pregnancy, I nodded. “It was. We need to go find him right now.”
Helping me to my feet, the two of us stumbled back down the path, practically running, slowing at each corner as if we thought the Black Knights would suddenly appear and take us away. When we finally reached the grove again, it felt like I’d danced there in another lifetime, not less than an hour before.
Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Two) Page 13
