by Devilish
By now, the whole room was quiet, as people sensed something strange, but were probably unsure whether it was part of the masque or not.
As Bey moved closer and closer to the dais, he spoke. “I think, perhaps, you are not the god of love, sir, but the god of destruction. Your arrow is intended for me, Monsieur de Couriac?”
The king exclaimed, and other people gasped and questioned. A panicked shift Diana dared not look at told her things were finally happening. But Cupid was drawing back the string of his bow the final few inches and Bey was so close he could not miss.
But not close enough to attack and stop the shot.
Now or never. After a second’s terrified hesitation, Diana pulled all the way back, sighted, and with a prayer to heaven, loosed her arrow. It thunked deep into de Couriac’s chest, and his arrow flew wildly to quiver in a wall. With a horrid cry, he crumpled upon the false grass beneath his feet.
The actress Diana fainted, and the little cupids ran away screaming, but then Bey was there, hiding the writhing body from the panicked guests. Diana, dazed, saw Bryght, Elf, Portia, and Fort trying to handle the shouting, swirling guests, but some illogically were rushing to escape the ballroom.
Someone was going to be hurt.
The king was behind a protective wall of men, but he suddenly pushed free, helmet and golden breastplate gleaming in the lights.
“See,” he called loudly, “it was a solitary madman, and all over now. Calm, calm, my good people. All is safe.”
And calm did settle, with everyone turning to face him.
“I am safe, as you see, thanks to Lord Rothgar’s courage …” He seemed to falter then, and Diana knew he’d suddenly questioned where the fatal arrow had come from.
She hastily jumped down from her bench, but she knew some people had spotted her.
She heard Bey’s voice. “Your Majesty, my deepest apologies for this incident. Supper is laid out below. Perhaps it would be best if everyone retired there now.”
The crowd, soothed, shifted, but then someone called out, “Who fired the arrow?”
“The real god Cupid, jealous of being supplanted?” Bey said, clearly attempting to pass it off, but it would never work.
Diana said, “I fired the shot.”
A way opened before her, but the guests exploded into chatter again. Enough gossip here to last a twelve-month.
She moved into the clear space near the king, and Bey immediately came to her side. The temple and the grass before it were empty once more, except for a bloodstain.
Blood she had spilled …
“You are skilled with a bow and arrow, Countess?” the king asked, seeming more startled than angry. Yet.
She gathered her composure. This time, she would not collapse. “It is an interest of mine, Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps you hit him by luck?” the king offered.
It was an opportunity to escape, but she would not take it. With only a slight glance at Bey, she said, “No, sire. I am quite skilled with a bow, though more so with a pistol. As these skills have twice saved the man I love, I cannot regret them.”
A new burst of exclamations from the crowd around.
Bey took her hand. “Lady Arradale and I have a debate ongoing about who should be protecting whom, sire, but I admit that I cannot regret it either. A strong, courageous wife, skilled in the defense of herself and others, is a pearl beyond price.”
Diana’s breath caught, in joy at the declaration, but in fear at the challenge he had just thrown down before the king. Few here would know that it went against the king’s beliefs, but the king recognized it, and his expression froze.
After a moment, he said, “I see, I see. Well, let each man choose his own meat, I say, and,” he said, turning his back, “let us all go and choose our meat from the marquess’s feast, what? What?”
He led the way out of the ballroom, the company streaming after, buzzing now with speculation that the great marquess might be out of royal favor. For seeking to marry the peculiar countess?
In moments, Diana and Bey were alone beneath the full, glowing moon.
She waited for him to speak, but then plunged in herself.
“Wife?” she asked.
He suddenly took both her hands. “Do I assume too much? There is still risk—”
“Life is risk!”
He laughed softly. “I think someone else said that to me recently. And,” he said, humor wiped away, “brought another dark thought to mind. You bearing my children.”
“Dark?” she queried, a sick feeling growing. Could he still not accept that possibility?
“Your mother did not bear children well.”
She sucked in a deep, relieved breath. “My mother bore me very well, apparently. She could not carry her other babes long enough, that is all.”
“That must be heartbreaking of its own.”
“So,” she said, “I carry a risk too. I’m willing to trust the wings and fly.”
He brought her hands slowly to his lips. “I am unaccustomed to allowing myself such wicked self-indulgence.”
She brought their joined hands to her lips and kissed his, holding them tightly. “I’m not. Surrender to Diana and the moon.”
Was heaven almost in her hands?
His eyes were dark and steady. “I have been lectured on the beauties of imperfection. I am, all imperfection, yours, if you do not mind.”
She stared at him in dazed disbelief. This was true? He was hers? If she did not mind!
“A full life,” he said, “with risks as a full life must have. But if the gods are kind, with love, joy, and fruitful labors.”
She wrapped her arms around and hugged him as tightly as she could. “Damn you, I’m going to cry.”
She felt him laugh, then his lips on her unmasked cheek, kissing away tears. He pulled off his own mask, then hers, then kissed her, questing at first, then settling.
Their kiss, with all the magic it had brought them from the first.
Entwined, they kissed beneath the glowing moon, a kiss unhindered this time by other things. They explored the different textures and tastes, blending souls through heat and moisture, assuring themselves that yes, the maze was conquered, the battle won, the wondrous flight begun.
After, she leaned against his chest, within his arms.
“Was that yes?” he asked, but a deep warm contentment in his voice told her he knew.
“I want to be alone,” she whispered. “Together, alone, for days. Weeks. Forever.”
She felt his head rub against hers. “In time, for a little time. Now, alas, we must deal with the aftermath. But first,” he added, “I have a star for you if you will take it, my lady.”
He slid the ring off his little finger, and held out his hand.
Trembling, she placed her left hand in his. “I feel as if I could truly fly. Shall we go up to the roof and try?”
He laughed. “Reckless wench. Even with a Malloren, all things are not possible.”
“Reckless,” she said, savoring it. “Are you a little reckless now, Bey?”
“I am what I am, love, and somewhat raw with newness, but like a newborn I need you as I need breath. Can you bear it?”
“Can I bear anything else?”
“A miracle then,” he said, sliding the ring onto her finger. “And thus impossible. Like a perpetual motion machine. Or flight.”
She looked at an enormous multifaceted diamond, surely the largest, most sparkling gem he could find in a ring. She laughed with sudden, soaring delight. “You know what I love most about you, Bey?”
“Tell me.” Though she’d seen him mellow a time or two, she’d never seen him glow like this.
“You like me as I am. You do, don’t you?”
“I adore you as you are. I adored you from the moment you pressed a pistol into my back.”
“A rough wooing. I want a promise.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t try to change for me. I love you as you are, t
oo.”
He took her hand, thumb rubbing on the ring. “I thought you’d been fighting to change me.”
“Do you feel changed?”
“Utterly.”
“Then this is wrong.”
“Diana,” he protested.
“The essential you mustn’t change,” she said fiercely, praying she wasn’t throwing away the moon and the stars. “I want you only to have changed as we all change, moving forward in life, in tune with our natures.”
He stood in thought for a moment, thumb still rubbing gently on the ring he’d placed on her finger. “Yes, I see. You’re quite correct. You’ll have to put up with omniscience, omnipotence, protectiveness, and a devilishly strong will. Can you bear it?”
“I adore it,” she said, and spotting a certain sapphire on his right hand, she moved it to his left, and kissed it there. She longed to drag him off to a bedroom and ravish him, but as he’d said, they had duties here.
And, now she thought of it, she had her courses.
She turned to leave the ballroom with him, hand in hand. “What are we going to do about the king?”
“If he chooses to be offended, so be it. My allegiance above all is to you.” The smile he sent her was astonishing in its warmth. “I hope to have my own small world to cherish soon, so England can go hang.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No one can change that much. I was thinking—you might appease him by giving him the drummer boy.”
He raised their linked hands and kissed them. “We are in accord as always. You won’t mind?”
She shook her head. “It’s a lovely piece, but carries too much pain. Perhaps we’ll make a little drummer boy of our own.”
“Ah,” he said lightly, leading her back through the entrance labyrinth, “but will it end up Lord Arradale or Lord Rothgar? Or both, poor mite? Our problems are never ending.”
It was a practical concern, for she still wanted to preserve her earldom’s independence, but she wouldn’t let it shadow the moment. As they emerged into the brighter corridor, she said, “Our problems are nothing, as long as we’re together. Together, we can rule the world.”
“Don’t say that in front of the king. Come on.” He tugged her to run lightly down the stairs. “Let’s face the lions. You’re right, alas. I can’t let England go hang just yet, at least not while it’s at supper in my house.”
They found excited masqueraders eating, drinking, and reliving the event of the year. Bey and Diana progressed through the four rooms generating even more excitement by formally announcing their betrothal.
More than one man said something like, “You’ll not want to be getting on the wrong side of a wife like that, eh, Rothgar?”
Diana decided it was good to be reminded of the real world. Most of the men here would be frightened by her skills and powers, and would try to mute her in some way in case she eclipsed him. She had found one of the few men strong enough and fair enough to let her fly free.
As Bey had said, sometimes the gods were kind.
A frown from the king, however, reminded her that he was one of the traditional men. Abruptly, he beckoned her over, and a hint of fear flickered. He couldn’t prevent their marriage, but if he’d turned against them, he could make things difficult.
A glance showed that Bey looked unalarmed, but that, she suspected, meant nothing at all. He led her to the king, formally, hand in hand. She curtsied, but Bey raised her immediately.
“Lady Arradale,” the king said, in the suddenly quietening room, “you are a very unusual woman.”
“I fear so, Your Majesty.”
“I spoke to you once on the dangers of women seeking manly skills.”
“You did, sire.”
He frowned, and she began to wonder if he could indeed throw her in the Tower for some reason. Firing a weapon in the royal presence? It might be a crime.
“At that time,” he said, “you remarked to me that a woman is to be admired for defending her children, and I agreed.” After a moment, he said, “The same thing could be said of a woman defending her husband, what?”
She let out her held breath. A peace offering, and not easy for him. Diana curtsied again. “I think so, sire.”
He nodded, but as she rose, he said, “I pray, madam, that you have two sons.”
Bey spoke then. “You will permit us to keep the titles separate, sire? We thank you. But what if we have only one son?”
Diana tightened her hand on his. He was asking the king to agree to the possibility of another countess in her own right at Arradale, pushing the king’s tolerance, here in public.
Eventually the king nodded, but coldly. “If it is God’s will.”
Bey bowed deeply. “You have our most sincere thanks, Your Majesty. May I repay you with a gift?”
“A gift?” said the king, brightening.
“Lady Arradale owned an automaton based on herself as a child, but it was broken, so she gave it into my care. Now, we would like to give it to you, sire, as a sign of our eternal devotion and loyalty. If you would be so kind as to step into the hall, it can be demonstrated there where all can see.”
The king rose enthusiastically, and the word spread so everyone packed into the hall, up the staircase, and around the landings above.
The drummer boy was wheeled out. “’Pon my soul, Lord Rothgar,” the king exclaimed, “this is a fine piece! Let’s see it work, what?”
Bey switched it on, and the drummer boy went through his paces perfectly, charming the king and everyone there. After three windings and repeats, people still clamored for more, but the king ordered it taken on its way, promising a further display at the Queen’s House soon.
Diana was pleased to see it go. Not only was it a reminder of her family’s hurts, but now to her it seemed trapped, like a child of her own forced to perform in a limited way, as she had been threatened by so many limitations.
That seemed morbid. Perhaps she was just tired. Bey left her to escort the king out of the house, and the other guests began to leave, clearly happy with the event even though it had been cut short.
She was tempted to seek her room—to explore her happiness and relive the dangers and death, but she longed for Bey too, so she waited, but out of the way, not wanting more avid speculation. Alas, after this she would probably always be an object of curiosity, but she could bear it.
With Bey at her side.
But one guest did approach her—a woman in a beautiful shell-pink gown who had made little effort to disguise herself, for she wore only a narrow black mask.
Before she could speak, Bey appeared and took Diana’s hand. “You must have had a sorry evening, Monsieur D’Eon.”
Chapter 34
Diana stared, fascinated by D’Eon’s illusion of femininity. Paint and powder could achieve a great deal, but he had the mannerisms and gestures down perfectly. And above his low bodice, breasts swelled!
Perhaps he was just plump, she thought, as tension swept away idle thoughts. Here was the master hand behind the attacks.
D’Eon waved his lacy fan. “It would have been a sorrier one, my lord, had that madman achieved his end.”
“You disown him?”
D’Eon shuddered. “Emphatically.”
Bey’s brows rose. “You expect me to believe you are innocent of the various attacks on my life?”
D’Eon was an astonishing image of outraged innocence. “I have never sought your life, Lord Rothgar. Never.”
“What of Curry?”
The fan wafted again. “A wound, no more.”
Diana almost spoke her opinion of that, but she decided to be a fascinated observer of this verbal fencing.
“De Couriac’s orders in the north were the same,” D’Eon said. “I did not realize he was so unbalanced.”
“Or that he was under other orders, perhaps?” Bey said.
D’Eon’s red lips tightened. “Or that, my lord.”
“You expect me to accept these attempts to wound me withou
t affront?”
“C’est la guerre, monsieur le marquis.”
“Then perhaps you are a prisoner of war, Chevalier.”
The little man stiffened. “You cannot touch the ambassador of France.”
“Acting ambassador,” Bey gently reminded him. “Soon Monsieur de Guerchy will come, and your cloak of protection will be removed.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” D’Eon’s eyes were steady. “Like you, my lord, I serve my king, and serve him well.”
“Kings are not always faithful to their servants. In time, Chevalier, you will die for involving Lady Arradale.”
D’Eon glanced at her, seeming genuinely puzzled. “My lord? An irritation, perhaps, but aimed to take you in the end precisely where you now so happily stand. You would risk all in a duel over that?”
“You have a very strange notion of what is irritating.”
At the icy tone, D’Eon stared. “What has happened? All I have done is to encourage the king to seek to match you up. In view of your declared intention not to marry, it seemed likely to distract you from other matters. I admit, I hoped it might bring about a falling out for a while. But this is not of what you speak?”
Bey studied him for a moment.
D’Eon swore in French. “De Couriac! And the offense was great?” He looked at Diana. “You are all right, my lady?”
“I was rescued,” Diana said, guessing that Bey did not want details revealed.
D’Eon stood a fraction straighter. “This was nothing to do with me, my lord. But I admit a fault. I did not kill de Couriac when I saw him for the rabid dog he was. He came with orders from Paris. It was difficult. I should have realized, however, when he claimed you were to blame for the death of the woman who played his wife.”
“She was found strangled, but it was nothing to do with me.”
“Oh no, he killed her. He said as much. A rabid dog, as I said. But a French dog. For the honor of France, monsieur le marquis, I will meet you.”
No, thought Diana. I will not allow this now! Not when I have everything my heart desires.
