Without looking up from his food, he cleared his throat. “Well, you might as well know. Thomas has been asking about you.”
“The blacksmith?”
Finneas nodded affirmatively.
Her stomach began to twist in knots. Something wasn’t right. He had been staring at her so strangely in the market. “What does he want?”
Mary began to stand up, but Finneas put a hand on her arm. She locked eyes with her husband, then sank slowly back to her seat.
The silence stretched on for several moments before Mary finally broke it. “He wants to marry you.”
“What!”
“He wants to marry you,” Finneas affirmed. “He asked me for your hand in marriage this morning.”
“What, what did you say?”
Again, a glance between Finneas and Mary. “I told him I would have to think about it.”
“Tell him no!”
Finneas sighed heavily and put down his fork. “It would be a good match for you. He’s a kind man, and you’d always have a roof over your head and food in your belly.”
“He’s twice my age.”
Finneas muttered something under his breath. “I know that, but it’s a good offer and—”
“And what?”
“It’s the only one you’ve had.”
Pearl dropped her eyes to her plate as she felt her pale cheeks begin to burn crimson. She should have known this was coming. All of the other girls her age in the village were married. Still, she couldn’t stop the feelings of anger and fear that mixed with her shame. “Am I supposed to be grateful, then, that someone would want me? Let me guess: He decided he wanted a wife and he asked after me because I’m the only unmarried woman in the entire village. So, someone had to be desperate to want to marry me?”
Mary quickly put her hand on Pearl’s arm. “You know we’re not saying that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“It’s just that we’re not getting any younger, and we won’t always be here for you.”
“So, I should jump into the arms of the first man to glance my way?”
Finneas shoved back his chair and slammed his fist down onto the table. “By heavens, don’t be so stubborn. If a kind man wants you, that should be enough. I didn’t see Peter’s girl Lizzy complaining when she married the farmer and he was more than twice her age.” He turned and strode toward the door. He paused in the threshold long enough to address Mary. “See if you can talk some sense into her.” Then he stormed out into the night.
Pearl sat very still, afraid to look at her mother. She had only seen Finneas angry twice before, but never at her. Guilt washed over her. He had been a father to her, raised her as his own. Why couldn’t she be a more obedient daughter?
“Well, are you just going to sit there or are you going to say what’s on your mind?” Mary asked after a minute.
Tears began streaming down Pearl’s face as she looked up. “I don’t love him.”
“You can learn to love him,” Mary said gently. She searched Pearl’s face for a minute. “Is there another reason you have? Is there someone you are in love with?”
Pearl’s thoughts turned to James. He was her friend and confidant. He was also royalty, though, and beyond her grasp. Do I love him? She didn’t know, but she thought she might. All she knew of love was what Finneas and Mary showered upon her. But so far as the love between a man and a woman, she knew nothing of it. Maybe I do love James. Things have been different between us of late. Could that be why I feel strange when I’m around him? Still, such feelings, if they even existed, would do her no good. “No, Mama, there’s no one.”
Mary nodded as though it was the answer she was expecting. “Then, daughter, would you at least think about it?”
“It would be good for you and Papa if I said yes, wouldn’t it?”
Mary gave a nod so slight that Pearl wasn’t even sure she had seen it. “It would be good for you, too. He is a kind man, and you would never want.”
“And who else would want someone like me?”
“Any man would be fortunate to have you for a wife.”
“Then how come Thomas is the only one asking?” Pearl cried.
Tears shimmered in Mary’s eyes as she came around the table and clasped Pearl in her arms.
That night Pearl lay awake, listening to the sounds of the night and wondering what she should do. She resented the choice that had been thrust upon her, though she knew she should be grateful to be given one. Most fathers would never have dreamed of consulting their daughters about a marriage proposal.
I wonder what my real father would have done, she thought, and instantly felt guilty for it. Finneas had been the only father she had known, and she could never have asked for a kinder, more loving father. Still, there are times when I can’t help but wonder what my real parents were like, and what happened to them. I guess I’ll never know.
Her thoughts drifted to James. All his talk about magic and her unknown heritage always pleased her a little. His talk frightened her, though, as well. She wasn’t sure she did believe in magic, but she knew that he did, and the thought that it could exist made her nervous. He believed so strongly, though, it was hard not to get swept up by his passion. She thought of the look he got in his eyes when he talked about the things that were near to his heart.
Alone in the dark she could admit that she wished James had been the one who had asked for her hand. She was sure her thoughts must be a sin on her part—pride, presumption, or something. She couldn’t quite believe it, though.
James was wonderful, everything that a girl could dream about. He was her dearest friend and she did love him, at least in some sense. Sometimes she dreamt about him at night. He would stand before her and tell her that he loved her, but always, just as he was about to kiss her, she would catch a glimpse of something over his shoulder.
She was never sure what it was, a shadow, perhaps. It was always there, though, and it was somehow familiar to her. It called to her, telling her that there was something else, something she had lost and needed to find. Then, if she strained hard enough, she could see a pair of eyes staring at her, glittering in the darkness.
Those eyes haunted her. She would wake after seeing them, afraid to open her eyes for fear that she would see them blinking at her in the darkness of the cottage. In her dreams James never kissed her, the eyes always stopped him.
The eyes were only in her dreams, never in her nightmares. The voice in her nightmares was different too. It always whispered horrible things to her, told her she was nothing, nobody. Told her that if she went into the ocean she would die.
Tonight it would be different. Tonight there would be no nightmares. She would dream and she would ignore the eyes, and turn a deaf ear to the whispers. She would dream that she really was a princess, just like James had said.
She rolled over and faced the wall. “If I am a princess, then I shall marry James,” she told herself. It was folly, the dream of a girl. Still, the words made her feel better, made her feel like she had a choice. She smiled slightly as she fell asleep.
Prince James walked into the castle. He couldn’t help but smile as a servant sweeping the floor only gave him a cursory glance. It used to be that his returns would cause almost as much of an uproar as his disappearances. The alternately happy and frustrating days of childhood had passed, though, and now no one seemed to care whether he came or went. Strangely he sometimes missed the old days.
He made his way upstairs to his bedchamber. There, a frustrated servant, Peter, was waiting for him. James smiled. At least someone still noticed his comings and goings. His smile faded quickly, though, as Peter promptly began lecturing him on how long it took a gentleman to dress properly for a feast with guests such as the duke and that James should have shown up much earlier and with far less sand upon his person.
With an exaggerated sigh, James sat down on his bed. He surveyed the clothes that had been laid out for him. It was going to be a very formal
evening. Sir Stephen, the duke of Novan, and his son, Robert, were coming to dinner. James did not trust Sir Stephen. He had met the man thrice before and had disliked him more each time they’d met “Has Sir Stephen arrived yet?”
Peter wrinkled his nose ever so slightly. James knew the servant did not like the duke any better than he did. Peter also knew more than anyone else about the comings and goings at the castle. If there was news, he would have it.
“He arrived nearly an hour ago with his entourage.”
“And?”
“A foul group they are. His servants are an ill-mannered lot. The duke swaggered in like he owned the castle. He doesn’t show the proper amount of respect to your lord father.”
“And his son? I understand he’s earned quite a reputation for himself abroad as a knight.”
“More likely he’s earned himself a reputation as a scoundrel”
James couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Has Father said anything?”
Peter shook his head. “Your father has his mind on other matters. He doesn’t notice Sir Stephen’s insolence.”
“But you think he should?”
Peter dropped his eyes. “It is not my place to say what your father should do.”
“And yet, you will,” James pushed.
Peter paused for a moment, and James leaned forward eagerly. When Peter spoke, it was in a hushed whisper. “I think your father should watch him close. The duke’s an ambitious man, and I wouldn’t put much stock in his scruples.”
“But he is my father’s distant cousin,” James protested.
“And as such would take the throne if something happened to your father, and to you.”
James felt a shiver dance up his spine. Although Peter was in touch with all that happened around the castle, he was not given to idle gossip. If he said a thing, it was gospel.
James kept his own voice low as he answered, “Then I shall keep an eye on the duke for my father’s sake.”
He extended his hand to Peter, and after a moment the servant clasped it. They locked eyes, and a silent agreement passed between them. They would keep an eye on the duke.
Peter released his hand, and James stood up. “Well, it’s time to dress for dinner. We mustn’t keep Father and the duke waiting.”
“No, Your Highness.”
In short order, James was properly attired. What would Pearl say about his clothes? They were more elaborate than any she had ever seen him in. On the couple of occasions that she had actually seen him in the village, he had worn simpler clothes, still regal, but not like those he wore when they were holding court.
He hoped she would laugh and call him a gilded peacock, or smile and tell him he looked handsome. More likely, though, she would duck her head and refuse to look at him, unable to forget his station—or hers.
She was so beautiful, and yet she did not know it. There was something ethereal about her, as though she were from a different world. When they were young he used to dream that she was a fairy, or a spirit who would one day disappear into thin air. Now that they were older, he didn’t know what to believe. He wasn’t sure he believed in Fairy folk anymore, but he wasn’t entirely convinced they weren’t real. There were too many stories, too many unexplained happenings. The only thing he knew for sure was that there was more to Pearl than she herself knew.
He met his father as he walked out of his chamber. King Philip nodded at him. Together they walked down the winding staircase that led to the main floor and the great hall. They crossed the threshold, and everyone inside the hall, including Sir Stephen, rose to their feet.
It looked like there would be nearly fifty people dining with them tonight. Aside from the duke and his son there were knights, merchants, and a few other, lesser nobles. James and his father arrived at the table and took their place at its head. James noted that Peter was standing in his usual place, just behind and to the right of the king, in case he should need anything.
Everyone else sat down on the long benches on the sides of the table. A massive stone fireplace that ran nearly the length of the one wall cast light and heat into the room. A hanging candelabra above the center of the table and long taper candles placed at intervals down the center of the table provided the rest of the light.
As soon as they were seated, the servants appeared as if by magic, filling each cup with clarrey, a wine that James knew his father favored, with its mix of honey and spices. Then, serving maids from the kitchens appeared carrying trays of meats, fruits, and other delicacies. The aroma filled the room, and James breathed deep, enjoying the mixture of scents.
There were trays of spiced pear compote and plates of exotic fruits. There were legs of mutton and vegetables in vinegar. Flampoyntes were set before each guest, the pork and cheese pies decorated with pastry triangles. Various other meats and cheeses were present in abundance.
There was Sweet William, the fish that Pearl had shown him once that usually smelled of ammonia. Most wouldn’t eat it, but their chef prided himself on having perfected a way to cook it that removed the odor. The result was a succulent dish that had an exotic flavor. James smiled to himself. Finneas was the only fisherman who caught Sweet William and he did so only for the castle’s chef. It made James feel close to Pearl, somehow, to sit at his father’s table and eat the fruits of her father’ s labor.
The most decadent dish was brought out last with a great flourish. Whole roasted chickens graced great serving platters. Each was stuffed with meat, nuts, eggs, and spices and were glazed either green or gold. Balls of the stuffing were shaped like eggs around each chicken and were also painted either green or gold.
Gasps of appreciation went up around the table at the sight of the poullaille farcie, and James sighed in satisfaction. In his experience nothing was quite so impressive as a table laid with such exquisite food. He knew from his tutors that the meal was a symbol of the kings wealth and power, and should serve to humble the hearts of those present. His eyes turned to the duke. Even Sir Stephen was impressed; James could see it in the way his eyes were riveted upon the chickens. James would have to remember to thank the chef later.
For half an hour the only sound was that of hungry men eating. Not for the first time since his mother had died five years before, James lamented a lady’s touch at the table. His father had never remarried, and the only women who had sat at the table in the past five years had been the occasional wife of a visiting noble or a distant relative visiting the family.
James’s thoughts again drifted to Pearl. He wondered what shed be eating at her family’s table. Not fish, he thought wryly. Even he knew of her distaste for the sea’s bounty. He imagined her sitting at the table beside him. What would she try first? He yearned to have her dine with him. He had never been able to even show her the castle, though. He felt his cheeks burning with shame. For all her talk about the difference in their stations and her reluctance to speak with him in public, he was just as bad. He had never even spoken her name in front of his father.
“So, Prince James is of an age to take a bride”
Startled, James looked up from his plate and stared at Sir Stephen.
King Philip nodded slowly. “Yes, he is.”
“I imagine there are any number of eligible ladies eager to be his wife. It must be hard to choose between them.” The duke picked up his goblet and took a swallow. He set it back down on the table and with exaggerated nonchalance continued. “I have had several requests from young suitors for the hand of my own daughter, Elizabeth”
James glanced uneasily at his father. He noted that the king was looking at Peter. Peter shook his head ever so slightly, and the king turned back to face the duke.
James wasn’t sure what the interchange between Peter and his father meant, but he didn’t want to risk finding out. He didn’t like where the conversation seemed to be headed. “I’m sure one of them will make a fine husband for your daughter,” he spoke up quickly. “Having them be the supplicants for her hand puts her in a position of
power, and you, as well,” he added pointedly.
The duke flushed. James had touched a nerve. If the duke asked another to wed his daughter, it would put him in the weaker position, that of supplicant. The duke was sensitive enough to the subtleties of power to appreciate the difference, and to not enjoy being reminded of it. James was relieved. There would be no talk of his betrothal tonight at least.
James turned his head away from the duke and caught sight of Robert, who had been quiet up until now, smiling wickedly. The smile did nothing to alleviate the crackling cold of his gray eyes. James met his eyes and was startled to see arrogance, rage, and hatred lurking in their crystal depths. A shiver slid up his spine.
During the rest of the meal James was quiet, watching and, in turn, being watched. It was unnerving and it was with relief that he excused himself at the end of the meal.
He quickly climbed the stairs leading to the living quarters, eager to be alone with his thoughts. Inside his room he strode to the window and stared out toward the sea and Pearl’s home.
Of late he had found himself thinking more and more about her and often at the strangest times. Things were changing between them, in some subtle way that was hard to detect and even harder to understand. Maybe we’ve just grown up, and this is what it will feel like from now on.
He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there before he heard a slight noise behind him. He turned around to see Peter standing a respectful distance away. “What is it, Peter?”
“Your father wishes to speak with you.”
“What about?” James asked, at once suspicious and curious.
Peter just shrugged.
“Don’t know or won’t tell?”
The ghost of a smile touched Peter’s lips. “Perhaps a bit of both. He’s in the throne room.” With that, he turned and left, and James found his curiosity heightened even more.
He left his chambers and made his way toward the throne room—further proof that whatever it was had to be somewhat serious, else they would have met in his father’s chambers. When he reached the room he found his father standing, staring out a window, much as James had just been doing upstairs. Silently James joined him, and together they stared out into the darkness.
Midnight Pearls Page 3
