The Duchess Quest (Jordinia Book 1)

by C. K. Brooke

  She echoed the line in her high, clear voice, and several men cheered. She glanced in their direction, grinning.

  “But my heart doth roar like thunder when your face is smiling at me,” he sang out. His voice was truly beautiful, Dainy had to admit.

  She trilled back the lyrics, passing beneath his arm and doing a little twirl. The crowd applauded and stomped their feet.

  “Hum ditty ah-ah, hum ditty ah-ah,” caroled Mac, dancing Dainy down the bar as smiling, red-faced patrons moved their glasses out of the couple’s way.

  Catching onto the song’s pattern, Dainy finished, “Hum ditty ah-ah, hum ditty ay.” They repeated the intonations, and Dainy was laughing now, dancing with Mac as though they had no onlookers.

  “Yea, I love thee like a river; yea, I love thee like a fire,” sang Mac, who stood behind Dainy and wrapped her in his arms, rocking her from side to side. The crowd went wild for this, whooping, and Dainy, her head spinning from the wine, felt her face redden as she laughingly intoned the line back to him.

  “Thou art lovely like the summer, lover of my heart’s desire,” finished Mac, turning Dainy to face him. Watching him, she repeated the words, before the whole room began to sing, “Hum ditty ah-ah…”

  When the song was finished, the hall exploded with cheers, drunken old men whistling between their fingers, and patrons demanding, “Encore!”

  Mac held up his index finger to the musicians, as if to inquire, one more? The band nodded.

  “Bonnie of the Spring,” he told them, and those nearby gasped, kicking their stools aside and sliding out from their benches. Strangers and friends joined hands and began to dance the moment the strummer plucked the first note.

  Mac and Dainy sang together in a pleasant harmony. She no longer felt nervous, for the crowd was warm and encouraging. She felt her voice ejecting strongly, with confidence.

  She continued to dance playfully with Mac, all the while her heart soaring at the thought that Jon was certainly watching her. Surely, he would now see that she, too, could be charming and bold, in her own way.

  COSMITH HADN’T SEEN IT COMING.

  One moment, he was sitting across from Dainy, enjoying a taste of wine, and the next, the girl had all but disappeared. He straightened, craning his neck to find her, but didn’t see her anywhere.

  Bos and Selu were engaged in deep conversation, their tones low, the giant’s cheeks becoming steadily brighter with every goblet he downed.

  Cosmith looked away, granting them what privacy he could, and swished the wine in his glass for something to do with his hands. He felt someone pressing up behind him, but didn’t turn. Damn place is too crowded, he thought, growing frustrated.

  He used to enjoy these types of scenes, and not long ago. But for some reason, not that night. He was tired, and hadn’t felt like himself lately. He didn’t like the jostling mob, couldn’t think clearly through the clamor. With longing, he recalled swimming with Dainy in Beili, dancing with her on the boat, teasing her in the cave in the Knights’ Forest, and just earlier that day, riding Spitfire with her….

  Cosmith frowned, realizing that all his thoughts were consumed by that singular young woman.

  This was not supposed to happen.

  He rested his chin in his palms. He’d thought he was following a plan—a simple plan to claim a duchess, win fifty pounds of gold, and be on his merry way. He had never actually intended to marry the girl. After all, Jon Cosmith belonged to no woman.

  Or so, at least, he’d thought.

  The inn was full of lively maidens drinking and cavorting. But strangely, none had any effect upon him. Casting his eyes about the sea of new faces, Cosmith realized he was interested in no other woman at all. All he could think of was Dainy.

  He startled as someone wedged in at his side, sidling up to him rather forcefully. Clearing his throat, he lifted his goblet and made to move farther down the bench, when a hand brushed at his arm.

  He looked up to see a girl, perhaps Dainy’s age, with a rather large forehead and springy blond curls. She gave him a forward smile. “Hallo, handsome. Mind if I sit here?”

  Cosmith shook his head and turned away. What was happening to him? Just moons ago, he would’ve pounced upon such an advance without a moment’s hesitation. But now, he felt merely uncomfortable.

  The music gave a sudden start, and the room cheered. He glanced up. Familiar voices began to sing, and that’s when Cosmith spotted them: Macmillan and Dainy, standing hand in hand—of all places—atop the bar. They began to sing to one another, lyrics of love, accompanied by intimate dancing.

  Cosmith grew dizzy. So, Dainy was merrymaking for all to see in the arms of Marley Macmillan, was she? And after her day with Cosmith? Had his companionship and embrace meant nothing to her then, and had she meant nothing by hers?

  He ground his teeth. That night, of all nights, he had, for the very first time, dared to consider offering his loyalty to one woman—her.

  And that night, of all nights, she was choosing someone else.

  At the sound of Macmillan’s and Dainy’s intertwined voices, Cosmith swung his legs over the bench, intending to leave the dining hall, but someone followed him. He turned impatiently to find himself facing the blond maiden again.

  She glanced over her shoulder, where Cosmith could see a gaggle of young women egging her on. Grinning, the blonde came closer. “Leaving so soon, handsome?” she asked, her girlish voice somewhat grating. “Why not ask me for a dance first?”

  Cosmith wished to simply ignore her and walk away. But when he glanced up again and saw Macmillan holding Dainy, rocking her back and forth, a smile on Dainy’s lips as she closed her eyes, swaying in the other man’s arms, Cosmith felt ill.

  He took the girl’s hand and placed his other hand at her waist, hoping that the thrill of a new lass might drown out the screaming in his head, or at least unclench his knotted stomach. But there came no thrill from dancing with her. He hardly wanted to look at her, instead watching Macmillan and Dainy, the happy couple, serenading one another.

  Dainy gazed into Macmillan’s eyes as she sang to him, and Cosmith could bear it no longer. He tore his gaze away. What kind of a fool was he?

  It’s over, thought Cosmith, his heart aching even as he continued to step in time to the music. Dainy would pick Macmillan. They weren’t far from Gatspierre’s manor. If her mind was made now, it was not about to change.

  Cosmith prayed for the last note of the song. But when the two burst into a new harmony together, there was nothing left for him to do but continue dancing with the stranger, determined to resume his life as it had once been, without his emotions entwined with another.

  The maiden before him was forward and willing. He could take her to bed that night, distract himself in an hour of amusement, and try to shake off the feeling of loss that plagued him.

  When he could no longer stand to dance to their voices, he leaned in and spoke gruffly to the girl. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  She giggled. “Why, you’ve not even told me your name.” But she was the one to grab his arm and lead him from the dining hall. “I am Romula.”

  Cosmith didn’t care. He wanted only to disappear into the kind of pleasure that numbed any pain, at least while it lasted.

  He let the girl guide him to the stairwell, where she stopped to meet his eyes. He could tell she was the sort who thought herself pretty, although honestly, he wasn’t attracted to her. He shut his eyes and saw Dainy, only Dainy, as the blonde reached up to kiss him, but it was Dainy’s lips he wanted….

  Her mouth was overeager against his, her figure too slender, her lips slippery and sour with wine. What was he doing? He suddenly came to his senses. He didn’t want this person, couldn’t tolerate her kiss.

  Feeling wretched, he pulled away from her.

  With a start, he stepped back to see none other than Macmi
llan, Selu, and Dainy emerging from the dining hall. They stared at him, halting mid-conversation.

  Dainy’s countenance fell. Speechless, Cosmith watched as she looked down at her feet, stepping out of the satin shoes he’d purchased for her.

  And then, with force, she chucked them at him. The first hit his shoulder, while the second narrowly missed his head. It was enough to send the girl Romula darting back into the hall with a squeal, covering her curls.

  Dainy stormed off in the opposite direction, although not before Cosmith heard her heave a sob.

  Macmillan chased after her, disappearing in her wake without giving Cosmith a second glance.

  Selu staggered forward, her face furious. She swung out her hand and smacked Cosmith in the face. “You idiot!”

  Cosmith grabbed at his smarting cheek. “What the hell?”

  “How can you be such a jackass?” Selu spat. “What the devil were you doing, trifling with some common floozy, when the duchess of Jordinia is at your feet?”

  “At my feet?” repeated Cosmith incredulously. “Did you not see her with Macmillan just now? Or were you and Bos too drunk to notice them holding each other and professing their love to one another in song?” He was shocked to hear the quaver in his own voice.

  Selu’s eyes narrowed into slits. “For a man who’s had so many women, Jon Cosmith, you understand very little about them.”

  “I understand enough to see clearly that Dainy has chosen Macmillan,” he cried.

  Selu shook her head. “Then you must be blind, you fool.”

  MACMILLAN FOLLOWED DAINY OUTDOORS TO the warm summer air. They could still hear the music of the dining hall through the open windows.

  Dainy stalked ahead, barefoot, and Macmillan had to jog to catch up with her. “Stop,” he pleaded, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  She halted, cheeks glistening with tears.

  “Listen to me.” Macmillan gripped her shoulders, giving her the tiniest of shakes. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. Jon Cosmith is a lecher. He will seduce anything that stands still long enough.”

  But the girl was already sobbing, and Macmillan took her into his arms, elated to hold her, yet dismayed that her tears were for another man. “I thought,” she gasped, hardly able to speak through her hiccupping, “that he c-c-cared for me!”

  “The man cares for no one but himself. Come now.” He tried to cheer her up. “Let us not forget what fun we had tonight, you and I. I should like to sing with you in such a way for ages to come.”

  Dainy slowly looked up.

  Cosmith kissing another girl had been the best thing to happen their entire journey thus far. For, at last, Dainy would see which man was material for a husband, and which was not.

  “Dainy,” he breathed. “I would be a faithful husband to you. Respectable, a gentleman…everything you deserve. Everything Jon Cosmith could never be.”

  For a moment, he truly thought he had won her, as she peered up at him, blinking through her tears.

  Alas, she backed away. His spirits sinking, Macmillan could do nothing but watch as she pushed past him, silently disappearing into the darkness.

  He remained outside for a long while, gazing up at the stars. Eventually, when the musicians had finished playing for the night and the inn had quieted down, he turned back inside, taking up a lantern and finding the way to his room.

  He opened the chamber door. Bos was already snoring loudly upon his mat, but Macmillan did not see Cosmith. Exhausted, he lay on his back, but didn’t close his eyes, watching the lantern burn down.

  At a much later hour, the door reopened. In stepped Cosmith, looking a mess. Staggering slightly and reeking of ale and sick, the man threw his vest and hat into a corner, his blouse half-tucked and his hair disheveled.

  “Where’ve you been?” murmured Macmillan.

  Cosmith ignored him, wiping vomit from the corner of his mouth as he unsteadily kicked off his boots.

  “Drink yourself sick?” Macmillan wrinkled his nose. “What a glutton you are, Cosmith. You’ve no self-control.”

  “Go to hell,” rasped Cosmith, stumbling onto his mat.

  “You do know,” Macmillan warned him, “that if you are too hung-over to arise with us at dawn, we’re leaving without you.”

  Cosmith snorted. “I’ll know where to find you,” he mumbled into his pillow.

  Macmillan extinguished the lantern, and the room went quiet. Sensing the other man awake beside him, he rolled onto his side, making out Cosmith’s shape. “While I’m surely thrilled about it,” he said at last, “I can’t help but wonder why.” He scrunched his brow. “We made it this far, neck and neck. In fact, I nearly thought you’d won. So why scorn the emperor’s daughter for a mere evening’s pleasure with some common maid?”

  Cosmith did not respond.

  “Bos was right.” Macmillan shrugged. “You care as much for your libido as you do your wealth. Even more, as it turns out. Ah, well.” He sighed contentedly, punching the hay in his pillow to reshape it. “Bully for me.”

  Jon Cosmith remained silent.

  THE COCK HAD NOT YET crowed when Cosmith’s pounding head awoke him. He thought he might be sick again, but fought past the urge. He could think only of one thing. Rising from his mat, he slipped from the room and headed for the women’s chamber.

  Cosmith raised his fist to the door, but lowered it without knocking. Surely, she would still be asleep. He glanced out the hall window. The sky was lightening, though, was it not? Or at least, it was about to.

  Determined, he rapped on the door. When there came no answer, he rapped a second, third, fourth time until finally, it opened, revealing Selu. She looked as awful as he felt. Recognizing him in the darkness, her narrow face contorted. “Go away,” she hissed. “You have caused enough damage for one night.”

  “I must speak with Dainy.”

  “The duchess does not wish to speak with you, now or ever again.” She made to shut the door, but Cosmith wedged his hand in the frame. Resolutely, he attempted to push past her, but she blocked his way. “Anything you wish to say to Eludaine, you can say to me.”

  Cosmith frowned indignantly. “It is none of your business.”

  But when Selu continued to watch him expectantly, he sighed. “I did not kiss that girl. She kissed me.” How infuriating—not to mention humiliating—to have to tell this to Selu, when the matter was between Dainy and him. “And I only let her because….” He faltered, looking away. “Because of the way Dainy was carrying on with Macmillan.” His face now burned along with the throbbing of his head.

  Selu pursed her lips. “Very well,” she murmured, then slammed the door in his face.

  EVERYONE LOOKED HORRIBLE AT SUNRISE. Bos himself had drunk too much, and when he awoke, Cosmith and Macmillan were behaving uncommonly surly toward one another, even for them.

  As they waited for the stable boys to fetch their horses, Bos noticed Selu glaring in Cosmith’s direction. He shifted his gaze to Eludaine. Her feet were bare, and her eyes were puffy and red. Had she spent the night weeping?

  He watched as Cosmith tentatively approached her with the shoes he’d bought for her in Bainherd. But Eludaine only stared ahead. Clearly, the man had done something boneheaded again, and Bos wasn’t sure he wanted to know what.

  After mounting his steed, he awaited the others. No one wanted to ride with Cosmith. Selu eventually coaxed the duchess into her shoes, and helped her mount Spitfire. Bos watched with some amusement as Macmillan and Cosmith mounted the dapple gray together, wondering what would transpire in the arrangement. But they only rode in silence.

  The minutes stretched on like hours. Along rivers and hillsides the horses galloped, passing rolling fields and modest villages, a city or two, and crossing over a quarry. The sun rolled across the sky like a blazing chariot, but still, there was no conversation.

/>   They passed through Vündtgen, Häffstrom’s capital. After the sun had set, Bos led them off-road, halting their horses in the grass. “Omar Village is not far,” he informed them. “But I think it unwise to continue in the dark. Especially since I’ve heard tell of highwaymen in these parts.” He glanced up at the waning moon, which was beginning to show. “I say we rest here, and approach Gatspierre in the morning, refreshed and presentable.”

  No one had energy to argue. They followed him into the nearest town and stopped their horses at a tiny lodge. A homely innkeeper came out to greet them and dispatch the animals to his stable hands, before inviting them inside and serving them dinner.

  They ate their parsnip and venison stew in stony silence.

  At last, Bos glanced up from his bowl. “Well?” He looked round at them all. “We’ve made it all the way here. We have found our duchess, and tomorrow morning, our quest is complete.” He pounded his fist on the table, making them jump. “Huzzah!” he said mirthlessly, glowering between their glum faces. “No?”

  Eludaine simply pushed away her half-eaten bowl, while Cosmith had not even touched his, his clean fork resting unused on the table.

  Bos groaned, rubbing a massive hand over his face. “All right,” he sighed. “What happened last night?”

  “You saw what happened, Bos,” said Macmillan cheerfully. “Dainy and I brought the crowd to their feet with our music.”

  “And what beautiful music we make together, Mac,” Eludaine sniffed in a curt, although surprisingly suggestive, manner.

  Cosmith glanced up, his hair limp and eyes wan as he watched her.

  Bos did not miss the enormous smile that spread across Macmillan’s freckled face. He shoveled another forkful of venison into his mouth. “Dainy shall be my songbird from tomorrow unto the Evermore,” the lad said thickly.

  There came a loud scraping, and the four looked up in alarm to see Cosmith sliding his chair back most ungracefully. The man shot to his feet and kicked in the seat at a crooked angle. It slammed against the table, causing the wine to slosh in their glasses. His back was turned before Bos could make out his expression.