“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” her stepfather said tersely. “Don’t be stubborn.”
Morgana responded as she always did. “You promised my mother that I would be allowed to choose my own husband.”
“At that time, I did not realize you would be so blasted particular,” he responded with apparent anger. His face turned red as he blustered. “You will soon be twenty-five years of age! The time for marrying and producing children will pass you by, and you must have children so all that I have created here will be passed on to family.” There was a distant nephew, but he was less than bright and had no manners at all. To leave him the estate would be unacceptable.
Morgana could not tell her stepfather that she would never marry, because he would insist on knowing why she’d come to that decision, and she could not explain it to him. That broke her heart, since even though he was not her real father and she had sometimes been mulish in the past few years, he still considered her his daughter as surely as if he had sired her himself. Could he not see that they would have a pleasant life here, just the two of them? She could care for him in his old age. No one would rile or enrage her, not if her life was quiet and well-planned from day to day, so there would be no repeat of the disaster with Tomas. She and Almund could play cards and throw the occasional party, and if people thought she was odd, well, she could live with that.
Morgana knew she could not allow herself to relent, not even a little bit. What Tomas had brought to life in her could be activated again, by some other man who made demands or roused fear in her. For years she had waited for the true love her mother insisted was real, and now . . . now she knew she was not fit for any man or for any love.
She could not share her deepest fears with anyone, not even her stepfather. “Everyone who has been presented to me is either too old, too portly, too arrogant, or too stupid. From all I hear, the emperor is guilty of all four, except maybe the portly. Since I have never seen him, I can’t say, but since he’s well-known to be indiscriminately lascivious, I suspect he’s guilty of gluttony as well.”
The sentinel before her went impossibly paler, and she could swear his lower lip shook. The taller man who stood in the corner seemed to suppress a smile. Her stepfather placed a hand over his heart.
“Morgana, the words you speak will be repeated to the emperor by these fine sentinels.”
“I do not care.” She looked squarely at the dark-haired soldier before her, hardening her heart. “You may tell your emperor all that I have said, and you may also tell him that I refuse, refuse, refuse his ridiculous offer.”
Both sentinels bowed crisply and turned away to exit the room. Her stepfather trembled with anger and balled his fists tightly. When the door had closed behind the two soldiers from Arthes, the man who had cared for her since the age of four turned on her. His face was truly and disturbingly red, and his hands trembled.
He screamed. He accused her of terrible things. None of them were as terrible as the act she had actually if accidentally done, but still, his words were hurtful. She was not horribly spoiled, and she did care about the feelings of others. She was not impossible, and in truth she was no pickier than any other woman of discrimination.
She was prepared to argue with Almund, to calm him down with sweet words, as she was usually able to do, but he did not seem to be in the mood for reason. So she told him the truth. Part of it, anyway. “I have decided that I shall never marry.”
Almund’s face turned red. “Ridiculous. You will marry.” He shook his head once and then shouted, “I rescind my promise to your mother, here and now. I swear to God, Morgana, I will marry you to the next man who walks through that door, whether you like it or not!”
She did not get a chance to argue, as the door opened and the tall, fair-haired sentinel walked into the room. He looked briefly at Morgana and then turned his attention to Almund. “It just so happens that I’m in the market for a wife, and I suspect your daughter would do quite nicely.”
JAHN had been standing in the entryway, waiting for Blane to return from the kitchen with food for the second half of the unsuccessful journey, when he’d heard Ramsden’s words. Still annoyed by Lady Morgana’s rejection, he had not been able to help himself, and now here he stood, facing a beautiful, arrogant woman and a stunned, angry man. Both of them were beautifully dressed, well-groomed, and filled with pride—not a hair or a thread out of place—and among the finest citizenry Columbyana had to offer. And they were completely at his mercy.
“You did swear to God,” Jahn said when neither of the others responded. “The emperor, as well as the priests who counsel him, take such vows very seriously. The emperor and Father Braen will be very upset if they hear that you made such a vow and then rescinded it, as you verbally annulled your promise to your late wife.”
“I . . . I lost my temper,” Ramsden said in a lowered voice. He was not a tall man, nor did he have the slenderness of youth or the brawniness that came from physical labor. No, he was a gentleman who’d led a soft life. “I truly did not mean . . .”
“Then you should not have sworn before God,” Jahn said, taking a few steps closer to Lady Morgana. “My needs are not cumbersome. I simply require someone to cook and clean and wash my uniforms,” he explained as his eyes met hers. She had warm green eyes which were complemented by her golden hair, full lips, and a fine—if smallish for his taste—bosom. She looked tired and her face was too pale, but perhaps she was always a touch haggard. Being unrelentingly difficult was certainly tiring. She most definitely needed to be taken down a peg or two, and a bit of sun wouldn’t hurt. “There will be some mending, I suppose.” He fingered a frayed section of his shirtsleeve. “I can also give you those grandchildren you so desire. Lots of them.” He gave the lady a wink.
“You were listening in on a private conversation,” Ramsden snapped with indignation, pulling himself up to his full unimpressive height.
Jahn turned his head to glare at the older man. “I was in the room when you mentioned heirs, and you were practically shouting at the time. I would have had to be deaf not to ‘listen in,’ as you put it.”
Morgana and the old man began to speak at once, both of them making excuses. Still, Jahn was determined. Since becoming emperor he had learned not to back down. He had learned to stand his ground longer and more firmly than anyone else. He had learned to get what he wanted. Truth be told, he had always been able to get what he wanted. Backing down had never been his strong suit.
“I refuse,” Morgana said haughtily, turning her face away from him and lifting her cute little chin in defiance. “Honestly, I don’t know what would make you think I’d reject an emperor and then accept you.”
“It would take many days for me to arrange for a priest to arrive to conduct the ceremony, and I’m sure you don’t have many days,” Ramsden said nervously. “The emperor will be awaiting your return. You do not want to make Emperor Jahn wait.”
Jahn was not swayed. “In many parts of the country, all that is required for a common marriage is that the man and woman agree, or that the woman is given to the man by the head of household. Once they consummate the marriage, they are legally man and wife. There is no real need for a priest for those of us of a lower station.”
“How dare you?” Morgana whispered. “I am not a slave or a possession to be given away.”
Jahn stood tall. “Perhaps I should speak with your father alone.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Go make yourself pretty for the travels ahead.”
Morgana gasped, but when her stepfather nodded his head and told her everything would be all right, she fled from the room.
Ramsden seemed confident enough. Perhaps the rich man thought he could buy discretion and a bit of forgetfulness from a sentinel who had been in the right place at the right time and was looking to be rewarded for his good luck. A few gold coins, a small piece of land . . . what would he offer? Jahn didn’t want to play the game long enough to find out.
When Morga
na was gone from the room, Jahn turned his full attention to Almund. “Sir, you have not looked me fully in the face since I arrived. I realize that I am a lowly servant, and therefore not worthy of your attention, but I suggest you look at me now. Look me in the eye as you would an equal, if you please. ”
No matter what he wore, no matter how disheveled he appeared to be, he was emperor—and he had met this man once before, shortly after the coronation.
Almund grudgingly looked Jahn in the eye as directed, and almost instantly recognition colored his face and filled his eyes with fear. “Oh, My Lord Emperor.” He bowed and then came up crisply. His entire body shook. “I’m so sorry you had to hear my daughter’s tirade. She’s spoiled horribly—yes, spoiled—and it’s entirely my fault. All my fault. Naturally I did not recognize you in your clever disguise. Clever, very clever,” he muttered. “I hope you were not offended.”
“To hear that I’m old, fat, arrogant, indiscriminate, and what else? Oh, yes, stupid. Why should I be offended?”
Almund went pale, as he should. “Morgana is sometimes a difficult girl, but deep down she’s very sweet.”
Jahn did not bother to agree that Lady Morgana might be a saint, deep down. What he had seen of her was not at all sweet. She must keep that part of her personality well hidden and buried very deep. She needed to be taught a lesson in humility. The woman who had lived her entire pampered life getting anything and everything she desired needed to learn that life was not so easy. Lady Morgana should be pleased to be considered for the position of empress. She should be delighted that she had been given the opportunity to vie for a place in his bed. Before he was done with her, she would be.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.”
MORGANA had returned to the main room expecting that she’d find her stepfather contrite over his lost temper and the sentinel gone, paid off in some profitable way. That had undoubtedly been his plan all along. He couldn’t possibly want her as his wife! No, he’d been looking for a bit of profit, that was all.
Instead she had been unceremoniously given to the bearded sentinel as one might offer a stale loaf of bread to a beggar. One of the kitchen maids packed Morgana a very small bag that could not possibly contain more than a single change of clothes and a comb for her hair, and then she’d been tossed out on her ear in the company of two sentinels, including the one who claimed her as his wife.
She left her home with no retinue at all. No maid, no chaperone, not a single attendant.
Morgana worked very hard at controlling her anger. She buried her fear. In the not-so-distant past she had unwillingly tapped into an unknown power and taken the life of a man. She was certain she would never squash the guilt of taking a life, no matter what Tomas’s intent had been on that night, and she certainly didn’t want it to happen again, not even if the blasted sentinel who dared to claim her was at the center of her destruction. No, she would find another way out of this untenable situation.
As they rode toward Arthes, she kept herself cool and distant and separate from her emotions so the chill of destruction would not overtake her again, and yet she knew that if her passions were strong enough, if her insides roiled with fear or anger, it would. The sentinel—Jahn Devlyn, he said his name was—had not so much as touched her. Lucky for him. Angry as she was, she might be unable to contain the chill and its dark result if he pushed her any farther.
If he tried to force himself upon her, wrongly considering himself to be her husband, the night would end very badly. She didn’t want to kill him; he likely didn’t want to die.
At least her stepfather had supplied her with her own horse, so she would not be forced to walk or, worse, ride with the sentinel. She had been saddened to see that on her departure Almund Ramsden had shown little emotion. No regret, no real sadness. He’d seemed worried, he was definitely a bit chastened—but he did not shed a single tear to see her ride off with a complete stranger. Perhaps she had pushed her luck too far. Perhaps he finally saw through her, catching a glimpse of the dark creature she had become. Did he see her as a monster? Did he somehow know what she hid?
As they rode onward, the sentinels spoke on occasion about where they might spend the night and how long the journey would take with a less experienced traveler along, and they discussed what the weather might be like in the days to come. For the most part they ignored her, and if not for the occasional glimpse, she might think she could simply turn back and they wouldn’t miss her.
But now and then the sentinel who called himself Jahn turned to look at her with strong, determined eyes that told her too clearly that if she ran, he would come after her. And he’d catch her, too. And then where would she be? If he dared to bind her, if he was forceful with her, she would not be able to help what would surely happen next.
In more than twenty years she’d never gone far from the house where she’d lived. Why should she? Her mother and stepfather had cared for her dotingly. She’d been educated by the best tutors, visited by the finest dressmakers, entertained by poets and musicians who came through the area on a regular basis, and courted by men from near and far. Everything any woman could ask for had been given to her, and she’d never had to leave her home in order to have all she desired.
Looking back, Morgana wondered why she had been so protected. Had her mother known all along what her daughter was? What she would become? Was that why Morgana had been kept so close to home all her life? Had a loving mother hidden her only child from the world so there would be no opportunity for disaster? If that was the case, why had there been no warning? No hint of what was to come? No instruction?
Morgana watched as the landscape changed to one which was completely unfamiliar to her. There were no drastic changes, no dragons or pink trees or purple rivers, but still, the land was strange. She did not recognize the road nor the farms they passed. She did not know what would lie over the next hill. Most disturbingly, she did not know what would become of her. Was she truly destined to live her life washing this man’s clothes and cooking his supper and—heaven forbid—giving birth to his children? Eventually silent tears did fall. She could not stop them.
Her “husband” ignored her tears. He did not even display a hint of sympathy or annoyance.
They stopped for the night at a pleasant enough camp-site near the river. It was not yet dark, so Morgana had a chance to survey the area. An abundance of pink flowering bushes grew to one side of the site, alive and bright with the gifts of spring. The nearby water flowed fast and crystal clear, breaking over smooth rocks and staying well within its banks. The ground was hard and the land beyond looked harsh and unwelcoming.
The dark-haired one—Blane was his name, though she did not care what he called himself—took care of the animals. He was apparently responsible for caring for all three horses. He led the animals to the water, and then Jahn Devlyn turned to give Morgana his full attention. His full attention was enough to make any woman weak in the knees.
He crooked a finger at her, silently calling her to him.
Morgana held her ground, and the annoying man pursed his lips and called to her in an unnecessarily harsh voice. “Wife!”
Wife? Could he not even deign to use her name? Did she really want him to use her given name? Anything would be better than wife! “I will not be called like a dog,” she said, not moving an inch toward him.
“Then how will you be called?” he responded.
Morgana pursed her lips. He should be intimidated by her. He should know his place! Most of all, he should’ve taken whatever bribe her stepfather had offered.
“I will not be called at all,” she said calmly. “Not by you.”
He surprised her by flashing a bright, joy-filled grin that showed too many teeth and far too much good humor. “That will make our marriage interesting, I suppose.”
She pushed down the fear that threatened to choke her, wondering if—when—the dark chill of destruction might arise within her. “Surely you do not expect that we will actu
ally remain married.” She hadn’t decided on a plan just yet, but she would. This man could be bought, somehow. Her stepfather would forgive her, eventually. Life as she knew it, as she had planned it to be, would continue.
Since she had refused to move toward Jahn Devlyn, he came to her, a sack of food taken from her own kitchen clutched in his hand. “You will come to like me, wife.”
“I doubt that.”
“I am not fat, nor arrogant, nor horribly old, and while I am no genius, I’m not a simpleton, either. I have my own rented room over a tavern in Arthes, so we will not have to share our home of wedded bliss with others. The room isn’t much, but it will be ours. I have been told I don’t snore too horribly.” As he came nearer, she noticed that he had quite remarkable blue eyes. And then he tossed the sack of food at her. She did not attempt to catch the sack, so it fell at her feet.
The humor fled and Jahn’s blue eyes went hard. “Slice the bread and cheese. Save enough for tomorrow’s noon meal.”
“I’m not a servant,” she argued.
“No, you’re a wife. Beyond that, you are an equal member of this traveling party. Blane is caring for the animals and fetching water. I will build a fire. You will prepare supper, which will be no chore as it requires only a bit of carving. Surely you’re capable of that small task.” He chose that moment to stroke his unattractive multicolored beard.
“I am going to be a terrible wife,” Morgana said. “You should have taken whatever my stepfather offered you to let me be and forgotten the impulsive vow you overheard.”
Bride By Command Page 3
