Bride By Command

by WINSTEAD JONES, LINDA

  Her expression softened. “Three times?”

  “Perhaps four.” There might be a greater risk that his charade would be discovered, as he would now be leading his double life and changing his costume within the palace, but at least his wife would not be swapping stories with the women who had once shared his bed! Melusina and Anrid wouldn’t be caught dead near the laundry. Besides, he intended to have them both out of the palace as soon as possible. Could he get them out before he moved Morgana in?

  The First Night of the Summer Festival was fast approaching. Three weeks and three days to go. He could maintain his charade until then, if he did not break down and confess the truth in a moment of weakness.

  “The furnishings there are palace castoffs, but still they will be much nicer than these,” he promised. “If we can make a happy home here, imagine what we can do in the palace, with more room and a proper bed and a sturdy table and chairs.” He leaned into her and lowered his voice. “It will be very quiet at night, without the drunken voices of tavern patrons invading your sleep.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she said, her voice kinder. Gentler.

  He breathed a sigh of relief, even though he knew he was digging his own grave with each lie, and that grave got deeper with each passing day that he allowed the lies to continue. If he were a better man, he would tell her the truth here and now, even if she had just met his former mistresses. No, this was the worst of times for such a confession.

  “We will move in the morning,” he said as he backed Morgana toward the waiting bed.

  “So soon?”

  “I see no reason to delay,” he said, raking his nose across her neck where it turned to shoulder. She was wearing the blue dress she had so carefully repaired. He would not cut it off her again, not until he could tell her the truth of her place in this world and gift her with a dozen more suitable frocks. “You smell so good, and you are so warm.”

  “You warm me,” she whispered. “You always have.”

  “Is that why you love me?”

  She answered with a touch of humor in her voice. “Perhaps.”

  He took his time removing her best dress, which had seen much wear since he’d taken her from her home. Yes, soon he would dress her in fine gowns and bathe her in jewels. He would feed her well and she would sleep on the softest, most luxurious bed imaginable. She would want for nothing.

  All she had to do was forgive him.

  Chapter Nine

  “WE leave tomorrow for Arthes,” Kristo said, his eyes on Rikka’s face. She was not the prettiest woman he had ever known, and she was far from the youngest, but she was the most wonderfully broken. Inside, where it counted most, she had never been complete. She had never been happy, not even as a child. He sensed that she hadn’t enjoyed sex at all until he’d come along. Her cheeks flushed in the aftermath of an orgasm that had made her scream, her face lit up even more at the news that her plans were about to come together.

  “The women, the foolishly hopeful brides we did not choose, are they dead?” she asked breathlessly. “Can you see that are all four are dead?”

  She was naked beneath him, and unlike other women she did not cringe at the touch of his cold skin. In fact, she liked it very much. He could even run his hands across her flesh without making her flinch. He touched her as she questioned the outcome of her plans. “Dead or out of the picture.”

  Her smile faded. “They are not all dead?”

  “No.”

  Rikka’s short-lived contentment fled. “Who failed me, Kristo?”

  “Many failed you, but the result is that which you desire. You will have all that you want.”

  Though he did not see Rikka’s future well since they had become lovers, he did get a sudden flash of knowledge which warned him that she might not live to see all that she had planned come to pass. If he cared more for her, he might fight to learn the details, he might warn her to be cautious in days to come, but he did neither. She was a diversion along the way to the total chaos he craved; she was the impetus which would eventually put his daughter and grandson into a position of great power—and Kristo would be there beside them, guiding and teaching.

  Kristo had sensed at Morgana’s birth that his daughter had inherited some of his gifts, but they had been weak and he’d been disappointed by her gender and her frailty. If he’d cared to take her under his wing and nurture her long ago, perhaps she’d be more powerful now. At that time in his life he’d been too busy developing his own magic to bother with that of a child. He’d neglected Morgana and her gift over the years, and she was not well taught in that regard. His grandson would be taught from birth; he would see to it himself. He would not fail his grandson as he’d failed his daughter. Allowing Morgana’s mother to take her away had been a mistake, the biggest of Kristo’s life.

  All his life, having power only made him want more and more and more. Morgana’s mother, the only woman he had ever taken as a true wife, had never understood that. She’d wanted him to be happy with what they had; she’d wanted him to be a loving husband and father, much as Gyl had wanted Rikka to be satisfied with being a loving wife.

  Which reminded him . . .

  “Gyl tried to come back this afternoon,” he said, rubbing his cold, hard body against hers and stealing even more of her heat.

  “Did he?”

  Was there a touch of longing in her voice? Did this broken woman still yearn for something only her ineffectual wizard could give her? “Yes. He came to rescue you, I think, or to kidnap you. I suspect he thought those two actions would be one and the same.”

  “I trust you sent him away.”

  “No. I killed him.”

  Rikka tried to hide her reaction, but he felt her body lurch, just a little.

  “I turned him to stone as he foolishly lunged for me with a knife. You have never seen me use that power, but perhaps one day you will. It’s quite remarkable.”

  “Where is he? Am I to have a statue of Gyl frozen in midattack in my garden?” she snapped.

  “Of course not,” Kristo said. He touched her hip with his cold hand, he grabbed her flesh hard, and this time she did flinch. “I shattered the stone figure and spread what was left of it across the western fields. If I had left Gyl’s remains intact, there would always be the possibility that someone might possess the magic to bring him back again. We can’t have that, now can we?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “You mourn him,” he said, amused by her reaction.

  “I do not,” she argued, but there were tears in her eyes, and she suddenly looked old. She wore every one of her years on a hardened face.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow we leave here and you start a new life where all you desire, all you deserve, will be given to you. When Sebestyen’s sons are dead and you rule Columbyana, all the sacrifices you’ve made will seem small.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, eyes closed, and for a moment it seemed she was every bit as cold as he.

  DANYA had been expecting the hooded man to surprise her at any time, and she still jumped and pulled away when, as she approached her suite of rooms for the evening, she felt the unexpected weight of a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away and spun around, to find Deputy Minister Rainer standing there. She should’ve known. The hand which had touched her had been a warm one.

  “You should not sneak up on a woman,” Danya snapped, annoyed that he had been so easily able to do so.

  “I did not intend to startle you,” he said, bowing slightly.

  They were entirely alone in a Level Five hallway, just outside the door which led to her chambers. She could’ve—and perhaps should’ve—demanded that an escort be provided for her at all times when she was not locked away in her rooms, but not only did she prefer to be alone, she knew it was safer for all that she not bring anyone too close.

  She’d avoided Rainer all this time for a good reason—many good reasons, in fact. There was a kindness in his eyes that made her feel weak; he
knew too much; there was something about the way he looked at her that made her want to break down and tell him everything.

  “Well, you did startle me. What do you want?”

  He cocked his head to one side, studying her critically and much too closely. Eyes such a pure gray-blue they rivaled a winter sky bored through her. “I want to know what has happened to you,” he said simply.

  “Nothing has happened. I am as I have always been.”

  “No,” he said simply. “That is not so, not at all. I should’ve realized something was wrong when you sent Fai away and tried to do the same to me. But I did not see, not until tonight as I watched you eat your supper—or rather, as I watched you not eat your supper.”

  Danya lifted her chin and hardened her eyes. “How was I supposed to eat that swill? When I’m empress, the food around here will be better prepared and presented. It’s quite clear that at this time no one has proper control over the kitchen.”

  Her insults should send him running, but of course they did not. “The food was fine. More than fine. In fact, it was quite tasty.”

  “It was . . .”

  Rainer did not allow her to finish. “And this gown.” He shook his head. “The revealing dresses you’ve taken to wearing and the paint on your face, they are not you.”

  “Earlier this evening I was pale and needed some color, and the gown is very well made and fashionable.” She lifted her chin. “Most men would find this revealing dress, as you call it, quite charming. I find it peculiar that you do not. Don’t you like women, Deputy Rainer? If you do like women at all, I suppose you prefer them meek and genteel, quiet ladies who simply take whatever it is you have to give without ever daring to question your superiority.”

  “You’re not fooling me, Lady Danya,” Rainer responded gently. “Something is horribly wrong. Tell me.”

  She held her breath and fought back the tears that threatened. Why did he continue to be kind to her when she had been so unkind to him and to others? Why did he care what troubled her? Did he know, did he have even a clue, that a dark, cold man had taken control of her life by taking control of her son? “You go too far,” she said. “When I’m empress, I will have you stripped of your position and sent away; I will have you banned from the palace.”

  He smiled gently. “If you continue to insult all those around you, you will never be empress.” He reached out and gently rearranged a tendril of hair which had fallen and touched her cheek. “And if you were half as tough as you pretend to be, you would have threatened to take my head rather than simply sending me away.”

  She opened her mouth to do just that, but instead of speaking, as she’d intended, a sob escaped. She clapped her hand over her mouth and tried to undo the damage, but it was too late. Tears slipped down her cheeks—large, fat tears she usually reserved for private moments. What if the hooded man or one of his cohorts saw her weakness? What if they saw her break down in front of this annoyingly persistent man? No one could see; she could not allow it.

  Danya opened the door to her chambers and ran inside. She did not invite Rainer in, but neither did she shut him out, and after a moment he followed her. She wanted to send him away, to order him out of her sight, but instead she fell against him and sobbed like a brokenhearted child.

  Everything she had been holding inside her broke free, and she grasped at Rainer’s shirtsleeve with desperate fingers as she cried hysterically. Eventually the tears and the shaking subsided, and she became aware that he was holding her as certainly as she was holding him.

  She had been waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, but Rainer made her feel safe for the first time since she’d met the hooded man, since she’d accepted his offer and condemned herself and all those around her.

  “Tell me what is wrong,” he whispered.

  “I can’t.” The tears stopped, but she did not move away. She grasped his sleeve as she had when she’d sobbed, needing him, needing this. “Can you just hold me for a little while? A few minutes.” An hour, a day . . . forever. Usually she had only a square of linen to remind her of him; to have him here was much better. She liked it.

  “I am here for as long as you need me.” Rainer stroked her hair, he rubbed his hand along her back. He soothed her. He held her.

  After a while Danya’s panic, her weak episode of terror, faded away. Rainer, sensing that she was calmer now, stopped soothing her with his hands. He’d expect sex now, she imagined. As a favor for his comfort, he would expect her to spread her legs and offer him relief of another sort. Heaven help her, at this moment she could think of much worse ways to pass the long hours of a dark night. Would he be as kind a lover as he was a man?

  But Angelo Rainer was a man of surprises. He set her back, kissed her forehead, and promised that they would speak again when she felt stronger. “Tomorrow,” he said, that single word a promise that assured her that, like it or not, she was no longer alone.

  And then he left her standing there in her fine bedchamber, without issuing a single demand or request, without naming a price for his comfort. And for the first time in a very long time, Danya felt as if she were not forlorn and completely lost.

  MORGANA loved the room Jahn had arranged. It was much more spacious and better furnished than the tavern room, and it had recently been given a good cleaning by someone other than herself. Though her home was still just one chamber, this one was wonderfully large. Two heavy wooden dividers were set up to create small, private areas which might as well be separate rooms. The bed was large and soft and did not sag or cant to one side, and it was embellished with a silky blue coverlet and a number of pillows. She’d had no idea a sentinel could live in rooms so fine! It was not true of all sentinels, she knew; there was not room in the palace for every soldier to have such quarters, and she hadn’t heard or seen anyone else on this level. Maybe Jahn truly was a favorite of the emperor, or perhaps he’d been given some sort of advancement or reward.

  She didn’t like the climb up the winding stone stairway, but she supposed she would get accustomed to it in time. Level Seven was three flights of stairs from the ground level, Level Ten. There were two levels below the ground floor, and the top of the palace—which was rarely used these days—was Level One. In the old days, when Emperor Jahn’s father had ruled, that had been his domain.

  There had been a working lift in those days, too. No emperor would want to climb all those stairs on a regular basis.

  Morgana and Jahn had been living in the palace for two days, and she’d spent that time getting accustomed to the place, putting her own touches on the room she now called home. She still saw his friends on occasion, but not in the groups of four she was accustomed to. Usually they were in pairs. She missed her walks through town, and seeing the women who had become her friends and customers, but in time she would resume those pleasurable activities.

  On more than one occasion she had explored Level Seven, which seemed not to be used by anyone but her and her husband. Iann said this level had once been the realm of witches and wizards, and so no one wished to live here. They were worried, he said, about lingering magics. He dismissed their unease as silly, and Morgana tried to do the same. She had certainly felt no lingering magic!

  Jahn had gone to work early in the morning, just after sunrise. He was currently guarding the emperor on a lower level. The emperor and his closest advisers claimed all of Level Nine and Level Eight, so he did not have far to go. Someone would collect her when it was time for her to start work in the laundry, Jahn had told her as he gave her the plain shift she would wear when she worked. She hated to give up her new business, and had finally decided that perhaps it wasn’t necessary to abandon her calling entirely. She’d meet women in the laundry and the kitchen, she supposed, and like all women they would want to be more beautiful for their husbands and beaus. There was no reason why she couldn’t continue her work in the palace. If no one else cared to live on Level Seven, which seemed silly to her, maybe she could clean and make over
one of the unused rooms and conduct her business from there. Surely the emperor would not mind.

  Standing before a window which offered her a much finer view than the tavern had afforded, Morgana placed a hand over her stomach and let her mind wander. It was too soon to be sure, and she would not say a word to Jahn until she was certain, but she had begun to think that their first child was already growing inside her. Her breasts were tender and a bit swollen, and by her count she should’ve begun her monthly flow more than a week ago—not that she’d always been regular in that regard. She had not been ill, as many women were in the early stages, but perhaps it was too soon for that.

  Her life had changed so dramatically in such a short period of time, it was startling and sometimes difficult to believe. At this moment Morgana was glad her stepfather had lost his temper and made that angry vow, and she was glad Jahn had overheard it and taken advantage of the situation. She was glad to have two worn and mended dresses to her name, glad to have love, glad to have even the possibility of a child in her mind and her heart. For a while she had considered herself cursed. Now she could truly believe that she was blessed.

  Perhaps she would find happiness in this Arthes palace after all, though not in the way the emperor or her stepfather had intended. That thought made her smile. Life could be filled with such unexpected and pleasant surprises!

  All too soon, there was an impatient knock on her door. Morgana rushed to answer, determined to make the most of whatever this day might bring. She found a sour older woman standing in the hallway, and her greeting was harshly spoken.

  “I hope you don’t expect me to collect you every day.”

  “No, madam, of course not,” Morgana said sweetly. “My husband made the arrangements. I’m afraid he tends to be overprotective.”