The Unlikely Heroine

by Kae Elle Wheeler

  Ever since Cinderella inadvertently stepped on and cracked her silver baton, its reparation tended to react with unpredictable consequences. Faustine stirred her tea absently, then tapped the spoon on the edge of her cup, smiling at Cinderella’s uncharacteristic behavior at the time. Unaware she’d been seen tipped up on her toes, touching the corner of Prince Charming’s mouth with her lips. Why, the chit had almost suffered an apoplectic fit when Faustine had made her presence known.

  Her thoughts turned back to her own son. Surely, some young woman would garner his attention soon. The waiting was just so...so...aggravating.

  “How goes your unrelenting search for my nephew’s unwanted bride?”

  Faustine scowled at the twitch of Thomasine’s lips she failed miserably to hide. “Need you ask?” she said glumly.

  Chapter 25

  Arnald stood in the dark hall trying to decide which direction best led to his demise. For surely, this mission was destined for such. Her office chamber first? If that failed to surface her presence he would send a note to her private chambers. To be caught in that vicinity would entail even greater disaster.

  Admittedly, he was a bit surprised. As of yet, no one had mentioned a word of he and Lady Pricilla’s overnight adventure. Mayhap they had escaped a near noose. ’Twas an oddly disappointing thought, as he would now have to instill some other coherent plan to seek her court.

  Striding toward his destination through hallways that seemed strangely barren, Arnald pinpointed his restlessness with clear precision. The last few days had been odd, nothing as they should be. All boiled down to one unreasonable factor—Lady Pricilla. He hadn’t seen her except at the required family gathering. And never alone.

  He scowled. Memories of jasmine, lush lips, and soft curves molded to him, had him tossing and turning in a bed much too large for one man. The sharp tongue she wielded would turn most men away. He groaned as the words “sharp” and “tongue” sent other images of blissful sin surging through him. Thoughts that created discomfort in a more immediate and physical realm. Now all he had to do was inform her of Prince’s decision in treating her like a normal young woman.

  Mayhap he could use Prince’s words to guide other interesting activities in which to distract her. He smiled, grimly. Right. And one could keep Lady Esmeralda from furious blinking when she was nervous.

  Stopping before Lady Pricilla’s office chamber, the sudden anticipation of a confrontation hit him with undue relish. He rubbed his hands together. How ridiculous. But it thrust a fire through his veins. He willed his pulse to slow. Just inform her of Prince’s decision to exclude her in the scheme to find the key operative smuggler—common thieves—that’s what they were—and that would be the end of it.

  She had no say.

  She would be furious.

  A picture of glacial eyes flashing ire and short rapid breaths gave him one idea on how to redirect her attention. Unfortunately, she still had his knife. Mayhap, he should frisk her first.

  Low murmuring voices broke his concentration. Très bien, she had company. No sense testing the fates. With one firm knock he pushed his way through the door to see Pricilla and...

  “Hell’s teeth!” The sight before him was like a punch in the breadbasket. Heads were sure to fly after this little stunt. And, he knew just who to blame.

  “I’ll thank you to mind your tongue, sir,” Lady Pricilla snapped. “You are speaking before the future queen, I’ll have you know.”

  “Of course, I know,” he growled. “Princess Cinderella, should you not be in bed?”

  To his utmost surprise, Princess Cinderella drew herself up to her full height, which in reality was not very tall, and managed to look down her nose. Impressive.

  “I do not believe you have properly greeted me,” she said. It came out breathless, when it should have been haughty. His prickly cousin would likely blame him for this surge of impracticality. No matter whose insane idea it was to sneak the future queen from her sickbed.

  He gave a low bow. From the corner of his eye, Lady Pricilla struggled to hold back a snicker.

  “That was excellent, Cinde. I’m very proud.” But a second later she frowned. “You appear excessively wan. Mayhap you should sit for a spell?”

  “Oui. I-I believe I shall,” she agreed. “Just...just for a moment, s’il vous plaît.”

  Arnald rose up the moment she started her crumple to the ground. Lurching forward, he caught hold of her before she landed in a heap.

  “Cinde,” Lady Pricilla gasped. She glanced at Arnald. “That was quite reflexive of you, sir. I must admit my expressed admiration.” Unfortunately, her words did not match her expression.

  “Must you?” he said dryly. “Now, pray tell, what do you propose I do with her?”

  Chapter 26

  “Your Royal....Hi-highness,” Essie squeaked.

  Prince barely spared her a glance though an unusual draft touched the flames on the tapers. He glanced at the windows, frowning. They were tightly closed. His gaze moved toward his wife’s slumbering figure. “How long has she been sleeping?” he asked softly.

  “Not long,” Esmeralda replied.

  Prince could just make out her dark locks in the low lighting. He reached for her hand, and the draft in the chamber picked up in velocity. A soft knock at the door distracted his attention for the beat of a second. The servant that entered held out a silver tray on which lay a handwritten missive.

  “Sire,” he said with a short bow.

  “Merci,” Price murmured.

  Puzzled, he stepped toward the light to read the note. It appeared one of the prisoners was ready to speak. He refolded the parchment signed by Arnald and stuffed it into his pocket. “’Twould seem I have business in the dungeons,” Prince said softly. “Tell her I shall return shortly, s’il vous plaît.”

  Esmeralda nodded quickly. The current of air ebbed away.

  He narrowed his eyes on his wife’s nervous sister who remained silent. Curious. With an incline of his head, he quit the room.

  ***

  Essie let out the held breath that had her poised to succumb to the floor in a fit of vapors, dropping her head helplessly in her hands. Her heart pounded furiously against her chest. ’Twas a wonder the lower chambermaids did not flee the castle for fear the velocity of current would blow it away.

  “Mademoiselle, may I rise, s’il vous plaît?” Manette’s timid voice seeped through Essie’s battered thoughts.

  “Oui, of course. All is clear.” Essie fumbled with the heavy covers to assist a trembling Manette from the massive bed. She leaned against the post, her eyes batting quick, incessant flurries.

  “Oh Dieu!...aidez-moi. Oh, God! Help me. H-he almost t-t-t-touched me,” Manette stammered. “He is the P-Prince.”

  “Oui, oui, I know,” Essie gulped. She was not cut out for death-defying adventure. She would give both her sisters an earful when they returned.

  The door banged against the wall, startling Essie. Her heart crashed to the floor, twirling to see Cinde in Sir Arnald’s arms, Cill right on their heels. An already skittish Manette collapsed to the floor into a dead faint. “Oh Dieu! Aidez-moi,” Essie repeating Manette’s weak prayer. “What did you do to her, Cill?”

  “She did nothing, Essie,” Cinde said, struggling. “Put me down, Arnald.”

  “On the bed,” Cill demanded. “What happened to Manette?”

  Essie reached down and patted Manette sharply on her cheeks before assisting the dazed chit to her feet. “Prince came in. The poor thing is beside herself. ’Twas sheer luck, he received such a timely note.”

  Cinde groaned.

  “Ah, it appears your tactics have saved the day once more,” Cill said, quirking a brow toward Sir Arnald. “And once more, I am reminded of your insight and heroics in a dire situation.” Her sarcasm was not lost on Essie. She’d certainly be questioning Cill on that in more detail.

  “Such praise, Mademoiselle. You never fail to flatter me.” Sir Arnald set Cinde on th
e bed. His handling gentle, Essie noted, before darting forward to assist.

  Cill fairly bristled. Very interesting, indeed.

  If Essie had not been so mortified with the situation, she would have questioned her right then. But other matters took precedence. “As interesting as this topic of conversation appears, and while I am quite sorry to interrupt—you, sir, should be on your way,” Essie said.

  “Oh, of course.” He responded immediately, backing his way to the door. She almost chuckled aloud at the sudden red staining his cheeks. And, didn’t bother to hold back her giggles when he rushed from the chamber.

  Essie glanced at Manette who seemed mesmerized by Sir Arnald. “Manette,” she snapped. “Help me with Cinde. What are you about?”

  “Ah, she must be one of the women to have fallen under his Maman’s alleged spell,” Pricilla said, rolling her eyes.

  “What a ridiculous notion, Cill. What sort of nonsense is that?” Cinde laughed.

  Essie saw Cill open her mouth to respond, but clamped it shut with a scowl instead. “What was in the missive Arnald sent Prince to scurry him away so?” Cill asked. The change of topic was clear.

  Essie shrugged. “Something regarding business in the dungeons, ’tis all I know.”

  “Blast, the blackguard! I must go. Excusez-moi.”

  The door slammed her exit. Cinde glanced at Essie. “What, pray tell, was that about?”

  Essie grinned. “I am not sure. But rest assured, my interest is piqued.”

  Chapter 27

  Pricilla stormed from Cinde’s chamber, fury guiding her path. How dare Arnald try to cut her out after all she’d sacrificed to help apprehend those scoundrels! She’d been shot at. Twice. And that cave—suffering that dank darkness for hours. A shiver slivered down her spine at the memory.

  She glanced about the corridor and saw Arnald’s broad shoulders disappearing round a corner to the left. ’Twould be better to block his path than to tap him from behind, she decided, swinging for the opposite direction.

  Any advantage, however minute, should be utilized. The man was much too savvy. Pricilla stalked off determined to enlighten him on the matter. “I’ll teach that blackguard to interfere, if it’s the last thing I do,” she muttered. She rounded the corner, ready to meet him head on. But pulled up her abrupt charge—groaning.

  Too late. She’d been beaten.

  What the devil was Maman up to? From Pricilla’s position, she could make out both, Sir Arnald’s and Maman’s, expressions. Suspicion was written in every crease of Sir Arnald’s attractive forehead, while Maman’s registered an uncharacteristic innocence. Pricilla bit her lip.

  Maman glided to a stop, hands clasped at her bosom in faux demureness. It would have been comical were it not so frightening. Her nefarious schemes never ended well.

  A painful wince crossed Sir Arnald’s face, but quickly dissipated. He was a smooth one. Another irritating point in his favor, Pricilla was grudgingly forced to grant.

  Maman batted eagle eyes, offering what she most likely considered a decorous smile. In actuality, it more resembled her deviant intent. A chill, not unlike a ghost drifting over her grave, whispered along Pricilla’s nape.

  “Madame,” Sir Arnald bowed. “Bonsoir.” Pleasant, and always the gentleman. She’d heard him speak the same to Otis. Persuasive. Pricilla almost laughed. Those tactics never worked on Maman, she wanted to tell him.

  “My dear sir, I do believe we have business to negotiate,” Hilda purred.

  He paused. “Mais oui, I suppose that must be so,” he concurred, inclining his head.

  Oh, non. Non, non non non. Pricilla wanted to look away, but she was too horrified by the turn of conversation. And, all so pleasant.

  “How did you find eldest daughter’s company?”

  Arnald narrowed his eyes on Maman, a grim smile curving those shapely lips. Pricilla suppressed a shudder.

  “Enlightening,” he said softly. Most individuals would have considered his tone a warning. Maman, however, did not.

  Pricilla frowned. What was that supposed to mean—enlightening?

  “You have compromised her beyond redemption, sir.”

  Pricilla swallowed a groan, surprised her presence remained undetected.

  Sir Arnald drew himself up to full height. ’Twas quite impressive. “Compromised?” he said, coolly. How did Maman not see the ferocity pouring from him? Pricilla could not tear her eyes away.

  “Are you insisting I say the words?” Maman’s tone shifted from decorous to the hiss of a python.

  Flamed rushed Pricilla’s cheeks, but she clung to a blaze of fury rippling through her. How dare Maman insinuate that...they’d...they’d—well, she wasn’t sure what, but she refused to be faulted for a single one of her actions.

  And, to imply Sir Arnald anything less than gallant? Ha! The blackguard may be trying to usurp her position as Land Manager—well, not her position, perhaps, but restrict her dealings with the tenants. And, he might have accidentally kissed her once. Well, twice, mayhap, three times—it mattered naught—she shook her head. Truly, the man’s only offence was his over-zealous, chivalrous tendencies.

  “I insist you make things right.”

  Oh Dieu!... was she suggesting marriage?

  Murder! Pricilla should have murdered Maman last spring when the opportunity presented itself, quite forgetting that she’d tried exactly that. Rooted into place as still as the statues gracing the ponds across the castle grounds, Pricilla waited riveted. She could not move had a ball of fire erupted, licking at her heels.

  “Make things right?” he repeated.

  Pricilla pressed her lips together, preferring aggravation to the sting of rejection. What had she expected him to say? That he’d fall on bended knee for her hand with undying love and affection? Love—affection! Now, she knew she was ready for bedlam. Like she had the desire to marry a man who claimed women who fell at his feet lay fault with his own Maman. She just wished the man did not present such a pillar of unrelenting, irritating, strength.

  “Oui,” Maman responded.

  Pricilla rolled her eyes praying for divine intervention. Surely, the pillar-of-strength could see straight through her mother’s shameless machinations. If ever there was time for the brute to apply his supposed compellation powers, he would be wise to exert that effort now—before he found himself strapped with her mother as a thorn in his side for the rest of his natural life.

  She paused. What a tempting thought. She clapped a hand over her mouth. La! What was she thinking? She would be stuck as well. Shaking away the ridiculous notion, she watched him struggle with an effort to control his rage.

  Arnald seared Maman with an intensive focus. Pricilla blinked in surprise as Maman staggered back from the force, her expression finally lending a wariness she should have heeded much sooner.

  “You were saying, Madame?”

  Pricilla cringed at the menace emanating from him.

  In all her audacity, Maman still failed to back down. Pricilla determined in that moment, her unbecoming stubborn streak was burdened through no fault of her own.

  “’Twould be more than satisfactory to have a declaration of your intentions, say by...the night of the harvest ball?” Maman’s smile resembled a snarl though her conviction was much less assured.

  “Oui, that should suffice,” he agreed softly.

  Oh, Pricilla did not like the sound of that. Maman, what have you done?

  Plastering herself against the wall, Pricilla cast a gaze round the grand corridor, helpless as all thought abandoned her normally astute brain. Nothing, save the sudden silence between Arnald and Maman, resonated through the corridor. She chanced another peek.

  Pricilla groaned, hand at her throat. This was a catastrophe. ’Twas time to take action. She lifted her chin, and prayed something came to mind as she relinquished her refuge and stepped forward.

  “My lord?” she inclined her head politely, dipping a shallow curtsy. Essie and Cinde were much better act
resses than she, Pricilla decided, hiding a wince as her voice cracked. It surely gave away every stray nerve she possessed.

  “Lady Pricilla,” he countered.

  She eyed him carefully, trying to discern his take on the unfortunate turn of the events. He met her gaze with a steady, unreadable one of his own. She did not need a mirror to know that two bright red spots dotted her cheeks. She broke the mesmerizing contact and shifted her attention to Maman.

  “I was under the impression you were to have tea with her Majesty, the Queen.” Pricilla gave Maman her brightest smile. The one that had her grinding her teeth at the back of her jaw.

  “Tea?” Maman’s puzzlement was genuine, as it should be. The falsehood would no doubt be the death of Pricilla. She hoped Arnald appreciated her extraction efforts on his behalf.

  Consider the debt fulfilled, she berated him silently.

  “I fear ’tis most late. But perhaps there is still time, Maman, if we make haste.” Pricilla hooked an arm through her mother’s, drawing her along with a subtle, yet determined move. She cast Arnald a smirk over her shoulder. “Mayhap, we shall see you at supper, sir?” Without waiting for his response, she whisked her mother away.

  ***

  Arnald expelled a slow breath. Meeting Lady Roche’s storm gray eyes—eyes that matched Lady Pricilla’s so perfectly—had taken him by surprise. But where Lady Pricilla’s flashed brilliance of fire and sparks of mischief, her mother’s portrayed cunning malice.

  How the sisters survived that woman through the years spoke much of their perseverance. Lady Roche, apparently, failed to grasp that by accusing him of misdeeds, she implied Lady Pricilla’s as well—exponentially. Anger surged through his veins at such an insult. He ran a hand through his hair. Was the woman that dense? Why, Lady Pricilla was perhaps the most proper young lady he’d—