by Elle Clouse
“Lest you forget,” Mrs. Higginbotham squawked, whipping her pointer toward the floor, “you contracted me for these lessons. The gods know you need them.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Hugmybounty.” Erann snorted in a very unladylike fashion.
Mrs. Higginbotham looked ready to explode.
Kiera rose from her chair, struggling to contain her smile, before the woman could raise her pointer and swat at either Brigid or Erann. “Thank you for your instruction, Mrs. Higginbotham. I believe our time is up.”
Brigid and Erann didn’t need any further encouragement; they broke for the parlor and the exit beyond. “Good-bye, Mrs. Hippobumipus,” Brigid called as Kiera pushed them out the front door. They spilled onto the cobblestone street, bubbling with laughter. Over the clomping of horse hooves and carriages, Kiera heard the key turn in the lock.
“That was a little uncalled for.” Kiera wiped a tear from her eye. She hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time.
“Oh, I don’t think so! You saw the way she looked down her nose at us.” Brigid bit her thumb at Mrs. Higginbothams’s building. “I might not be smart like you, but I know when I’m being insulted.”
“Well, all my smarts have gotten me is an arranged marriage to a near stranger.” Kiera rubbed her forehead.
Brigid put a hand on her shoulder. “Who’s getting the better end of the bargain, though? Seems to me that going from barmaid to princess is a pretty good deal. Even if you have to put up with a stranger to do it.”
Erann smirked. “What does it matter if he’s a stranger? When you get down to it, all men are the same once they take their clothes off.”
Kiera glanced around, but no one was close enough to overhear. “You shouldn’t talk like that. And how do you know?”
“I’ve had my share. You just need to learn what makes them tick and—”
“I think I understand,” Kiera said hastily to cut her off. This wasn’t a topic suitable for conversation. Not while they were standing on the busy sidewalk. “You don’t think this plan is crazy?”
“I’ve helped Brogan with several jobs. All of them worked well enough. People have done crazier things to better their situation and people have done worse. You won’t be the last woman to marry for money.” Erann cracked a smile.
“Or the first,” Brigid added cheerily.
“Oh, and by the way...” Erann nudged Brigid and pointed to a man across the street who was waving at them. He wore a guard’s uniform. “Your friend looks like he just got off duty.”
Brigid fairly bounced in excitement. “Oh good. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. You don’t need me, right?” Without waiting for a response, she hugged first Erann, then Kiera and darted across the street toward the guard. Kiera caught a glimpse of her twining her arm around his, and then they disappeared into the crowd.
“Who was that man?” Kiera asked, surprised by the sudden departure.
“Brigid’s on-again-off-again beau,” Erann explained. “They are on again.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Never lasts more than a week at a time. Brigid gets all wrapped up in him, then they fight and it’s over for a month or so. Say, do you still need me? I wanted to visit a friend of mine.”
“No, I was going to meet up with Brogan and go home.”
“See you around, then.” Erann nodded farewell, then stepped off down the sidewalk.
Kiera watched her disappear around a corner and realized how little she knew about Brigid and Erann. She hadn’t known of Brigid’s intermittent beau or where Erann spent her time, and Brigid’s playful humor came as a welcome surprise. To her amazement, she realized she enjoyed their company. The more time she spent with them, the more she suspected her initial dismissal of them had been wrong. Perhaps they weren’t simply freeloaders as she’d originally thought. Perhaps Brogan’s association with them was more than one simply of convenience.
Kiera followed the crush of people through the streets, letting herself be lost in the anonymity of city life. Even in her best dress, she looked as common as every other face in the crowd. Gilded carriages galloped by with little care for the pedestrians as she made her way to the temple cemetery near her loft to wait for Brogan. No one would question a supposed mourner among the old tombstones. Soon she spotted Brogan wending his way through the graves toward her.
“Am I late?” he asked when he reached her. As if in answer, the district’s clock chimed one. “Never mind. I have a stop I want to make before we go home.”
“FINALLY GOT A RESPONSE from that fancy letter you sent,” the shopkeeper announced as he fished through the stacks of messages and books piled along the shelves on the walls. Brogan closed the shop door behind him and walked to the counter. Aside from him and the shopkeeper, the store was empty. Kiera had opted to stay outside. “Caught it before it shipped out to Siomha just like you asked.”
The shopkeeper plopped the scroll case on the counter. Brogan’s heart thudded. It was now or never. If the king had rejected their offer, they’d have to relocate to avoid the creditors, and Kiera would never forgive him. When his father was still alive, the family was constantly on the run from the old man’s gambling acquaintances.
He reached for the case. The shopkeeper cleared his throat and held out his hand.
“I already paid you.” Brogan glared at him and picked up the case. Today was not the day for jokes.
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” the shopkeeper asked. “Might be good news. You checked every day this week, for goodness’s sake.”
Brogan ignored him and hurried out of the shop. He didn’t care if he was being rude. Either way, he wouldn’t cross paths with this man again.
Kiera perked up visibly when she saw the case in his hand. Brogan wished he could share her hopefulness. He acted optimistic because he had to, but he knew that the odds of a good reply were slim.
He led the way back to their loft, walking as fast as he could without actually running. He had barely shut the door before Kiera yanked the case from his grasp, opened it, and pulled the scroll out in one fluid motion. Her eyes darted over the elaborately inked page.
“They accepted!” she screamed. “They bought it!”
Her reaction caught him by surprise. She must have been more stressed about the scheme than he’d realized. But now she was beaming at him, her face flushed with triumph. Brogan whooped. The neighbors below began to pound on their ceiling.
“We’re set.” Brogan picked her up and spun with her in his arms until he was certain she was dizzy. “All we have to do now is get them to buy it long enough to marry you. Which one is it? Lachlan?”
Something flickered in her eyes, there and gone again before he could pin it down. She looked at the decree and she stiffened.
“Well?”
“Ian. The second son.” Her expression was unreadable.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s too bad. But any prince will do.”
Kiera gave him a dirty look. “As if it matters to you. You’re not the one on the auction block here.” She looked at the decree again. “I guess we should let the rest of the crew know. We’ll need to leave as soon as possible to make it there in time.”
Brogan clapped his hands together. “One royal procession coming right up.” He paused. “Did you know Ian?”
She stared at the floor, her eyes blank for a moment. “Not really. We were the same age, but I spent most of my time with Lachlan. Ian wasn’t very nice to girls.” She wrinkled her nose. “Anyway, enough of that. Aren’t there things we still need to take care of?”
“Right. I’ll make sure everything is in order and we can leave in a few days. Less if you don’t take forever to pack.” He straightened his shirt and ducked out of the loft to break the good news to the rest of the troupe, leaving Kiera to her packing.
AS KIERA FOLDED HER dresses into her new traveler’s trunks, the reality of the situation began to sink in.
She hadn’t thought it would actual
ly get this far. She was sure there would be some major obstacle they just couldn’t get past. But here it was, in her hand: the acceptance to her forged marriage proposal.
This was just the first hurdle. The further the plan progressed, the less likely she was going to be able to get out unscathed. Either this would succeed with flying colors, or she and Brogan would be thrown in a cell somewhere to live out the rest of their lives. Not quite the free room and board they were looking for.
A knock on the door brought her out of her reverie. She set down the dress she was holding. “Come in.”
It was Phelan. When he ducked inside, Kiera saw that he was already wearing the pants of his coachman’s uniform but with a regular shirt.
She looked him over. “I see Brogan told you the good news.”
“Just now.”
“Well, we’re not leaving yet. You shouldn’t wear that uniform until we are in Cearbhall. You might ruin it or raise some suspicions.”
Phelan shrugged and toyed with a button. He was one of Brogan’s regular cronies and had been through more than most when it came to Brogan’s schemes. More than once, he had proven to be an asset due to his strong fight-or-flight instinct. It had saved them from getting caught several times. Right now, he looked ready to bolt at any moment.
Kiera waited, but when Phelan said nothing more, she ignored him and went back to packing. He started pacing. Every now and then he glanced at her.
Kiera got another gown folded before she snapped. “Enough.”
Phelan halted in his tracks, his expression stricken.
She nodded at another chest stored in the loft’s exposed rafters. “Make yourself useful or leave. I have enough to worry about as it is.”
He gave her a wounded look but obliged. The chest scraped against the rafters as he pulled it out. Once he’d set it down, she began packing her stockings, undergarments, and slippers as Phelan watched her in silence. It was obvious he wanted to say something, but that was his problem. At least he was no longer pacing.
Phelan cleared his throat. “Kiera,” he began, “do you think... Do you think that a prince has a better chance at making you happy”—he took a deep breath—“than me?”
Kiera stopped and stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll make a good husband,” he said, sounding less confident now. “I can provide for you...”
She turned her back to him so she wouldn’t have to meet his gaze. “We are near penniless, which is why we’re doing this in the first place. Marrying you isn’t even a notion I can consider.” She knew how cold she sounded, but her refusal had to be firm. There was too much riding on this plan to allow any further complications.
The sound of the door shutting was followed by his footsteps fading away down the stairs. She waited until she was sure he wasn’t coming back, then bolted the door and turned back to her work.
“Why did he have to pick now?” Brogan had hinted at Phelan’s romantic inclination toward her before, but Phelan had never made a move. The eve of a con was the worst possible time he could have chosen to confess. She could only hope he wouldn’t cause problems for them in Cearbhall.
Kiera glanced out the window. Sundown wasn’t for a few more hours. She could finish packing in that time, then head to the library to do more research on Princess Fedelma. Even as she thought the plan through, her mind drifted to the scroll case packed into the bottom of her trunk. To the name written on the declaration.
She would be marrying Ian. Secretly, she had hoped the decree would name Lachlan. When she’d lived at Cearbhall, she hadn’t interacted much with the younger brothers. As the daughter of a mere scribe, she had been of no consequence to Ian and Ayden. Lachlan, on the other hand, had been kind to her. She tried to remember what he’d looked like, what sort of person he’d been, but her mind drew a blank. A haze clouded her memories, turning him vague and insubstantial.
If he recognized her, it would complicate things. But Brogan was right: she’d changed. No one in Cearbhall would connect her with the brown-haired scribe’s daughter who had left with her mother all those years ago.
Still, she wished it could’ve been Lachlan.
BY THE TIME KIERA RETURNED home from the library, she was exhausted. She’d pored over cramped, tiny writing until her eyes ached, then lingered even longer to say good-bye to her beloved books. She’d even stolen for the first time in her life. As she was walking through the poetry section, she’d spotted a collection of her favorite sonnets and had taken it on an impulse. It was in her apron pocket now. She would have felt guiltier, but who knew when she’d be able to visit the library in Cearbhall. Wedding preparations, especially for nobles, ate up a lot of time. Likely she wouldn’t be able to set foot there until after the wedding, and that could be weeks from now. The sonnets would help keep her sane until then.
She put the book in her handbag, then crawled into bed without bothering to undress and closed her eyes. She estimated she still had several hours before she needed to wake up. For now, she needed to sleep.
It felt as though she had barely closed her eyes before someone was shaking her shoulder, jostling her awake.
“Wake up, Kiera,” Brogan shouted as rapid footsteps clattered about their flat. She opened her eyes. Phelan was busy stripping the apartment of their belongings. Brigid and Erann stood in the doorway, red-faced and panting, their arms laden with bulging bags. Erann seemed as though she’d been surprised in the act of packing. She held a couple of dresses clamped under one arm, their skirts trailing to the ground.
She sat up. It was barely an hour after sunrise. “What’s going on?”
“Debt collectors.” Brogan pulled her toward the ladder. Kiera yanked out of his grip and climbed down, her head foggy.
“Caught us at our flat,” Brigid squeaked. “Barely made it here with our stuff.”
Footfalls echoed up from the lower floors. Erann stuck her head out the door. “They’re on the front stairs!”
“Back stairs,” Brogan shouted. He grabbed a trunk in each hand and was gone. Erann and Brigid ran after him. Kiera had just enough time to grab her handbag and a trunk of her own before Phelan tossed a cloak over her shoulders and shoved her out the door.
Angry voices rose from the stairwell. Phelan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hand and dragged her down the hall toward the servant stairs. Kiera struggled with her heavy trunk as it banged all the way down the steps.
They burst out of the door into the back alley, where a carriage was waiting.
“Give me that.” Brogan grabbed the trunk from Kiera’s hand, shoved it on top of the stack of trunks piled against the back of the carriage, and strapped it down. Phelan climbed into the coach’s chair. “That’s all? Where are my trunks?”
Phelan’s eyes widened.
A shout came from behind them. The debt collectors had discovered they were missing.
“Gods damn it.” Brogan leaped into the carriage, then reached back and grabbed Kiera’s arm to haul her into the cab. He slammed the door shut and pounded on the wall. “Go!” he yelled.
Phelan shouted something incomprehensible, and the horses lunged forward. The sudden lurch threw Kiera back into the seat next to Erann. On the opposite seats, Brigid and Brogan clutched the walls to keep from falling over.
Brogan peered out the cabin window. “I thought we’d have more time, but they didn’t like my excuses anymore.” He laughed sourly and sat back.
“All part of your elaborate plan?” Kiera said, her words reeking of sarcasm. Erann glared at her but said nothing. Brigid pressed a hand over her heart, looking shaken. “Where are we headed anyway?”
“Where else?” he shot back. “Never mind that. What did we manage to save?”
Brigid’s lips moved as she counted on her fingers. “My clothes, and Erann’s too. Most of them, anyway. Phelan was already wearing his coachman’s uniform too, so there’s that. I don’t know about you or Kiera.”
“I think I managed to save all of my trunks
,” Kiera said.
“And mine are all back in the loft.” Brogan rubbed his hands together. “Damn. We’ll have to buy more.”
“Where?”
“There’s a town just outside the castle with an inn where we can stay and get ready. They should have a tailor’s shop that will do the job.” He laced his hands together behind his head and leaned back. “There’s no point fretting about it. We’ll find out one way or another once we get there. We can relax for now. Phelan knows which roads to take so the creditors won’t catch up. By the time we get to Cearbhall, we’ll be well out of their reach.”
“If you say so,” Kiera mumbled.
Brogan only smiled. With a sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest and settled back for the long ride.
MIDHIR WAS THE LAST real town before Cearbhall, and the Goose and Gander was its only inn. As soon as the coach pulled up into the courtyard, Kiera flung the door open and leaped out. She took a deep breath and cool northern air filled her lungs. She had forgotten how crisp the breeze was. Her joints ached from a week of sleeping in the cramped cab. She had taken every opportunity when they stopped for a break to stretch and walk about, but stops had been limited. It was a relief to be out of the carriage for the last time.
She helped Phelan unload their trunks as Brogan went inside to reserve the inn’s largest room, which turned out to be barely large enough to fit them all. It was even smaller after they had crammed all their belongings in. Phelan went to stable the horses, and the rest of the troupe crowded together in their room to plan.
“Phelan and I will sleep on the floor,” Brogan announced. “You ladies can share the bed, if that’s all right with you.”
Erann cast a critical eye at the large four-poster bed. Kiera shared her dissatisfaction. The lodgings were far from ideal. “And if it’s not?”
“Then you can have a straw pallet on the floor of the common room among strangers.”
Erann crossed her arms and looked away.
