by Lynsay Sands
Brinna’s eyes had widened in amazement as the dying embers from the fireplace had revealed her own worn clothes on the girl and that the strip of cloth she usually wore on her head was now hiding Joan’s golden curls. But she had not said anything to let Joan know that she had seen her return dressed so when Joan had removed the tired old rags. It wasn’t her place to question the lady as to her goings-on. Besides, the stealthy way she had crept about and crawled into bed warned Brinna that her questions wouldn’t be welcome. Pretending she hadn’t seen her, Brinna had merely closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.
Joan had still been sleeping when Lord Thurleah had arrived at the room that morning, but Brinna had been up and dressed and ready to continue the charade. Once again he had escorted her to Mass, and once again, as they had prepared to leave the chapel, Sabrina had whisked her away into her game of musical chairs until the nooning meal, when Lady Menton had announced a need for more mistletoe. Christina had quickly arranged a party of the younger set to go out in search of the “kissing boughs.” Most of the guests, Lord Royce included, were on horseback, but a wagon had been brought along to put the mistletoe in and Sabrina had managed to make some excuse to Lady Christina as to why she and “Joan” would rather ride in the wagon. So here Brinna sat, trapped in the back of a wagon with Sabrina, stuck listening to her rant about her cousin.
Who would have thought that being a lady could be so boring? she thought idly, her gaze slipping over the rest of the group traveling ahead of the wagon. Well, at least she was just bored and not miserable like that poor Lady Gibert, she thought wryly as her gaze settled on the other woman.
Eleanor was the girl’s name. She had tried to introduce herself to Brinna/Joan the day before, and Sabrina had blocked her as she had everyone else. It was one of the few times that Brinna had been really angry at Joan’s cousin and not just irritated. Eleanor was obviously terribly unhappy and in need of a friend, and Brinna felt Sabrina could have been a bit kinder about it.
Her gaze slid to the man who rode beside Lady Eleanor, and Brinna grimaced. James Glencairn. He was the girl’s betrothed and also the one to blame for Eleanor’s misery. The man had come to Menton as a boy, and had had a chip on his shoulders as wide as Menton’s moat since arriving. Not surprising perhaps since, despite being treated well, he had been and still was a virtual hostage, kept and trained at Menton to ensure his father’s good behavior in Scotland. Sadly, it appeared he was making the unfortunate Lady Eleanor just as miserable.
“You are not even listening to me,” Sabrina hissed suddenly, elbowing Brinna in an effort to get her attention.
Taken by surprise by that blow to her stomach, Brinna swung back in her seat on the edge of the wagon, lost her balance, and tumbled backward out of the cart to Sabrina’s distressed squeak. She landed on her back in the hard-packed snow of the lane and was left gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of her as Sabrina’s assurances caroled in her ears. “Nay, nay, all is fine. Lady Joan and I have merely decided to walk. You keep on going.”
“But—” the anxious driver’s voice sounded before Sabrina cut him off.
“Go on now. Off with you.”
Sighing as she was finally able to suck some small amount of air into her lungs, Brinna lifted her head slightly to see that the riders on horseback had not noticed her mishap and only the wagon driver was peering anxiously over his shoulder at her as he reluctantly urged his horses back into a walk. Sabrina was trudging back toward her through the snow, glaring daggers.
“What on earth are you trying to do? Kill me with embarrassment? Ruin Joan?”
“Me?” Brinna squealed in amazement.
“Aye, you. Ladies do not muck about in the snow, you know.”
“I—”
“I do not want to hear your excuses,” Sabrina interrupted sharply, perching her hands on her hips to mutter with disgust, “Peasants! Honestly! Get up off your—”
“Is everything all right, ladies?”
Sabrina’s mouth snapped closed on whatever she had been about to say, her eyes widening in horror as Lord Thurleah’s voice sounded behind her. They had both been too distracted to realize that he and his man had taken note of their predicament and ridden back to assist. Forcing a wide, obviously strained smile to her lips, Sabrina whirled to face both men as they dismounted. “Oh, my, yes. Everything is fine. Why ever would you think otherwise?”
Brinna rolled her eyes at the panicky sound in the other girl’s voice and the way her hands slid down to clutch at her skirts, tugging them to the side as if she thought she might hide Brinna’s undignified position in the snow. By craning her neck, Brinna could just see Lord Thurleah’s face as he arched one eyebrow, his lips appearing to struggle to hold back an amused smile. “Mayhap because Lady Joan has fallen in the snow?”
“Fallen?” Lady Sabrina’s genuine horror seemed to suggest ladies simply did not do anything as embarrassing as fall off the back of the wagon into the snow. . . . And if they did, gentlemen shouldn’t deign to notice or mention it. Sabrina’s fingers twitched briefly where they held her skirts, then suddenly tugged them out wider as she gasped, “Oh, nay. You must be mistaken, my lord. Why, Lady Joan would never have fallen. She is the epitome of grace and beauty. She is as nimble as a fawn, as graceful as a swan. She is—”
“Presently lying in the snow,” Lord Thurleah pointed out dryly.
Sabrina whirled around at that, feigning surprise as she peered at Brinna. “Oh, dear! However did that happen? It must have been the driver’s fault. Oh, do get up, dear.”
Leaning forward, she clasped Brinna’s arm and began a useless tugging even as Lord Thurleah bent to catch Brinna under the arms and lift her to her feet, then quickly helped Sabrina brush down her skirts before straightening to smile at Brinna gently. “Better?”
“Oh, yes, that is much better,” Sabrina assured him, cutting off any reply Brinna might have given. “Thank you for your aid, my lord. Lady Joan is usually—”
“The epitome of grace,” Royce murmured wryly.
“Aye. Exactly.” She beamed at him as if he were a student who had just figured out a difficult sum. “Why, she has been trained in dance.”
“Has she?” he asked politely, turning to smile down at Brinna.
“Aye. And that is not all,” Sabrina assured him, stepping between him and Brinna to block his view of the girl. Apparently eager to convince him that this little mishap was an aberration, she began to rattle off Lady Joan’s abilities. “She speaks French, Latin, and German. Knows her herbs and medicinals like the back of her hand. Is meticulous in the running of the household. Is trained in the harp and lute—”
“The harp?” Lord Thurleah interrupted, leaning sideways to peer around the brunette at Brinna.
“Oh, aye. She plays it like a dream,” Sabrina assured him, shifting to block his vision again.
“Really?” Straightening, he smiled at Brinna. “Then mayhap you could be persuaded to play for us tonight after our meal? ’Twould make a nice break from that minstrel who attempted to sing for us last night.”
“Aye, it would, would it not?” Sabrina laughed gaily.
Brinna’s mouth dropped open in horror as the brunette continued. “Why, he was absolutely horrid. Joan would be much more pleasant to listen to.” She glanced to the side then, as if to look proudly at Brinna, then frowned as she caught the girl’s expression. “What are you—” she began anxiously, turning toward her fully. Then her eyes rounded as she suddenly grasped the reason for Brinna’s abject horror. Her own face suddenly mirroring it, she whirled back toward Lord Thurleah, shaking her head frantically. “Oh, nay. Nay! She couldn’t possibly play. Why she . . . er . . . she . . .”
When Sabrina peered at her wild-eyed, Brinna sighed and moved forward, murmuring, “I am afraid I injured my hand quite recently. I would be no good at the harp just now. Mayhap later on during the holidays.”
“Aye,” Sabrina gasped with relief, and turned to beam at Royce. �
��She hurt her hand.” Realizing that she looked far too pleased as she said that, Sabrina managed a frown. “Terrible, really. Awful accident. Sad. Horribly painful. She almost lost full use of her hand.”
Brinna rolled her eyes as the girl raved on, not terribly surprised when her comments made Lord Thurleah lean forward to glance down at the hands she was presently hiding within Lady Joan’s cloak. “It sounds awful. Whatever happened?” he asked.
“Happened?” Sabrina blinked at the question, her face going blank briefly, then filling with desperation. “She . . . er . . . she . . . er . . . pricked her finger doing embroidery!” she finished triumphantly, and Brinna nearly groaned aloud as what sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter burst from Lord Thurleah, before he could cover his mouth with his hand. Turning away, he made a great show of coughing violently, then cleared his throat several times before turning a solemn face back to them.
“Aye. Well, that is tragic.” His voice broke on the last word, and he had to turn away again for a few more chortling coughs. By the time he turned back, Brinna was biting her upper lip to keep from laughing herself at the ridiculous story. Unaware that her eyes were sparkling with merriment as she met his gaze, that her cheeks were pink with health, and that she seemed almost to glow with vitality, she blinked in confusion when he suddenly gasped and stilled.
Frowning now, Sabrina glanced at the man, her mouth working briefly before she assured him, “Aye, well, it may not sound like much, but ’twas an awful prick.”
Royce blinked at that, seeming startled out of his reverie. For a moment, Brinna thought he might have to turn away for another coughing fit, but he managed to restrain himself and murmur, “Aye, well, then we must not let her play the harp. Mayhap something less strenuous on her pricked finger. Chess perhaps?”
“I am sorry, my lord,” Sabrina answered. “I fear chess is out of the question as well. Joan has . . . a . . . er . . . tendency to suffer the . . . er . . . aching head.” At his startled glance, she nodded solemnly. “They come on any time she thinks too hard.”
Brinna closed her eyes and groaned at that one. She couldn’t help it. Really! It was hard to imagine that the girl was supposed to be on Lady Joan’s side.
“So, thinking is out of the question?” she heard Lord Thurleah murmur with unmistakable amusement.
“I am afraid so.”
“Aye. Well, it must be a family trait.”
Brinna’s eyes popped open at that. She was hardly able to believe that he had said that. To her it sounded as if he had just insulted Sabrina. Surely he hadn’t meant it that way, she thought, but when she glanced at his face, he gave her a wink that assured her that she was brighter than Lady Sabrina would have him believe. He had just insulted the girl. Fortunately, Sabrina obviously hadn’t caught on to the insult. Making a sad grimace with her lips, she nodded solemnly and murmured, “Aye, I believe the aching head does run in the family.”
“Ah,” Lord Thurleah murmured, then gestured up the path to where the others were now disappearing around a curve in the lane. “Mayhap we should catch up to the others?”
“Oh, dear.” Sabrina frowned. “They have left us quite far behind, have they not?”
“Aye, but my man and I can take the two of you on our horses and catch up rather quickly, I am sure,” he said gently, taking Sabrina’s arm and leading her the few steps to where his man waited by the horses. Brinna followed more slowly, her gaze dropping of its own accord over his wide strong back, his firm buttocks, and his muscled legs as he assisted Lady Sabrina onto his mount.
At least she had assumed it was his mount. Sabrina apparently had too, Brinna realized as he suddenly stepped out of the way to allow his man to mount behind the girl and the brunette gasped anxiously. “Oh, but—”
“Lady Joan and I will be right behind you,” Lord Thurleah said gaily over her protests, nodding to his man, then slapping the horse on the derriere so that it took off with a burst of speed, carrying away the suddenly struggling and protesting Lady Sabrina. She was squawking and flapping her arms not unlike the chicken Cook had held by the legs while talking to her the other day, and Brinna bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud at the wicked comparison. Lord Thurleah turned to face her.
“Now,” he began, then paused, his thoughts arrested as he took in her amused expression.
“My lord?” she questioned gently after an uncomfortable moment had passed.
“I have heard people speak of eyes that twinkle merrily, but never really knew what it meant until today,” he said quietly. “Your eyes sparkle with life and laughter when you are amused. Did you know that?”
Brinna swallowed and shook her head. This must be the rough wooing Joan had spoken of, she realized, but for the life of her she could find no fault with it. His voice and even his words seemed as smooth as the softest down to her.
“They do,” he assured her solemnly, reaching out to brush a feather-light tress away from her cheek. “And your hair . . . It’s as soft as a duckling’s down, and seems to reflect the sun’s light with a thousand different shades of gold. It’s, quite simply, beautiful.”
“Gor—” Brinna murmured faintly enough that he could not have caught the word, then paused uncertainly and swallowed as his eyes turned their focus on her mouth.
“And your lips. All I can think of when I peer at them is what it would feel like to kiss you.”
“Oh,” she breathed shakily, a blush suffusing her face even as her chest seemed to constrict somewhat and made it harder to breathe.
“Aye, you might very well blush did you know my thoughts. How I imagine covering your mouth with my own, nibbling at the edges, sucking your lower lip into my mouth, then slipping my tongue—”
“Oh, Mother,” Brinna gasped, beginning to fan her suddenly heated face as if it were a hot summer day instead of a frigid winter one. His voice and what he was saying were having an amazing effect on her body, making it tingle in spots, and sending bursts of warm gushy feelings to others. Maybe she was coming down with something, she thought with a bit of distress as his face began to lower toward hers.
“Joan! Oh, Joan!”
Royce and Brinna both straightened abruptly and turned to see Lady Sabrina walking determinedly toward them, Lord Thurleah’s mounted man following behind, an apologetic expression on his face as he met his lord’s glance.
“Your cousin appears to be most persistent,” Royce muttered dryly, and Brinna sighed.
“Aye. She’s rather like a dog with a bone, isn’t she?”
“The group has stopped just beyond that bend,” Sabrina announced triumphantly as she neared. “It seems the spot is just crawling with mistletoe. Even as I speak, servants are climbing and shimmying up trees to bring down some of the vines.”
Reaching them, Sabrina hooked her arm firmly through Brinna’s and turned to lead her determinedly in the direction from which she had come, trilling, “It is fortunate, is it not? Else you may have gotten separated from the group and not caught up at all. Then you would have missed all the fun. Imagine that.”
“Aye, just imagine.” Royce sighed as he watched the brunette march his betrothed off around the bend.
“HE IS—”
“Aye, I know,” Joan interrupted Brinna dryly. “He is a very nice man. You have said so at least ten times since returning to this room.”
“Well, he is,” Brinna insisted determinedly. They had arrived back at Menton nearly an hour ago. Sabrina had rushed her upstairs, then insisted Brinna wait in the hall while she went in and spoke to Joan alone. Brinna had stood there, alternately worrying over what was being said inside the room and fretting over how she would explain why she was loitering about in the hall should anyone happen upon her. Fortunately, no one had come along before Sabrina had reappeared. Stepping into the hall, she had gestured for Brinna to enter the room, then walked off, leaving her staring after.
A moment later, Brinna had straightened her shoulders and slid into the room to find Joan seated i
n the chair by the fire awaiting her. Brinna had not hesitated then, but had walked determinedly toward her. After rejoining the group, she had spent the better part of that afternoon considering everything she had learned to date. And it had seemed to her that, while Lady Joan was reluctant to marry Royce, it was due to some obvious misconceptions. Someone had misled her. Lord Thurleah was neither a backward oaf nor a country bumpkin given to rough wooing. He was just as polite and polished as any of the other lords. And it seemed to Brinna that she was in a position to correct this situation. All she had to do was tell Lady Joan the truth about Lord Thurleah’s nature and the girl would resign herself to being his bride. Lady Joan, however, did not appear to wish to hear what she was trying to tell her. Still, she’d decided she had to try. “He isn’t what you said. He doesn’t woo roughly. He—”
“Brinna, please.” Joan laughed, digging through her chest for Lord knows what as she went on gently. “My dear girl, you are hardly in a position to judge that. It is not as if you have spent a great deal of time around nobility.”
“Aye, but, he-he spoke real pretty. He—”
“You mean he was very complimentary?” Joan asked, pausing to frown at her as Brinna nodded quickly. “Well, then, say that. Ladies do not say things like ‘he spoke real pretty.’ And do try to slow your speech somewhat. That is when you make the most mistakes.”
Brinna sighed in frustration, then took a moment to calm herself before continuing in the modulated tones Joan had spent that first night trying to hammer into her head. “You are correct, of course,” she enunciated grimly. “I apologize. But he truly is not the way you think he is. He was very complimentary. He said your eyes twinkled, your hair was as soft as down, and your lips—”