The Duchess Quest (Jordinia Book 1)

by C. K. Brooke

  “I…don’t know what to say,” she admitted, smoothing back her wet hair self-consciously. “I’ve never experienced anything like tonight.”

  Jon’s countenance fell slightly, but he stepped in, shrinking the space between them. “The night is still young. Must it end so soon?”

  “I’m tired,” said Dainy quietly.

  He leaned in. “Then let me take you to bed. Why don’t we find someplace private to pass the night?”

  “They will notice us gone,” declined Dainy with a rueful smile, nodding toward the bungalow.

  “At least spend one hour more with me.” He pointed downhill, in the direction opposite the inn. “How about there? We can lie on our backs and gaze up at the stars.”

  Dainy knew that Jon had more than stargazing in mind. And though the offer was tempting, she could not cross that threshold with him. Not that night.

  “I’ve known you less than one day, Jon. You cannot expect…well.” She looked down. Perhaps once she came to know him more…. But at present, she was growing sleepy and apprehensive to return home before her aunts might suspect something.

  Jon, however, was wrapping her in his embrace, shielding her from the night’s gentle breeze with his arms. He gazed down at her longingly under the moonlight, and she could do nothing but stare back, her heart thrumming to see his lips parted as he leaned down—

  “Hello?” A voice cracked through the air. “Is somebody out there?”

  They leapt apart into the shadows as they peered up the beach. Dainy saw a slender figure holding up a lantern, and her stomach sank to her heels. Her heart began to thunder again, but this time in dread.

  How could she begin to explain to Uncle Pascale why she was on the beach in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but a man’s blouse, and with a shirtless Jon beside her, to boot? Given the evidence, her uncle would never believe that no relations—not even a kiss on the mouth!—had passed between them.

  “Show yourselves,” he demanded.

  “It’s Pascale,” breathed Dainy.

  “Run,” advised Jon, and the pair dashed down the shore. They ran until they were breathless, finally reaching the crags and ducking to hide behind them. Dainy watched as the lantern light bobbed back toward the inn, shrinking until it disappeared.

  When it was safe to assume Pascale had gone, she and Jon dissolved into laughter, clutching one another in hilarity. It was the type of laughter when something is funny precisely because it’s not supposed to be—Dainy’s favorite kind. Her stomach skipped to see that she and Jon shared this in common.

  When they could no longer detect any activity, she took the man by the wrist, pulling him up the dunes and back to her home. Jon slid his hand into hers, and together they trotted across the side yard and to the back door.

  “Who should go in first?” she whispered, nervous. “We cannot be caught coming in together like this.”

  Jon glanced into the window. Immediately, he ducked, mouthing, “Pascale.”

  Lowering Dainy with him, he knelt, his mouth to her ear. “Wait out here.” His lips tickled her skin, sending another series of chills down her neck. “Hide behind the washhouse. I’ll handle Pascale.”

  “How shall I know when it’s safe to enter?”

  “I’ll leave the door ajar,” he promised, “so that you can hear our voices. When all has gone quiet, then you’ll know the coast is clear, savvy?”

  “Got it.” Dainy made to leave, crouching so as not to be visible through the window, but stopped just short of turning away. “Jon?”

  He looked up.

  She bit her lip, pulse racing. “Tonight was…magical.” A fond smile escaped her.

  Jon did not return her grin, which she thought odd. He calmly looked her over, blinked, and finally whispered back, “For me too, Dainy.” He glanced at the hut where Pascale awaited. “Go,” he mouthed, beckoning her away.

  Giving him one last glimpse, committing to memory his gleaming arms, handsome face, and the way his damp hair shone under the moonlight, Dainy departed Jon Cosmith, her head as light as her heart.

  PAXI AWOKE BEFORE THE SUN rose. Once she’d heard the cock crow, she was too anxious to remain on her mat. Priya, too, was stirring, but Dainy slept soundly under her blankets. They left the girl to her rest; she was in for an eventful day.

  The thought was too sad for Paxi to dwell upon. Of course, she was glad Dainy would be reunited with her own blood. But she couldn’t begin to imagine how quiet and empty the bungalow would feel without the girl’s bright-eyed grin and trickling laughter.

  She swallowed back the lump in her throat as she stoked the hearth. Priya came to help, her new bracelet shimmering in the firelight. As the butter simmered and Priya cracked eggs in the hot fry pan, Paxi climbed back up to the loft. The sun was up, and Dainy did not have time to spare. She needed to gather her meager belongings and eat at least one square meal before setting off.

  Quietly, Paxi entered her room, but was surprised to find Dainy already dressed. Her hair looked stylishly disheveled, almost as though she had slept on it wet.

  Paxi mustered a smile. “Let’s collect your things, then.”

  There wasn’t much to pack, the older woman thought regretfully, as she helped her foster niece fold her few garments. She wondered whether she should say anything to her about becoming a bride. However, Paxi assumed by the way the girl kept glancing furtively at the men’s quarters with a flush at her cheek, Pascale must have already told her. She’d heard her brother and the girl retiring to the loft around the same time, late the previous evening. Why, what else could the two have been discussing unto the wee hours of the night, if not her impending betrothal?

  After breakfast, they piled onto the dirt lawn, the men standing at a respectful distance as the women exchanged goodbyes. It was more than Paxi could bear to take the girl into her arms for the last foreseeable time.

  “You’re off to see the world, Dainy-girl.” Paxi sniffled. “My princess.”

  “I love you,” Dainy told her and Priya, and her effort to smile over the quiver in her chin tore Paxi’s heart. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Not too soon,” Priya told her. “Now go, and meet your destiny.”

  “Come, Dainy.” Pascale held out a hand. After a final glance back at her aunts, the young woman took it, and bravely turned to greet her future.

  DAINY’S EMOTIONS HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED such volatility. Between the shock of discovering her allegedly true identity, the euphoria of her night with Jon Cosmith, and the sorrow she now endured at leaving her aunts and their sandy little inn behind, she hardly knew what to feel as she followed Pascale and her escorts to port. She was leaving the only life she knew, and what lay beyond, she hadn’t an inkling.

  The sun radiated in a pristine sky as the breeze over the clear sea refreshed her. The men called Bos and Mac were conversing and joking with Uncle Pascale, yet Jon—her nerves tingled at the mere thought of him—was uncharacteristically quiet. She stood on the deck of Pascale’s boat, gripping the rails as the sea moved beneath her. She enjoyed the pleasant swell of the waves, which made her feel as though she’d drunk too much wine. It was rather akin to how she’d begun to feel every time she saw Jon.

  “Bos, Cosmith,” Uncle Pascale called, heading for the lower deck. “I need your assistance.”

  “Would you like my help as well?” Mac asked.

  “You look after Dainy,” said Pascale, and Dainy rolled her eyes. She wasn’t a child in need of supervision.

  “Don’t worry.” She gave the young man a wry smile as the others descended the companionway. “I won’t fall overboard.”

  Mac joined her at the rail, looking shy, and together they watched the horizon. Dainy wondered what to say. “So…where are you from, Mac?”

  He smiled, and she took in his boyish freckles and the way the wind mussed his hair
unflatteringly. Yet somehow, he was altogether charming, in his own sort of way. Perhaps not in the suave and alluring manner of Jon; but in a kind, candid and approachable way. She felt a grin spreading upon her lips.

  “I’m from the Knights’ Forest,” he answered.

  “Really? I didn’t think anyone lived there.”

  “My mother and I do. But it’s hard work. Trapping animals, preserving berries, tending our gardens….”

  “I bet it helps to have brothers and sisters assisting with all those chores,” mused Dainy, who was all too accustomed to hard work.

  “I’ve none,” he replied.

  “Nor have I,” she said automatically.

  Mac regarded her somewhat sadly. “Well. Not anymore, I expect.”

  It took a moment for Dainy to catch on. “Oh,” she said, realizing her error, as she considered the Ducelles may have had more children than just her. “How many siblings did I have?” she asked tentatively. But did she truly wish to know the number of brothers or sisters whom she’d outlived?

  “Three brothers, I believe,” said Mac, looking uncomfortable to tell her so.

  Three brothers. In that moment, Dainy mourned each of them, although she had no conscious memories of them. What had been their names? What had they looked like? How old were they when…?

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Mac.

  Dainy tried to smile at him, but it was difficult behind her budding tears.

  AFTERNOON FADED TO EVENING, AND Uncle Pascale had been keeping Jon quite busy. In fact, Dainy had hardly seen him at all. She continually anticipated his ascension from the lower deck, trying to pass her time pleasantly with Mac, yet unable to stop recalling the details of the previous night: Jon’s strong arms wrapped around her, his eager fingers brushing across her skin, his musky, leathery scent….

  She craved his presence, if only to confirm to herself that the evening before hadn’t been a dream. Had she done the right thing to reject his advances? Surely, there was nowhere they could have ensured complete privacy. And she’d dreaded the idea of hiding from Pascale and her aunts, or worse, being discovered by them.

  But to a higher purpose, she did not wish for her first time in a man’s caresses to be merely in the dunes of Beili on some ordinary summer’s night. No, that would have felt too common.

  Then again, she was now on Uncle Pascale’s creaky old boat, stuck in such proximity to the others that it would prove impossible to find another private moment with Jon, at least until they reached land.

  Well, she thought, pondering Jon’s masculine jaw and the way the moonlight had reflected off of his sturdy shoulders, the waiting would only heighten her desire, making their union, should it ever truly happen, all the sweeter.

  “Aha!”

  Mac’s exclamation brought Dainy out of her reverie. They had been digging among Pascale’s supplies, exploring the boat in search of amusement, when Mac extracted a wooden item. It had been carved into a familiar gourd-like shape, with six strings stretched over a hollow hole at the center.

  “Is that—?”

  “A strummer,” laughed Mac.

  “Why does Uncle Pascale have a strummer on his boat?” Dainy wondered.

  Mac leaned over the rail. “Hey, Pascale! Sorry we were snooping, but—” he brandished the instrument aloft—“may I use this?”

  Pascale peered up at him from the lower tier. “If it suits you, Mac.”

  The young man thrummed the strings. They emitted a twangy musical sound that reminded Dainy of beachside gatherings and the buskers in downtown Beili.

  With learned skill, he strummed a tune, and Dainy admired him, impressed. “You play well.”

  Mac inclined his head.

  The others ascended to join them. “Is that a strummer I hear?” asked Jon. He watched Mac, arms folded and the corner of his mouth twitching. “I daresay, Macmillan, I never thought you could pluck vellum like that.”

  “Eat your heart out, Cosmith.” Mac revealed a small, satisfied smile. He continued his ditty, and Dainy tapped her foot to the rhythm. “Do you know any songs, Dainy?” he asked her, stopping to meet her eyes.

  “Not many,” she admitted.

  “Sing something,” Mac suggested, “and I’ll catch on and accompany you.”

  Dainy was pointedly aware of Jon watching them. She shut her eyes, recalling the words from memory, and lifted her voice in the high, eerie melody she’d learned years ago:

  My love, who had given his hand unto me

  Has left me in darkness this night

  He went on the thunderous tides of the sea

  Extinguished the stars of their light.

  Mac began to strum the instrument softly, matching her mournful tune:

  My love, oh but how could you leave me as such

  With naught but my dreams shattered so?

  I long for the curve of your face but to touch,

  The life which we never shall know;

  But love, I await ye with unceasing faith

  And up to the moon I do pray

  That someday, you shall return back to this place

  And here in my arms ever stay.

  When she’d finished, Dainy realized that all four men were staring. She swallowed.

  “You have the voice of a bard, Dainy.” Uncle Pascale smiled with pride.

  “Mac and I make a fine duo,” she replied grinningly, and her new friend beamed.

  “Well.” Jon stepped forward. “We’ve heard an adept strummer, and been serenaded by a lovely cantor.” He inclined his head at Dainy, and her heart leapt. “But we cannot have music without dancing.” His eyes glinted.

  “Nice try, Cosmith,” Pascale grunted, and Dainy looked to her uncle suspiciously. At that moment, she began to wonder if Pascale had been deliberately keeping Jon from her.

  “It’s all right,” she said, lowering her gaze to hide a rush of resentment towards her foster uncle. “I’m sure I would make for a horrid partner anyhow, seeing as I’ve never danced with anyone before.”

  “Never danced before?” exclaimed Jon. “Then please,” he insisted with a flourish of his hand, “allow me.”

  Uncle Pascale stepped between them, taking Dainy’s hand firmly in his own. “Allow me, Cosmith,” he growled. “A waltz, if you will, Mac,” he requested, more politely, and to order, Mac began strumming a clipped one-two-three, one-two-three beat.

  Dainy stared at her uncle as he set his hand chastely upon her upper back, and began to step across the deck, moving her with him. “Put your other hand on my shoulder,” he directed her. As he guided her across the deck, she stumbled over his shoes, tripping and blushing at the clumsiness she was displaying before the men.

  “I guess you weren’t joking,” Uncle Pascale teased. He laughed at her, stopping their dance. “You may be a lovely minstrel, but you are a fairly abominable dancer.”

  Dainy was mortified. She did not dare glance in Jon’s direction.

  “All due respect, Pascale,” came a baritone voice. It was the first she’d heard Bos, the giant, speak. “But I believe I may make for a better instructor to Her Royal Highness.”

  “You?” Mac stopped strumming. “Dance with her?”

  Pascale looked surprised. “Well, then. Be my guest, Bos.” He stepped aside, and Dainy shot him an incredulous look. How could she possibly dance with the giant? Not only was she terrified of him, but she would surely look ridiculous coming up to his elbows.

  “If Her Highness bids me permission to approach,” said Bos, respectfully averting his gaze.

  Dainy softened at his humility. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she held out a hand.

  The giant bowed, and her hand disappeared within the surprisingly ginger grip of his mammoth paw. He placed his other hand on her shoulder, colossal fingers extending clean across her back, and she had to c
rane her neck to look up at him. She realized, meeting his eyes, how translucent a shade of blue they were.

  “Stand on my feet,” Bos told her.

  “What?”

  “Stand on my feet, Your Highness,” he repeated patiently, “and I will show you how to waltz.”

  “But will that not hurt you?”

  He released a booming laugh and his cheeks rose, revealing a pleasant smile behind his shaggy goatee. “You could not hurt me.”

  She heard the others sniggering as well, and shot them a look. “Oh, hush.” They could laugh all they wanted, but at least Bos was a gentleman.

  Holding his hand, Dainy stepped onto his oversized boots. She was significantly taller atop them, though Bos still towered over her. At the giant’s command, Mac began to strum again, one-two-three, one-two-three, and Dainy held on as Bos’s remarkable strides carried her in a rhythmic circle around the deck. He was indeed waltzing elegantly, proving that someone so large could be quite graceful.

  “Bos, you rascal,” hooted Pascale, and Dainy’s face grew hot.

  “How did a great bear like you learn to dance?” called Jon.

  Bos ignored them, speaking only to Dainy, as though she’d been the one to ask. “I learned the waltz for my Aunt Fjeldá, so she’d have a partner after my uncle died.” He smiled at the memory.

  “That was kind of you,” said Dainy.

  “It was the least I could do, given that she raised me after the deaths of my parents.”

  Dainy didn’t know what to say to this. She continued to ride upon his overlarge feet, her eyes level with his chest.

  “Eludaine,” he intoned, and she glanced up at him, wondering if he was addressing her. “It is Old Jordinian, your name.”

  “Really?” she asked, distracted by her curiosity. “What does it mean?”

  “There is a double meaning,” he replied. “Most commonly, it’s understood to mean song of the sea. For there is elu, which is song, and daine, which is sea.” He turned her slowly. “But as well, el is a female, and uda means to shine or shimmer, so it can also mean: she who shimmers like the sea.”