by Lilia Ford
Her ire cooled rapidly, however, when she caught a glimpse of Derek’s face. For some inexplicable reason he was furious and looked ready to throttle her.
Fortunately Damian made a clucking sound and caught her chin to turn her face to his. “Genevieve, this won’t do! You must eat properly. Mrs. Miran, I give my word. My brothers and I will see to it that your daughter no longer skips meals. If we must tie her to her chair, she will eat her food!”
“Oh Mr. Black,” Mama cried joyfully, “I’m sure she’ll do it for you.”
“I know she will,” Damian said with a knowing smile that made Genevieve’s eyes glaze for a second.
She turned to her food for distraction, realizing that she was indeed ravenous. They had company so seldom, Genevieve forgot herself and started gulping down her eggs.
“Manners, Jenny,” her mother tsked. “Eat like a lady! What will Mr. Black think?”
Genevieve looked up mortified, but Damian and Donal were laughing, though Derek’s look was accusatory.
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Miran, she comes to a home that has long been without a lady’s influence—not since our mother died,” Damian said.
“No one would notice if she gobbles down her food and then lifts the plate to lick it clean,” Donal said flatly.
“Oh dear!” her mother said, patting her lips with her napkin. “Though if you can get Jenny to eat…” she said considering. “I begin to see it is an excellent thing indeed that you will marry tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Genevieve burst out over a bite of sweet-cheese roll. Swallowing her food, she added, “Is it always so fast?”
Since the disastrous night with her music, she’d avoided wedding feasts. She couldn’t remember how soon they usually took place after the Bridal Week couples had formed.
“Not always,” Damian answered with a little glint in his eye. “But Declan wishes to attend ours, and tomorrow is the best day for him.”
“Declan? The Black Prince? From Faerie—he’s coming to the wedding?” Genevieve was dumfounded. He might as well have said Titania herself was coming. And yet Damian spoke of Declan as he might an uncle or grandparent.
“He wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he said, giving her a look so warm and affectionate, her heart leapt. He truly looked happy. That seemed even more extraordinary than that a Fae Prince was planning to attend her wedding.
Which would take place tomorrow. Tomorrow!
It was difficult after that to sit and eat breakfast, but she noticed Derek glaring at her. He nodded at her plate, warning her she’d better finish. Genevieve bristled, but she did clean her plate. She reminded herself that she was hungry, and it appeared she would need her strength to cope with her betrothed and his brothers.
Chapter Seven
As soon as breakfast was over, Damian suggested that they all walk to the green to see the spot for the feast and then continue to the bakery. Wedding celebrations were communal affairs, with each family contributing a special dish.
Traditionally, the bride’s family provided the bridal cake and iced puddings to ensure the couple’s sweet married life, while the groom’s family provided the ale needed to ensure a joyous celebration for the guests.
Denied time to plan and fuss, her mother was forced to devote her worry to a long discussion with the baker about the puddings, which Genevieve didn’t even pretend to follow. Damian never left her side and showed admirable patience, good-naturedly answering the questions Genevieve should have.
At midday, her mother gave her a harried kiss and turned to go home without asking any of them to come along, which made Genevieve suspect that Damian had already made some arrangement. They stopped off at the tavern and picked up packed baskets and a chilled stone pitcher. When she asked, Damian smiled and said that he was making up for ruining the picnic the day before.
So she and the three Black brothers left the village and for the second time in two days, she made the walk to Titania’s Altar.
When they reached the meadow, Damian gave her a kiss and said, “I need to visit the altar, darling. Stay here with Donal.”
Donal spread a blanket so she could sit against a tree and then gave her a smile that was pure roguish charm. “Now that I’ve got you alone, is my new sister hungry?”
Genevieve was woefully ignorant of men, even more so than most girls her age, but she instinctively recognized Donal’s tone—he was being suggestive.
She rolled her eyes and responded, “As it happens, I am. What do you have?”
“Tongue,” he answered, licking his lips slightly.
“Excuse me!” she cried, shocked.
“Excuse me!” he cried back. “Is it possible my new sister is entertaining improper thoughts? I was referring, of course, to the excellent sandwiches prepared by our local tavern-keep, Mr. Richards, who I believe is a dear friend of your father’s.”
Genevieve turned scarlet at this. She was stammering out an apology when she realized that Donal was barely managing to restrain his mirth—at her expense!
She shook her head and then said more tartly than she should have, “As it happens, I do not care for tongue. Is there anything else?”
“You truly don’t care for tongue? What are we to do?” Donal said in an alarmed tone.
He really was too bad!
“Do you have anything else or not?”
“I’m afraid that there is nothing else except….”
He unwrapped a second basket. Genevieve moved closer so she could peer in.
“Cherries!” she exclaimed, all annoyance at Donal’s nonsense forgotten. “But they’re not due to ripen for another week. Mama asked specially for me.”
The basket was filled to overflowing with cherries so dark they were almost black. She closed her eyes: the fragrance was mouthwatering.
“Honestly, I should have been oracle to Our Lady Titania,” Donal intoned mournfully. “So I have told Declan many a time, though he chooses to ignore my advice. Before I’d ever heard the lovely name of Genevieve, I had a vision, yes a vision, that Damian’s bride would be partial to cherries, so before I left, I asked to speak to Roderick, our cook. ‘Roderick,’ I said, ‘we must have cherries for Damian’s bride. No matter how reluctant she may be to marry my lazy lout of a brother, she won’t be able to resist him if she tries the cherries from the Black orchard.’ And what do you know, a basket of cherries was delivered before breakfast. Ours always arrive a few weeks before the valley’s.”
Genevieve couldn’t help bursting out laughing at this brother who looked so like Damian but was capable of such good-humored absurdity. He held out one of the cherries, swinging it by the stem like a string before a kitten.
She nibbled her lip. Genevieve absolutely adored cherries, and it had been almost an entire year since she’d had a fresh one. She couldn’t help glancing about for Damian, though, whom she suspected would echo her mother in insisting that she eat a “proper” lunch before she had dessert.
Donal was looking decidedly mischievous. “Just a few couldn’t hurt. I promise I won’t tattle.” He held the cherry to her mouth. “Open please.”
The lure of cherries was too much to resist. Genevieve obeyed and couldn’t help a soft moan: compared to these, the valley cherries tasted like bland, long-storage apples. She gave Donal a guilty look as she tried unobtrusively to spit out the pit.
“No, no, my dear. To do justice to the Black cherries, you must properly dispose of the pit.” He ate a cherry himself and then shot the pit from his mouth. He held another to her lips. “Try again.”
Within minutes, Donal had hand-fed her half the basket, and the two were deep in a contest of who could spit their pit the farthest. In the meantime, her white dress had become liberally sprinkled with juice and had acquired a multitude of twigs and even a caterpillar.
She finally managed to hit the tree that was their target and clapped, holding out her mouth for another cherry, when they were interrupted by an angry voice demanding, “Have you visited th
e altar yet?”
She looked up to see Derek, his face dark as thunder.
“As you can see, I have been keeping our lovely new sister company,” Donal said mildly.
“You must make your devotions,” Derek said coldly.
“And you think I should do that now?” Donal replied with that veiled irony he seemed master of.
The look that Derek returned was hard as granite. “I will stay with our brother’s bride.”
“I will leave you two to become acquainted then.”
Donal smiled humorously, but underneath Genevieve could have sworn she caught a glimpse of something… canny. It would be a mistake to underestimate this comical new brother of hers.
As soon as Donal was gone, Derek wordlessly unwrapped one of the sandwiches, cut it into small pieces, and sat directly in front of her. Did he intend to feed her the sandwich as Donal had the cherries?
“No, thank you…” she protested, trying to sound polite. “Please, I don’t care for tongue…. I had a large breakfast.”
“Cherries are not lunch,” he said accusingly, holding a piece to her lips. “My brother gave his word that you would not skip any meals.”
Genevieve flushed violently. He was treating her like a child, but she wasn’t sure how to refuse without being unforgivably rude. “Fine, just give it to me,” she said through her teeth, wondering at how angry she sounded, but by Titania, this Black brother was difficult.
To her consternation Derek said, “No,” and brought the piece closer to her mouth. Everything in his expression was daring her to defy him. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to slap his face, but she managed to control herself and opened her mouth and ate the bite of sandwich.
The meat tasted well enough, of course—Mr. Richards took justified pride in his curing—but she’d always disliked the greasy richness of tongue, which even the sharpness of the mustard did nothing to cut through. She chewed slowly and swallowed.
“Is that enough?” she asked, unable to keep the sullenness from her tone.
“No,” Derek said. “You will finish your sandwich. Next time you will think twice about having dessert before your lunch.”
Genevieve looked him in the face, astounded at his gall, but all thought froze under his gaze. It was no longer angry but something else, something predatory. Like this morning, she felt like a cornered animal too scared to run away. Her mouth reflexively opened for another bite, which she chewed without tasting, repeating until the sandwich was finished.
The spell was broken by a cough. She looked up to see Donal watching them a bit too closely.
Suddenly hands grabbed for her, causing Genevieve to let out a loud shriek. She grimaced when she realized it was Damian. She tried to slap at his hands, but he ignored her struggles to pull her onto his lap, gripping her wrists and holding them against her waist.
He nuzzled her neck and then kissed the bare skin where her neck met her shoulder, just touching her with his tongue. Genevieve gasped at the pulse of desire that shivered through her body, and for a second her eyes closed.
But then she recalled that they were not alone. She flinched and tried to elbow Damian and shake herself free. “Damian, let me go!” she cried, but he just kissed her again and forced her to settle.
In the meantime, Derek had risen and was standing off to the side, while Donal took a seat in front of her again.
“Did my cruel brother make you eat your sandwich,” he said mockingly.
“I’ll get you for this, Donal Black,” she snapped. She was sure he’d known Derek would make her eat that sandwich.
“You’ll get me? You’ll get me? What are you nine?” Donal scoffed.
Genevieve was so annoyed she threw her napkin at him but then worried that maybe she’d been too forward. But when she glanced over her shoulder, her disloyal, good-for-nothing betrothed was laughing at her too! She glared at both of them, which unfortunately only caused Donal to explode in loud guffaws.
When he finally caught his breath, Donal cried, “Oh Genevieve, sweetheart, if you could see your face. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to scowl in case your face stuck like that?”
“You… you…” she tried to come up with some truly devastating insult or threat, but she’d not grown up with brothers and couldn’t think of anything worse than the all-purpose “I’ll get you,” which she recognized now was pretty weak.
“Peace, sister,” Donal cried. “After your sufferings at Derek’s hand, you deserve some reward.” He held up the basket of cherries. “We must show Damian and Derek the progress you’ve made spitting cherry pits.”
Genevieve was mollified and could even laugh at their ridiculous argument. To Damian’s wry amusement, Donal insisted on holding up the cherries for her to eat, and the three of them spent several hilarious minutes comparing shots.
Only Derek remained stone-faced. Neither of his brothers seemed surprised, and Genevieve was too annoyed with him to mind that he wasn’t enjoying himself. He finally joined them when the basket was empty, and the three brothers set to eating their sandwiches, Damian refusing to let her move from his lap.
“I notice that Damian and Donal are allowed to eat their dessert before lunch,” Genevieve said tartly.
Derek just glared at her, but Damian kissed her temple and said, “I’m sorry, love. When I made that promise to your mother this morning I meant only to reassure her, forgetting that my younger brother would consider himself honor bound for the rest of his life to ensure you never again miss a meal.”
“Derek’s younger?” she asked, distracted from her annoyance. “But I thought….” She stopped herself before she repeated the gossip she’d heard before the picnic.
“You thought what, darling?” Damian said, nestling her neck again.
She wondered that she was becoming so accustomed to his freely touching her, but his affection was so easy and natural, she would feel ludicrously missish for stopping him.
When Genevieve still hesitated he said in that iron tone he sometimes used, “Say what you were going to say, Genevieve.”
“I’m sorry,” she answered, flustered.
“Genevieve, you’re apologizing again; now answer,” Damian whispered, giving her a little bite on her ear as a warning.
“It’s just that I heard that Derek attended the Bridal Week—that both of you did. I assumed you were older.” Though now that she thought of it, they didn’t seem older.
There was an uncomfortably long pause before Damian said, “I’m the eldest, but I command the garrison that guards the demon gate. We were experiencing some problems with the Reavers the first year we discussed my attending, and Declan asked me to postpone and let my brothers go first.”
“Honestly Damian,” Donal said. “Declan knew you had the best chance. He made no secret of it to Derek and me. He wanted us to have our try, of course, but we never questioned that you should go last.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “The best chance?”
“Well obviously, since Damian’s so much prettier than Derek and me, we knew you village maidens would be falling all over him,” Donal said, winking at her.
Genevieve grunted. Except for her foolish self, the “maidens” had kept their distance, and anyway the three brothers were so similar looking, it would be hard for those who didn’t know them to tell them apart.
She turned to Damian. He gently pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “From the time Titania first gifted our people with the heartwood boxes, only one son in each generation of the Black family has found a bride.”
“Declan always knows which brother it will be,” Donal added in an eerie tone. “It’s maaaaagic!”
Genevieve frowned as the information sank in. Both Derek and Donal had gone to the Bridal Week knowing they would not find a bride—how painful that must have been. And to sit now with their brother who had found a bride, knowing that they would likely never marry. Wouldn’t they feel resentful? Jealous of their brother’s good for
tune?
Her expression must have given her away. Donal gave her a puzzled smile. “You look so worried, little one. It’s not like that.”
“No Black would ever dishonor himself with petty jealousy,” Derek said angrily, and to her dismay he walked off.
Donal gave her a rueful smile and jumped up to follow him.
“I didn’t mean…” she stumbled.
“A bride is a blessing to us from Titania herself—the greatest she can give us,” Damian said carefully. “To envy our brother is to turn away from her, to say that such a gift is not enough. It would be a great dishonor.”
“Damian, I meant no offense!” She squeezed her eyes closed, afraid she might cry.
“Hush, darling, I know you didn’t. To cope with Derek, the first thing everyone must learn is that he is absolutely impossible,” he said, kissing her nose.
“Brothers can be jealous, even when they know it to be wrong and unfair. We can’t always control our feelings,” she whispered, thinking of her own dark moods.
“What do you know of brothers, little one? What you say is true of other families. You must trust me on this. Derek’s honor is everything to him.” Damian hesitated and for the first time since she’d met him appeared uncertain. “I haven’t spoken to you about what our life will be after we’re married.”
“No, you haven’t.” She turned on him in surprise. She hadn’t had a moment’s leisure to even think about such topics, and yet they would marry tomorrow.
“The castle is really a military fortress, designed to hold the entire garrison, especially during the winter. So in the time of Declan’s grandsons, a separate house was built within the grounds, specially warded, where the bride may live. You need to understand, Genevieve. From the moment your box changed, your protection became the first priority of all the males of my family. I will have to be away at times as part of my command. During those times, Derek and Donal will take care of you. Either of my brothers would give his life to protect you, just as I would.”
“Damian!” she protested.
“That is the male’s right, darling, and not for you to question,” he said, firmly tapping her chin.