The Heartwood Box: A Fairy Tale

by Lilia Ford

  The real Declan and Damian suddenly seemed far less real than those she imagined, and it seemed a foregone conclusion that she would soon commit some act that would utterly alienate her new family.

  “Damian, leave us.”

  “Sire…” Damian protested.

  “You will obey me in this!” he commanded in such an iron tone, she understood where Damian had learned his. Declan moved closer and bent to one knee. “You wished so much to see what is in your box, little one?”

  Genevieve looked up surprised. “No, I wouldn’t want to!”

  She’d never even thought of it before now, but she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to—what horrors would they find there?

  Declan took her by the chin and turned her to meet his gaze. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t allow it, something else Damian must have learned from him.

  After a moment he said, “You fear my anger then—or Damian’s—should you disobey me.”

  “I’m not good,” she cried. “I told Damian…. I tried to explain, but I don’t think he believed me. This all happened so fast, but he doesn’t know me.”

  “Rise daughter,” he said, pulling her up and bringing her to the sofa.

  She quickly wiped her eyes while he took a seat opposite. To her surprise his smile was humorous. “You must forgive an old man who sounds dire alarms that the wolves have raided the chicken coop, when really two puppies have stolen his wife’s drawers from the clothes line.”

  The image was so comical, so unexpected, it stopped Genevieve’s tears instantly.

  “Really, I have no excuse at all. I’ve long known the uselessness of making such pronouncements having raised Donal. To forbid him anything was virtually to guarantee that he would spare no effort to do the thing forbidden. I became convinced that if he would apply even a tenth of that effort to his studies, he’d rival the most learned university scholars.”

  Genevieve couldn’t help giggling. She would never have imagined that the fierce Declan could have a sense of humor.

  “I don’t expect you to fully believe me yet, my dear, but you need never fear my anger.” She tried to interrupt, but he said, “I spoke to the priestess. Maura told me of your troubles.”

  Genevieve was silenced.

  “We will address those at another time, should it be necessary. I forbade you the box not because there is any ugliness within that I would protect you from, so stop fearing that.”

  He spoke so firmly she shivered.

  “Had I known better, I would have phrased my request differently: I would ask as a favor to Damian that you put your trust in him. For a man such as he, it is a gift beyond measure.”

  He stood, and Genevieve had no choice but to nod her acquiescence, though she found his remarks needlessly cryptic. “Thank you, sir,” she said because the moment seemed to demand it.

  He smiled knowingly. “There are privileges to being my daughter, and one is that I would have you call me Declan.”

  “Sir!” she cried. He raised his eyebrows until she couldn’t help biting her lip. “Declan,” she said tentatively.

  “See, lightning did not strike you down.” He pulled her in and kissed her on the top of her head. “Welcome to our family, Genevieve. You will do well.” He called out loudly, “Damian, you lazy rogue, come fetch your bride before she misses the whole celebration.” Genevieve was still giggling when Damian returned. “You’d better hurry before your brothers come looking for you. I would have the third dance, daughter.”

  “Thank you, Declan, I look forward to it.” She looked up nervously at Damian to see what he thought of her calling the Black Prince by his first name.

  “I see she has worked her witchcraft on you as well, sire,” he said laughingly. “She even charmed Derek, who has never spoken civilly to a woman in his life. But now, we are late to the feast!”

  Damian gave her a quick kiss and then pulled her out the door and started running full bore towards the tents.

  “Damian,” she protested. “I can’t run in this dress, please it will tear….”

  “Vanity, thy name is woman,” he lamented dramatically and swung her up into his arms, jogging quickly until they reached the tents on the green.

  Chapter Ten

  As soon as they went under the tent, there was a thunderous cheer. The crowd had grown from the ceremony at Titania’s Altar. A number of men wearing black uniforms had arrived—fellow officers from the garrison. Genevieve also realized that while they’d been occupied, the ale casks had been breached, and the guests were already well along in the revelry.

  Moments after they made their entrance, Donal was on hand with a great stein, apparently some family heirloom, insisting that they drink to their marriage. Damian put her on the ground so she could drink first. Genevieve couldn’t abide ale and took the tiniest sip possible, which led to mock cries of outrage. Apparently it was bad luck if they didn’t finish it.

  The cup was given to Damian who had to drink it down as the men counted. Thankfully, Derek was also there, holding a cup to her mouth that turned out to be filled with iced lemon-water. She was parched and for once didn’t mind his bossiness.

  There was an explosion of cheers as Damian drained the stein and turned it upside down. Donal immediately began yelling for the musicians to begin. Genevieve just had time to return her cup to Derek, when Damian spun her into a fast reel.

  The next half hour passed in a blur of motion as she danced with her father, Declan, Donal, and several officers. She was relieved when she saw Donal leading Sally to the floor—at least one of the Black brothers had decided to make peace with her friend. She was even happier when she saw Sally joyfully spinning around the floor with Peter Crane.

  She was less relieved when Donal dragged her over to a shadowed corner where Derek was standing (hiding really), enjoying himself about as much as the average prisoner of war. Derek had not danced once and gave his brother a deadly look when Donal shoved her hand in his. Genevieve tried to back away, not wanting to make Derek uncomfortable, but he made an impatient sigh and pulled her out on the floor.

  To her surprise, he was an excellent dancer. For all his stiffness with people, he moved with the same uncommon grace of all the men of his family. His refusal to dance was just his usual temper.

  Genevieve felt some pity for him. She knew too well what it was like to be surrounded by people enjoying themselves while she felt like a miserable blotch on their happiness.

  Her good will was short-lived, however. They’d circled the floor one time, when Derek demanded in an accusatory tone, “Have you eaten anything since breakfast?”

  Genevieve’s back was immediately up. In fact, she’d been too nervous to eat, but she had no intention of bowing to Derek’s tyranny at her own wedding.

  “Congratulations on your marriage, Genevieve, I wish you every joy. What a lovely dress,” she said, with insincere pleasantness. “Why thank you, Derek, how kind of you to say that.”

  His expression became livid, and he gave her a very sharp shake. “I asked you a question!”

  Genevieve wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she said in an insolent tone, “Not a single bite!”

  She’d never spoken to anyone like that in her life, but something in Derek made her desperate to provoke him. Derek immediately stopped dancing and grabbed her by the upper arm. Genevieve turned crimson but forced herself to smile in spite of her rage as Derek marched her over to the banquet tables that had been laid out with all their neighbors’ contributions.

  He gave her a warning look, before letting go of her arm so he could fill a plate. Genevieve sensed that if she tried to escape, Derek would simply drag her back. She searched the crowd for Damian or Donal who might rescue her from Derek’s tyrannical form of care. But Damian was dancing with the priestess, and Donal with her mother.

  When he’d piled her plate, Derek pulled her along to one of the long tables, which were mostly filled with old men who preferred ale to dancing. He found them
an unoccupied end, pushed her onto the bench, and took a seat next to her.

  She took the fork he offered and looked at the plate. In the middle was a large slice of tongue, surrounded by applesauce, peas and carrots, and plain boiled potatoes—bland dishes for those with indigestion.

  He was punishing her! His expression said unmistakably that he would feed her himself if she didn’t cooperate.

  Genevieve was seething. If they’d been at home she’d have dumped the plate in his lap! But unlike Derek, she wasn’t totally indifferent to the opinions of everyone around her. She couldn’t face making a huge scene at her own wedding, distressing her parents who were so happy for her, and causing even more talk than she’d already done. She gritted her teeth and started eating.

  When she’d finished everything but the meat, she pushed the plate back and hissed, “I’m done!”

  Derek flashed her a look of dark warning. Genevieve swayed dizzily, instinctively sensing that beneath his cold stubbornness lurked something dangerous. Once again, she felt that overpowering urge to run from him.

  She was saved for the second time that day by Sally, who walked up practically dragging Donal behind her.

  “You or me, Donal Black,” Sally said, giving Donal an elbow in the ribs.

  “Ouch! You undersized termagant!”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake!” Sally said impatiently. With an overly sweet smile, she said, “You all right, Jenny?”

  “Perfectly fine,” Genevieve answered, drawing courage from their arrival. “I was just reminding my dear brother, Derek, that I do not eat tongue. He seems to be suffering from memory loss.”

  Derek gave her a thunderous look, and Genevieve, possessed by some alien mischievous spirit, stuck her tongue out at him.

  Donal roared with laughter and then elbowed Sally back. “Told you she could handle him. I’ve seen blood-soaked Reavers quail before that scowl of his.” Sally and Donal joined them at the table.

  Derek visibly made an effort to master his temper and finally said coldly, “You’ve not eaten enough.” He moved the piece of tongue onto another plate and stood up to refill hers.

  Insufferable despot!

  “Fine!” she snapped. “Please be sure to take plenty of the Crane’s stew then. I’m quite partial to lamb.”

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I warned you what would happen if you refused to eat your meals,” and went to get more food.

  Luckily Genevieve’s reaction to this threat was covered over by Damian’s arrival.

  “There you are!” he said, kissing her lavishly on the mouth to Sally’s smirking disapproval. “Look darling!” He pointed to the other side of the tent.

  Her father was mounting the little stage holding his wooden flute! “This is for my little girl. I love you, kitten,” he said awkwardly. He was ever a man of music, not words.

  He began one of her favorite ballads. Genevieve kept a smile pasted on her face, but her emotions were rising dangerously. Her father played the rustic instrument so beautifully, it was impossible not to feel her own loss. If she’d not had all her problems, she would be up there playing with him. Her parents had always shown her so much love and patience, so much more than she deserved….

  Thank Titania Damian had his eyes on the stage and couldn’t see her distress, but Sally and Donal were watching her closely. She felt Sally take her hand. Grateful as Genevieve was for rediscovering her old friend, Sally’s kindness was in danger of pushing her towards one of her attacks—at her wedding, the happiest day of her life. What would it do to Damian?

  At that moment, however, Derek returned with the second helping of food. “Finish it!” he said in that iron tone so beloved of her new family.

  Her irritation succeeded where her willpower had failed to wrestle her unruly emotions. This time Derek had filled her plate with all of her favorite dishes. The wretch had been deliberately baiting her!

  She made a silent vow of revenge as she dug in, genuinely hungry. She could listen now like everyone else, appreciating her father’s rare talent, without feeling overwhelmed by regrets. There was wild applause when he finished, and Genevieve felt nothing but joy when she jumped up to embrace him.

  Her mother had her moment of triumph soon afterwards as a splendid cake was unveiled and the puddings simultaneously set alight to enormous cheers. As was tradition, she and Damian held the knife together and cut the first piece. Damian seemed almost giddy as he fed her the first bite. His happiness was contagious. She could almost believe in the old superstition that the sweetness of the cake foretold the sweetness of their married life.

  As the cake and puddings were served, Donal leapt up to give a toast, followed by Mr. Richards, the tavern-keep and her father’s closest friend, and then by two officers from the garrison, who said something, bawdy probably, that caused all the men to roar.

  She noticed Donal whisper something to Sally, who gave him a wry nod. Sally stood and totally unabashed pretended to solemnly thank Genevieve for snapping up the fearsome Damian Black so quickly, so the other girls might relax and enjoy the Bridal Week.

  Only Sally could carry off such impudence without giving offense. Damian chuckled, and Donal practically howled. Then with a mischievous wink, Sally announced that it was time for the bride to retire.

  Her bridesmaids came and collected her. Rather than return to her parents’ house, they’d borrowed a room in the tavern for her to change from her wedding gown into a green travel dress.

  Donal met her at the door and ordered the bridesmaids back to the tent and then led Genevieve over to where her parents were standing with the priestess. “Time to say goodbye,” he said.

  Genevieve hugged both of them. Her mother of course burst into tears and tried to cling, but the priestess chided her to let Genevieve go and then insisted her parents return home.

  Donal wished them good cheer and then grabbed Genevieve by the hand and led her back to the tent. The tent had cleared of all but the younger men and women, who’d grown decidedly boisterous. Damian was nowhere to be seen.

  Donal left her with Derek and went to shepherd the girls into a group for the bouquet-toss. “It’s time, little sister,” Donal said.

  Genevieve couldn’t help swallowing nervously. Donal’s eyes were dangerously bright, and even Derek seemed more intense than usual—they were plotting something. Donal made an impatient gesture, so she turned her back on the group and tossed the bouquet over her shoulder.

  There was a chorus of squeals, and she turned to see Sally holding the bouquet aloft.

  But a moment later, the officers from the garrison moved in front of the girls, forming a wide circle around her. Something was happening.

  She looked to Donal, who was holding out a narrow length of black material. There was something in his expression that made her instinctively back away. The men were making catcalls and eying her like so many wolves around a doe. The instinct to flee was overpowering. She tried to run, but she was quickly caught and pushed back. She spotted a gap in the circle and bolted towards it, but again she was caught and pushed back.

  Donal called out, “Men, Damian has caught himself a bride. It’s time for us to deliver her to him.”

  The men let out a roar.

  Completely panicked now, Genevieve screamed and frantically tried to fight her way out. Somehow, she ended up in Derek’s arms, but his dark eyes were implacable. Suddenly her wrists were being pulled behind her and tied together with soft fabric.

  Derek bent down and hoisted her onto his shoulder to the cheers and thundering stomps of the men. She caught a glimpse of Donal as he deftly caught Sally and prevented her from coming to Genevieve’s rescue.

  “I’ll kill you for this, Donal!” Genevieve shouted, which produced another roar of laughter and loud shouts that Damian had caught himself a “hellcat” and similar nonsense.

  Genevieve was furious to be manhandled so by her infernal brothers. She tried to struggle and kick Derek, but he adjusted his grip so sh
e couldn’t move. “Let me go, you oaf. I’ll kill you, Derek, I swear it!”

  “Quiet,” he ordered, giving her a sharp slap on her rear, which led to another gleeful roar from the men.

  At the edge of the tents, he stopped and someone reached for her, pulling her up. It was Damian on a massive, jet-black stallion. By now, Genevieve was in a thorough temper and struggled and kicked, but Damian wrapped an arm around her, settled her securely, and without a word kicked the horse into a canter.

  Chapter Eleven

  As soon as they were away from the town on the road to the hills, Damian slowed the horse to a walk. He leaned Genevieve over on one arm, causing her anger to evaporate. His smile was pure triumph. She struggled against the bonds but was helpless.

  Damian laughed and lowered his head to kiss her. His tongue plunged into her mouth, ruthlessly taking possession. When he finally let her go, he pulled her back to lean into him, kissing her neck and rubbing her breasts with his hand.

  Genevieve was left speechless. This was a side of Damian she’d sensed but hadn’t understood enough to recognize. She was his now. Tonight he would possess her body, and there didn’t seem to be any limits to what he would demand from her.

  When she could finally speak, she squeaked out, “Aren’t you going to release my hands?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Damian!” she gasped.

  He turned her around on the saddle until she faced him, yanking up her skirts so she could straddle the horse as he did. He gripped her rear to pull her tightly against him. With his other hand he grasped her hair, wrapping it several times around his wrist, and then forced her head back.

  She stared up at him, utterly stunned, before he pressed their lips together. She wanted to touch his shoulders, his chest, and twisted trying to free herself, but the bonds held. Being restrained only made the need that much more intense, and she let out a strange moan.