The Other Woman

by The other woman (NCP) (lit)

  "Black hair to his chin, goatee. Bit of salt and pepper. Looked something like you, my lord."

  Dante. Roland’s fingers began to drum. The rhythm got faster as his ire built. He’d sent him out in the rain on a fool’s quest. What idiocy was his brother up to now?

  Eyeing Roland uncertainly, the man went on. "It’s the reason she became so witchy, my lord. Got tired of the yearly demands of tithe to be sent to you. Said you were a greedy cur, but--"

  "Yearly demands? Are you still talking about my wife?" A dull pounding began deep in his brain, temper being beaten on the anvil of confusion. "I never made any demands." How could he have? He’d still been bloodying his slave’s sword as a gladiator at the time. The only contact he’d had with Allyson in the two years prior to that had been by letter and about business. From the tone of her notes, she’d been delighted to have him away from home. Not that he’d blamed her. It would have been too awkward to live under the same roof with both wife and mistress.

  His frown deepened. He’d never asked for any money from her during that time, either. "When were these tithes made?"

  "For nine years. I’d heard it said that she refused to do it this year. Said you could bloody well come home and collect if you wanted it. Had the collector whipped and tossed naked out her gates. Sent his men scrambling after him. They say it was because the man got cheeky with her, but I don’t know. After all, with her reputation for bedding anything in pants--," he broke off, sending a wary look at Roland as he remembered who he spoke to.

  But Roland was far more interested in this tithe business. If all was as it looked on the surface, someone had been stealing money meant for him. It surprised him that Allyson would have sent the money at all. Whoever had posed as he had to have been powerfully crafty. "How much money are we talking about?"

  "Half the yearly income, less the queen’s taxes."

  It was a fortune. A low whistle accompanied Roland’s surprise. But how was it that his father and Dante hadn’t discovered this sooner? And why couldn’t Dante have told him this himself, he thought with a surge of irritation. The man was ever fond of intrigue, but he hadn’t had to go to such extremes … unless he’d thought Roland would be too obstinate to listen. Either that or it had suited his twisted sense of humor.

  One thing was certain--after that nasty ride in the rain, Roland was all attention. He dropped a handful of coins on the table and left to seek lodging.

  Perhaps he would have to speak with his infamous Ally Cat after all.

  * * * *

  "You could have simply told me." Roland had barely shaken the snow from his cloak before he’d sought Dante out. While comfortable enough, Dante’s room in the palace was far from lavish. Elegance, not ostentatious display, was the style.

  Dante raised a brow and poured Roland a cup of warmed wine. "I know you. You’ve a pig’s head on you that could feed a banquet. Had I simply told you, you’d have ignored it and your woman. That and I do love tormenting you." His smile was lopsided.

  "She’s not my woman."

  "Fine. Your wife. Your responsibility. The least you could do is take an interest and see what became of your money."

  "I don’t need my duties dictated to me, brother."

  "Then do them!" Dante set the wine bottle down with a thump. "Ten years is a bit long to let her molder, no matter what your feelings toward her. Do the wench a favor, solve her problems, and let her get on with her life. She doesn’t deserve to suffer for your stubbornness."

  "You’ve an interest in her then?" This was news. He hadn’t thought Dante would care for a woman of his wife’s reputation. But then, Roland had been gone a long time. Perhaps Dante’s tastes had changed. How well did he really know his brother?

  "I don’t covet what’s not mine, though you’ve never bothered to claim it," Dante retorted. My interest in her is familial, I assure you."

  Roland took a sip of wine, savored it. "Yes, well … you might not have "claimed" it, but rumor has it others have made up for your lack."

  "Rumor is a two-headed siren. My sources say one lover, perhaps two. Ever. How many do you have to your credit?"

  Surprised, Roland blinked. If Dante said there’d been but two, there had been. And that bit of gossip could have set the court on its ear.

  He didn’t even consider that his brother might be wrong. The man was a walking ferret. Even when they’d been children, it had been chilling how easily Dante could worm out any information about Roland’s misdeeds. Fortunately, his tongue was tightly in his head, else Roland would have received many more whippings as a lad. At least as they’d grown Dante had turned his attention to deeper intrigues and stopped investigating his sibling’s mischief. The skills he’d honed on Roland had made him a very rich adult.

  But this tidbit about Allyson....

  Tradition had it that the wench had been pursuing men from the cradle, perhaps even in the dawn of their marriage, though he’d heard no evidence of it. As vicious as the whisperings were, and as little effort as Allyson made to quell them, it would take a near miracle to stanch them. Yet Dante was never wrong.

  Curious in spite of himself, Roland asked slowly, "Why would you go through the trouble to find out?"

  "She is family. And one day I knew you’d be home."

  Eyes closed, Roland tipped his head back against the chair back and groaned. Dante was matchmaking. With Roland and his wife, no less. Why couldn’t he have a normal brother who’d be content to cuckold him quietly? The last thing he wanted was a lover’s relationship with Allyson. Saints! The last he remembered of her was wary-eyed girl with sharp angles and no padding. He hadn’t wanted to think about sex with her, much less see her as a woman. It had been a relief to cut his hand and bleed on the sheets for her.

  But … reluctantly, the memory of her sacrifice and his silent promise swam from the depths of his mind. He owed her.

  It wasn’t difficult to remember why he’d buried the obligation. Their situation had been awkward, and there wasn’t much he could have done for her. Marissa would have thrown a princess fit if he’d sent gifts, though it wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d thought it would help. But gifts wouldn’t have been enough, and he hadn’t seen what else Allyson had needed except his absence. She had his finest castle, plenty of money and comfort. At the time it had seemed enough.

  Besides, she’d betrayed him, or so he’d thought.

  Now someone was stealing from her. It was a cause he could rise to, a chance to repay her. And maybe once he was done, he’d find that elusive peace after all.

  Dante must have seen his decision on his face, for he crossed his arms and stroked his goatee. "By the way, while you were chasing after rumors," he grinned, "I discovered what brought your wife to Queenstown...."

  Chapter 3

  "I understand your position, Lady Riverdell, and I will address it when the other party to this case is present to speak for himself."

  "As you wish." It was tempting to argue with the queen, but it could only hurt her case. Instead Allyson glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth and silently sang in her head. The rhythmic chanting never ceased to sooth her.

  They were alone in the audience chamber. Everyone had been dismissed due to the delicate nature of Allyson’s case. Only the rhythm of her majesty’s manicured nails as they drummed on the throne arm broke the silence. The queen kept good time. After a moment Allyson composed a ditty to accompany the drumming. Men are useless. I wish they’d fry. Waiting and waiting. Why do men lie?

  Ten years was a long time to wait for a promise she now knew would never be fulfilled. Not unless she extracted it with the power of the throne behind her. Roland owed her. It was time to collect.

  The massive audience doors swung open and admitted one man. Her husband.

  Light glinted off the inlaid silver in his black leather eye patch. A slight scar nicked the smile groove beside his mouth and his straight black hair flowed free to his shoulders. As always his battle roughened voice caused
shivers to kiss her spine. He stared at Allyson, his gray eye the color of cold steel. "Wife."

  Eyes fixed on the queen, Allyson waited for the verdict. She was uncomfortably aware of his too intent gaze on her. Well, it had been what, eight years since he’d last laid eyes on her? Knowingly, of course.

  When she’d heard of his passage near Riverdell, Allyson had disguised herself as a young minstrel and joined his company. He’d never realized her true identify and she’d had the opportunity to observe him unaware. What she’d seen hadn’t surprised her. While she’d never actually caught the cad wenching, she’d been witness to plenty of his flirtations. If ever a woman had cause to end a marriage it was her.

  "You are aware of Lady Riverdale’s request for an annulment?"

  Again that dark gaze on her. "I am."

  He knows, Allyson thought, but she met his gaze boldly. So what if he realized who she’d been in disguise? Good. It made it difficult for him to argue with her. After all, she’d been an eye witness--almost--to his infidelity.

  "What of it then? Do you agree to the annulment?"

  Allyson fixed him with her most commanding stare and dared him to say no.

  * * * *

  How had he ever mistaken her for a boy? Roland tried to imagine the tight corset required to flatten breasts like hers and failed. She must have been trussed tighter than a holiday hen. Surely she’d required padding to straighten that curvaceous waist. Combined with her blue eyes and lustrous dark hair, it was no wonder she’d made such a pretty boy.

  Not that he cared what she did. They’d made an agreement a decade ago to go their own ways, and he had never looked back. Another man would let her go.

  Except.... He looked at the cheek nearest him. There was a fading bite mark under her cosmetics, though it was cleverly hidden now. At one point she’d ridden ahead of the party, driven there by his suspicion. They’d found two men dead and a bloody mess all over the road. Her horse had been slain and they found her nursing her wounds in a farmstead a mile or two ahead.

  Her wounding had been his fault.

  "Lord Roland?"

  The healer who had attended "Odell" had never said, but Roland still wondered just how badly the "boy" had been injured. A man didn’t bite another unless he had certain things in mind. What had he accomplished before Odell had managed to slay him?

  And besides all this, there was that tithe business....

  "Lord Roland." The queen was getting impatient.

  He reached a sudden decision. Perhaps it was time he started fulfilling his obligations. "I do not support her choice."

  "What!"

  "You don’t?" Queen Callion seemed equally surprised, but not unhappy. "Why not?"

  He shrugged. "I will consummate if she will."

  "No!" Allyson’s hand twitched as if she wished she held a weapon. She fixed him with a forceful stare. "You owe me, Roland. Agree to this annulment!"

  Unimpressed, he gazed calmly back. No one changed his mind once he’d made a decision. "I have certain obligations. Perhaps it’s time I saw to them."

  "By stabbing me in the back?" she hissed.

  "You don’t wish a have a family of your own?"

  "Not with you!"

  "Ahem." The queen folded her hands serenely in her lap. "Perhaps you are unaware of the difficulty this annulment would cause the crown, Lady Allyson. Your dower lands lie between the borders of Lord Roland’s land and a particularly difficult lord. A lord who has repeatedly lobbied me for this very annulment." She smiled without humor. "He’s been very bold in requesting your hand for himself."

  Allyson stilled. She knew exactly who the queen was talking about. "I would be very happy to disappear beyond his reach."

  "Then there is the matter of who would care for and protect your land. I believe this was the reason this marriage was arranged in the first place. A marriage your lord seems willing to consummate."

  "He says he is willing. I am not." It was all Allyson could do to contain her rage and despair. Ten years wasted, caring for his lands and hers. He did not deserve her lands, and that was where much of her wealth was produced. Her people prospered under her management, and although she was leaving, she trusted her steward and planned to journey to her lands at least once a year. Roland never even visited his own lands.

  Besides, she didn’t think he intended to make the marriage real. Not for a second. This was just an easy way to keep from troubling himself with finding another manager for his property. Now she regretted faithfully supplying him with his share of their revenues. Perhaps if she’d cheated him he’d be happy to see her go.

  Queen Callion sighed. "I see we are at an impasse. Very well, here is my judgment: You will spend one year together in Riverdell, under one roof. I understand that such a thing has never happened. If after this time you are still of a mind to have an annulment--provided you haven’t consummated by that time--it is yours."

  "I am twenty-five, your Majesty," Allyson gritted out. "Do you realize how difficult it will be for me to find a husband at this time, let alone in another year?"

  "What is one year to those you’ve waited?" the queen asked.

  Allyson flinched.

  The queen’s expression softened. "I will put my verdict in writing. This way even my successor can not change it. Your interests are protected, my lady."

  Hot blue eyes fixed on Roland with contempt. "As you wish, Your Majesty." She curtsied to the queen and walked out, her back straight. The door shut behind her.

  The queen inspected Roland with cool command. "You will not force her. I will have your head on a plate if you disobey me in this."

  "I do not force women, your Majesty."

  She nodded and flicked her hand in dismissal.

  Once outside the doors Roland had to lope to catch up with his wife. He didn’t bother calling out. She wouldn’t have answered.

  "Hello again." He matched his step to hers.

  "Parasite."

  His brows rose. The term was mild; her tone was not. Mildly annoyed, he asked, "So will you be traveling as a boy again or as yourself? For myself I’m hoping for the woman. It’s bloody annoying to have men snickering behind your back because a boy is constantly staring at it." In fact it had been his warning to "Odell" to stop his roving eyes that had driven her into danger. Another man would have done worse, for the itching feeling of being watched in that way had infuriated him. Had it not been for their mutual friends he would have taken far stronger measures to stop Odell’s antics.

  She stopped dead. Eyes cold, she informed him, "Actually, I was looking for a good place to stick a knife. Fantasizing, if you will."

  He widened his eye in mockery. "Well, that place would certainly hurt, wouldn’t it?"

  "Believe what you will." As if he were the lowest stable hand, she divorced herself from the conversation and walked on.

  "You don’t like having your plans upset, do you? I had heard you were a perfectionist." More curious than anything, he stayed with her. Women might fear him, but few ignored him. What was it about her that had captured his eye? Besides the obvious, of course.

  "Perfectionism is what made our lands so profitable while you were wasting your time bashing men with your sword. If something is worth my time, it is worth doing well."

  He nodded thoughtfully. "Too bad you had to turn yourself into a man to achieve it."

  They had reached her room. One hand on her doorknob, she stared at him. "If that’s what it took to keep our neighbors off my back, that’s what I did. A soft woman would never have survived as long as I have. And according to the queen, not all men view me as mannish."

  "Ah, yes. Our troublesome neighbor lord. I’ll have to pay the poor blind geezer a visit. It’s the sort of thing a husband would do."

  "Don’t put yourself out," she said sweetly, and shut the door in his face.

  Well that’s what a man got for being protective. He shook his head at the closed door and turned away. He had things to see to.

>   Chapter 4

  The saber swished by Alyson’s belly, tearing her shirt. A hair’s breadth closer and it would have drawn blood. She laughed at her sparring partner. "Is that the best you can do?"

  The handsome lieutenant grinned and pressed in harder.

  Feeling playful, she pretended a fumble and let him catch her against the wall. Rage at the queen’s ruling, as much as resentment against Roland made her smile as he planted one hand against the wall and leaned closer. His breath fanned her face as he slowly lowered his mouth.

  A wolf whistle broke the mood. "Don’t mind me," someone said.

  The lieutenant stepped back as they looked to see who’d spoken. Roland leaned against a wall and watched them. His stance suggested he hadn’t a care in the world, but his mild demeanor was legendary for hiding a ruthless adversary. The hard glint to his eyes made the man hastily sheath his sword and back off.

  "My lady. My lord." He nodded to them both and quit the sparring room with all speed. He averted his eyes from Roland as he left.

  "How unsporting. He didn’t even kiss you yet. Should I fetch him back for you?" Roland offered.

  Irritated at her own chagrin, she said, "Don’t bother. If he’s as poor a lover as he is a fighter I won’t find any satisfaction, anyway." She sighed and sheathed her own blade. In truth she hadn’t expected much of the young officer, anyway. He was far too civilized, and civilized was the last thing she wanted in a man.

  "I could offer to replace him."

  Tired of his games, she merely grunted. "What do you want, Roland?"

  He pushed away from the wall. "An obedient, respectful wife?"

  She took a swig of water from the waiting jug and wiped her face on her sleeve. "Dream big, don’t you?"

  "Is there another way?" He gestured to the hall. "Right now I’m dreaming of filling my stomach. Join me in my rooms for something to eat?"

  "I’ll join you in the glassed gardens," she corrected. "After I’ve washed."