The Tigresse and the Raven (The Friendship Series Book 1)

by Julia Donner

  Cassandra’s words came back in a rush. The night he proposed she confessed that she liked to wear men’s clothes.

  Ravenswold turned Poseidon and directed him through the woods. They broke through the brush, cantered across a moonlit pasture and sailed over a low stone wall. He knew this country blindfolded and wasn’t afraid to press a heel into the gray’s flank. Poseidon happily picked up the pace to a gallop.

  Familiar with this road, Poseidon knew where they were heading from late night rides in the past. Ravenswold knew who he looked for now. There was only one place they could be—the hunting box.

  Ten minutes later, Ravenswold entered the hunting lodge without knocking—something he never would have done had a friend asked to use it for a tryst. The man he would meet tonight was no longer his friend.

  He quietly closed the stout, metal-banded door and removed his gloves, while glancing around the cozy intimacy of the small dwelling.

  Only two braces of candles lit the main room, creating a romantically dim setting with the rosy glow of the fire adding secretive warmth to wavering candlelight. No sign of an intimate supper. Not even a decanting bottle of wine, but there was a man standing by the fireplace.

  Asterly rested one arm on the mantelpiece with a glossy boot braced on a firedog. He was informally dressed, his jacket and neckcloth removed. Claret’s ruby color sparkled within a crystal glass in his left hand. His right held a cigarillo, which he slowly lifted to his smiling mouth. It was easy to see why any woman would be attracted to this man, who waited so patiently for his ladybird to make herself ready behind one of the five closed doors on the upper landing.

  Ravenswold glanced up at the gallery of doors above. He felt a self-deprecating sneer contort his modest features. He considered his face passable in comparison to Asterly’s good looks and athletically elegant figure. He kept himself fit but his extraordinary height from that marauding Viking ancestor often frightened women away.

  The situation appeared rather farcical, Rave had to painfully admit. His rival made use of his lodge and Cassandra right under his nose—too obvious to be suspicious—too grossly crude and underhanded to be suspect. Rave wanted to kick himself for not thinking of it before, but he would’ve knocked down anyone who dared to insinuate that one of his friends could be capable of sordid deception. His heart twisted at the betrayal then hardened with intent.

  He advanced into the room and dropped his gloves on a chair placed by the fire. “Well met, sweet friend.”

  “Good evening, Rave. This is a very tolerable claret you keep on hand here. Would you care for a glass?”

  “Not at present. I think you understand why I have so rudely forced myself into an intimate situation where I should—under normal circumstances—have never presumed to show my face. Do I have the honor of addressing Mutual Friend?”

  Asterly acknowledged the hit with a slight bow. He took a sip of claret and set the glass on the mantel. He inhaled a quick drag and tossed the unfinished cigarillo into the flames.

  “I warned her about you, Rave. For all your air of unconcern and disinterest, nothing passes by you unnoticed.”

  Ravenswold began to unfasten coat buttons. He glanced suggestively overhead at the gallery’s closed doors. “Where is she, the fool asks?”

  “So you think you have found her out, dear Othello? False as water, he will say next.”

  “How well you fit the role of Iago, Mutual Friend. Playacting comes so easily to you. Spying isn’t enough to fill your lust for deception?”

  “Someone has to do the dirty deeds, Rave. Boney can’t go on this way, forever sending vassals over here, without getting something back in kind.”

  “Does that mean you’ve seduced Empress Joséphine as well? No, don’t answer that. As if you would. I’m no longer interested in your seedy intrigues.” Rave shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the chair. “Just as I no longer think of you as a gentleman.”

  Noting the foil, Asterly smiled sadly. “Ah, he has come to poke holes in my liver. How little you trust the ones you love, Othello.”

  “You’re off the mark with that comparison. Othello’s mistrust was without evidence.”

  “And how have you validated your suspicions? What evidence do you have? Your mother hated living with your father, so Cassandra might do the same. Your grandmother, you once said, was known as the Whore of Ravenswold, therefore, Cassandra will also play you false. Never mind that your father and grandfather littered the countryside with their bastards, half of which have ended up in your employ. Now let us think back, it was your great-grandmother—was it not—who produced two children while her husband was at war? Ah, yes, Cassandra must truly be another Desdemona, blameless yet loyal, the victim of Othello’s weaknesses—jealousy, pride and mistrust.”

  By this time, Rave had removed his vest and rolled up his sleeves. He bent to pull off his boots. “Since you’re determined to add insult to odious comparisons, let us see how well Iago fights his battles with an honest weapon instead of a lying tongue.”

  Rave yanked down a foil from the mounted pair above the fireplace mantel and tore off the button. “This anachronism challenges you.”

  Asterly caught the foil whisking through the air. His gaze steady, and without looking away, he placed the foil on the mantel.

  “Not with you, Rave. Not even in self-defense.”

  “Ah, he doth fit the role so well, a cowardly knave at heart! I warned you at Lindy’s how it would be, although I never thought that a friend of mine would be capable of this.”

  Ravenswold unbuckled his belt and placed his sheathed foil aside. Flexing his fingers, he advanced. “You’re not up to my weight, but you’re damn good with your fives and have age on your side. It’s indeed surprising how quickly the years catch up on a man. I’ll never again trust as I trusted you.”

  Chapter 32

  Cassandra’s heart sank with dread when she heard the muffled sounds of a struggle coming from the room below. There was nothing she could do but suffer through the noisy scuffle, the crash of objects smashing and thuds of bodies careening into walls. She tried but couldn’t think of a way that she or Mutual Friend could compete with a man of Ravenswold’s size and determination. She could only pray that Asterly survived.

  She stood up when it became silent downstairs and waited, weary and resigned. Footsteps creaked on the steps. A heavy tread moved along the landing and stopped in front of the only door with light glowing around its cracks.

  “Open the door, Cass.”

  “It’s not locked.”

  The door flew open. Ravenswold filled the doorway. When he stepped into the room, she saw a bruise above his left eye and resisted the urge to touch his bleeding upper lip. Other than that and bloodied knuckles, he appeared to have come out of the fight with little more than a torn shirt and the smoldering outrage still burning in his eyes.

  Rave stared at Cassandra and worked to reorient a brain reeling from the recent fight and the one to come. He’d purposely blocked out all thoughts of what awaited him in this bedchamber. What he found bore no resemblance to his expectations. He considered the possibility that something in his head might have gotten dislodged during the fight.

  Cassandra stood stiff and openly frightened beside the bed, fully clothed in leathers indecently tight and a jacket too large. Her hair hung in a single, thick plait over one shoulder.

  His bewilderment deepened when he realized there was someone in the bed, and Cassandra shielded whoever it was with her body. When he moved to see the occupant, she jerked shut the bed curtains and blocked his way with a defensive stance.

  Even though pale, her voice sounded calm and even. “You can’t have him, Rave. I won’t allow it.”

  “So it is a man. Very well then, if he’s not fit at the moment, I’m content to wait until we may meet at his convenience.”

  Ravenswold advanced into the room but was stilled by her next move. Seeing that he still bristled with anger, she reacted instinctively and
picked up the candlestick on the nightstand. She blew out the flame, yanked the taper off the metal point and held the makeshift weapon at a purposeful angle.

  Tears filled her stricken eyes. “I meant what I said, Ravenswold!”

  Rave stood still and silent. Her defensive gesture—not her threat—wounded him to the core. When he could speak his reply came out coarse, unrecognizable.

  “Put that down, Cass.”

  “No!”

  “Put it down. I’m taking you away from here. He’ll not be harmed.”

  “The way you didn’t harm him!” she cried, flinging out an arm in the direction of the main room below.

  “He’s only unconscious. I promise you, Cass, he has nothing more than a few bruises. You must come away from this place.”

  “I told you, no!”

  He was about to reach out and grab the candlestick from her shaky grip when a movement from the bed stopped him. Bony, narrow fingers came through the gap in the bed curtains and picked feebly at her coat sleeve. Ravenswold grimaced at the revolting sight of the filthy hand coming in contact with Cassandra, who immediately turned and set the candlestick on the table.

  She parted curtains and leaned over the bed. “Arthur? Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re finally awake!”

  “Cassandra? Is it really you? You shouldn’t have come, but I’m so glad. So grateful.”

  “Hush,” she ordered, a tender whisper. She shoved the bed curtains fully open. “You must drink something.”

  Her hand blindly reached for the glass on the nightstand. Ravenswold involuntarily came forward, picked it up and placed it in her groping hand. Cassandra flinched and looked over her shoulder, having forgotten that he was there. She cast him a worried, pleading glance and turned back to the bed.

  “I’m going to lift you up so you can drink this, Arthur,” she said, sliding her arm under the pillows.

  After choking down a few sips, Arthur begged her to take it away. “Please, sit by me. Let me look at you. It’s been so long.”

  She put the glass aside and carefully sat on the edge of the bed. Ravenswold cautiously moved closer. He looked over her head and down at his rival.

  A pathetic relic of a man lay smothered under layers of blankets. One eye was covered with a crude bandage that partially protected an angry, healing wound that arced down over his cheekbone to his jaw. The flesh of his face had wasted away to expose the sunken skull bones of his cheeks and temples. The body under the blankets was skeletal, laboring for air. Ravenswold marveled that he hadn’t noticed the raspy breathing when he came into the room. It was the only thing he could hear now.

  Cassandra captured a wasted, sore-spotted hand and held it between her palms. It was then that Ravenswold saw that the man’s manacle-scarred wrist. The felon’s condition neither appalled nor disgusted Cassandra. She gently brushed back his filthy hair with a damp cloth.

  “Arthur, you must drink more barley water or you will never be well.”

  “In a moment. How are you?”

  “Can you not see that I am fine? Did you get any of my letters?”

  “Only one. It worried me. You said that you would wait for me. I never wanted that.”

  “Only one? I sent so many! Then I shall have to tell you everything that’s happened, won’t I? By then you will be mended.”

  “The only reason I came here was to assure myself that you are well. I must flee again as soon as I am able. Our Mutual Friend has found me a situation in the Colonies. Trading one colony for another. I am to become a rebel, it seems.”

  “He told me that you would like it there, a new life and a new country.”

  “Who thought up that silly name for him? Did you? You must have done. So romantic and heedless, the both of you. I’m the realist. Always have been. Let go of my hand, Cassandra. It’s not fit for you to touch.”

  “Then I’ll hold the other one, Arthur. You’re not strong enough to stop me.” She paused to take a breath. “There is someone here I would like to make known to you.”

  “Your husband?”

  “No, Arthur. I told you that I would wait. He’s a friend, like Asterly. This is his lodge.”

  “Ah, it must be Ravenswold. Are you there, sir? It has been some time since we were last well met. You will not know me as I am now. I am Fallone. Arthur Fallone.”

  Rave masked his horror at this revelation and stepped closer. The pieces fell into place—the scandal, the murder, the reason for Cassandra’s devotion and secrecy. His heart twisted as he looked down. Imprisonment drastically altered the handsome young man Rave had met during his last year at university. Fallone was the same age as Freddy, Peregrine and Harry and had often been seen in his company.

  He couldn’t think of what to say and watched Cassandra force more water on Arthur and attempt to make the invalid comfortable.

  Arthur’s sunken face enhanced the size and brilliance of the luminous brown eye he turned on Ravenswold. “You will take care of her, won’t you, my lord?”

  Ravenswold nodded a bow. “I shall do everything in my power to make her happy, sir, although, I am forced to admit that I suffer greatly from the urge to throttle her. It comes over me three or four times a day.”

  “Knowing what I do of her, our Cassandra can be trying, but this is yet a relief. I have a great favor to ask of you, if I may, Ravenswold?”

  “In what way may I be of service to you, Mr. Fallone?”

  “May I have your permission to correspond with your wife? Not frequently, you understand, but I would find it comforting to know that she is safe and well. Cassandra, why do you weep? I told you that I am a realist. I knew from the beginning that I would never have you. You have remained my very dear friend. That is all that I have ever asked of you.”

  “But Arthur!”

  “I am growing fatigued, my dear. Ravenswold, do I have your permission?”

  “You have. If I may beg your leave, I shall wait downstairs. I must see to, er, Mutual Friend. Cassandra, do not tire Mr. Fallone with a lengthy farewell.”

  “Rave,” she whispered, reaching out. She gripped his hand hard and carried it to her wet cheek. “Thank you!”

  In her eyes he saw all that he’d waited so long to see. Oh, he knew that their life together would not be perfect. There would always be the occasional squabbling, and that was to be expected. He liked her spicy personality, but most of all, he loved her courage and rejoiced in the fact that her gaze now conveyed complete trust and a shining adoration that made his heart leap. With her back to Fallone, Rave watched her silently mouth the three words he had longed to hear.

  Rave pressed a firm kiss on her brow, bowed to Fallone and left the room before he became unmanned. As he strolled down the steps he noticed that Asterly had revived. His redeemed friend stood before a mirror above the sideboard, squinting at the damage. He gingerly dabbed a wet cloth at his battered face.

  “Good Lord above, Othello, did you have to rip me up as badly as all that? No, don’t start with some demmed, foolish apology. Just keep that thought in mind. I plan to make you feel guilty about this for some time to come. You and Cassandra could both do with a dose of humility. Pour me another glass of claret. The last one got smashed all over on the hearth.”

  Rave pulled on his boots and reached for his vest and greatcoat. “In a moment. I have a favor to ask.”

  Asterly eyed him wryly. “Your servant, Rave.”

  “Spare me the sarcastic looks, if you please. I’ll have that glass of wine with you and then I’m off to the rectory to haul the vicar out of bed. Jenkins can stay with Fallone. I’ll have a physician here before noonday.”

  “And the favor?”

  Rave poured two glasses of claret. “I ask that you escort Cass to the church by eight.”

  Asterly lifted his fresh glass of wine in a silent toast. “I had forgotten that the one in the village church is licensed.”

  “Doesn’t signify. I’ve got a special license. I know she’s had a difficult night without slee
p, but that will make it all the easier to keep her quiet and tractable for the ceremony.”

  “Is that all, Rave? No bride’s clothes, guests, wedding breakfast and so on?” Rave drained his glass, set it aside and drew on his gloves. “The ‘so on’ will be taken care of while you, Lady Duncan and the parson have breakfast. If Cassandra is willing and in any condition to do so. As to clothes, there has never been anything conventional about Cassandra in the past; why start out our marriage with anything unusual to her character and inclinations?”

  “A very astute point.”

  “As for you, I suspect that you have a broken rib. I felt something give way. The leech can bind you up after you bring Cassandra to the ceremony. And in punishment for deceiving me, you may stand witness at our knot-tying party.”

  “Pardon me for mentioning it, Rave, but don’t you think it a bit odd that your groomsman is to be the same man you nearly killed in a jealous rage?”

  Ravenswold strode to the door where he paused to launch a crooked smile over his shoulder at his best friend’s battered face. Contrary to any show of concern or contrition, his triumphant expression was one of unalloyed joy.

  “The unconventionality fits. And you needn’t warn me that my bride will be spending most of our honeymoon tending to Fallone. I am well aware of her loyalty to friends and quite proud of her for it. All I ask is that you have her at the church by eight. If you and she are not there, I warn you, our dear Mutual Friend, that this time, I will definitely kill you!”

  Unmoved, Asterly replied, “She might object to being ordered about, but I think I shall prove equipped to honor your request. I must admit an eagerness to witness the strange sight of two similarly garbed individuals embarking on matrimony’s scared path. Perhaps we should offer her a chance to alter her toilette for the occasion—just as a precaution.”

  “I don’t care if she comes naked as the day she was born or still in that outlandish costume. Just have her there, man, and after we’re tied, keep the vicar and Lady Duncan occupied for a few hours.”