Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  A winded maid lunged into the chamber followed by Tessa’s parents. Bless dear Jenna for getting her mother and father and coming to her aid, even if it was minutes too late. Jenna curtsied deeply. “Forgive me,” the girl said, and dropped one palm over her stomach whilst trying to catch her breath. She heaved for a moment and then turned to Tessa’s father. “I saw him snatch her!” –she stabbed an accusing finger toward the prince— “She was gagged and abducted—”

  “Nonsense! No abduction has occurred. She stands before you in your own dwelling.” He moved to slip an arm around her waist. “We but had a little tryst is all.”

  Tessa shoved and tried to twist away from him, but he would not have it. “Tessa!” Dominic reprimanded, then softened his tone to a more slippery one. “Precious, do not be shy. Show them that you’re mine. None can stake such a claim as I can.”

  She cringed in horror as he swept her hair out of the way, and her mother paled at the sight of the marred flesh upon her neck.

  “Prince Dominic!” snapped her father, “You must not address my daughter so casually.” Then his frown deepened as he considered his next words. “Annabelle, it seems we have no choice. We must do what must be done.”

  “No, James, you cannot!” shrieked her mother, who looked as if she may faint. Her father took hold of her mother’s elbow, as though he had the same concern.

  “Darling, trust me. We have no other choice but to do what is best for her. We cannot fail her.”

  Her father conveyed deep love and devotion with the way he looked at his wife and stroked the back of her fingers with his thumb. At the touch, her mother calmed considerably, glanced nervously her way, and then dropped her eyes to her and her husband’s twined fingers.

  “Yes, James, I see it must be so,” she responded softly.

  Dominic’s mother choked or laughed, she could not be sure, and his father puffed up like a great boasting peacock. “’Tis about time you saw reason in this. Wedding plans shall begin promptly.”

  Tessa felt as though the air had been sucked from the room, and she was fairly certain Dominic was responsible. He had a way of making her feel smothered. Without another word, she punched the selfish prince in the stomach, and then stewed over the fact that he did not have the decency to even grunt as she pushed away from him and dashed from the chamber.

  That is when she awoke from the nightmare, safe, it seemed, within her enchanted bedchamber. Even if she were dead….

  Tessa jerked upright from the bed. She knew her name! Her hand rose to the side of her neck. And she knew how she’d gotten that mark. It was distressing, but not as bad as she’d feared—just a spoiled prince trying to get his way. However, somehow things had become much worse. The full mystery was not yet solved; she did not know who had killed her. And another puzzle, she had no clue as to why it was done before the wedding had been completed. Why would the prince be so hasty to murder her if he wanted to wed her so badly he would stoop to such trickery?

  And, she worried, with her heart sinking, had her parents betrayed her? Somehow she doubted that was possible. Moaning with frustration, she could not call up any more memories and knew her questions would remain unanswered.

  She also knew the hour was late, and that Christian was most likely sleeping, but she had to tell him. Now.

  Chapter 10

  The Struggling Earl of Krestly Castle

  Christian sucked in a breath and shuddered. An odd, warm breeze had just moved along his cheek. And only his cheek. How had it not touched his hair or the rest of his face? Had he left the window open? No, it can’t be that, it’s too chilly outside.

  “Christian?”

  He rolled toward the sound. “Hmm?”

  “Wake up, please.”

  Again the warming air touched him. It slid along his temple, along his cheek, and then continued the length of his jaw only to jump suddenly to his mouth.

  His eyes snapped open. “What?” he muttered in a sleep-drenched voice.

  Slowly, she came into focus then. The ghost…. “I’m sorry to wake you,” she whispered in that musical voice of hers.

  Christian cleared his throat, but his words still came out scratchy. “Is something the matter?”

  “I had a dream.”

  “Did you see your parents again?”

  She nodded. “But there is more this time.”

  He pushed up onto his elbows and continued the motion until he was fully upright. “Sit. Tell me,” Christian whispered gently, and then moved over and motioned for her to join him.

  The apparition hesitated for half a beat and then settled over the mattress.

  “You had a dream?” he prompted when she did not speak.

  Silently, she nodded again.

  “Princess, please tell me.”

  After heaving one big sigh, she began, “I know my name, and I know how I gained this bruise.” Her fingers moved over the place in question.

  “Who—?”

  “It was the groom. He meant to force the wedding even after I had refused him.”

  Christian drew up his left knee and looped one arm around it. “I meant who are you?”

  “Oh,” she met his gaze, “Contessa. My name is Contessa.”

  “You’re a countess?”

  She frowned at that. “No, c-o-n-t-e-s-s-a. Not countess. I was called Tessa for short.”

  “Tessa,” he repeated, testing it on his tongue. “And your surname?”

  “I do not know that.”

  Calling her by her first name was as good as a marriage proposal…but if it was all he knew…. “Tessa,” he repeated. “I like it. It fits you.” He wanted to smile because it felt right to speak her name even if it wasn’t completely proper to do so—however, not all of her news was good news.

  And she was obviously weighted with the same tension, because he knew she would have blushed and smiled bashfully as she frequently did when he said things like that, but this time her mouth didn’t even twitch.

  His thoughts shifted to the other, more distressing, revelation. “The groom attacked you?”

  “Yes, he forced the mark upon me. I tried to fight him…he was too strong. He pinned me against the wall whilst he marred my neck with his mouth. It was not pleasant gaining a love bite, as you called it.” Her voice trembled.

  And there was a haunted look in her eyes, which worried him. His insides twisted, and his concern for her spiked. Was this as bad as he’d feared? Had she been ravished before being murdered? He said the only thing he could think of to soothe her, “It’s not your fault.”

  Tessa was weeping now. He could see the tears tumbling down her cheeks even in the dim lighting of his bedchamber. He swore under his breath.

  The angry sound drew her glistening gaze back to his. That pink bottom lip of hers was wobbling, and he wanted to kiss the hurt away. Christian reached for her. She shuddered as his hand moved the length of her arm.

  “He took advantage of you.” He shook his head, his brain searching for a motive. “So the scoundrel was below your station and the only way for him to gain a bride such as you was to force your hand?” he speculated. He’d seen many attempt this, even in his day. Women plotting, sneaking to trap a man alone, and men, they usually took it further, stealing innocence….

  The soft sobs continued, and she covered her face with delicate, trembling hands, those slight shoulders of hers jerking with gasping whimpers. “He was a prince,” she finally muttered.

  “A what?”

  “Prince Dominic Renard. And his parents, the king and queen, helped him.”

  Christian coughed when another oath lodged in his windpipe, and it was a particularly crude one.

  Sweet Tessa turned her head and stared at him with huge eyes that looked steel-blue within the darkened room.

  “Did he do more? Did he—?”

  “Nay!” she shrieked. “It was only the bruise.”

  There was no way it had been that simple, she was dead! “And your parents forced you t
o wed because you’d been compromised.”

  Again, she shook her head adamantly.

  “I don’t understand. What happened next?”

  “I know not.”

  “But—”

  “I awoke.”

  He scratched his arm. “I see.”

  Tessa rose from the bed. “I should let you go back to sleep.”

  “Stay,” he found himself saying.

  “I-I could not.... It would not be proper.”

  “Rubbish!” She flinched at that. He lowered his tone, reached for her hand, and watched as his fingers slid through hers. “We cannot touch. Nothing inappropriate can happen between us.”

  Her head tilted to the side. “Are you certain?”

  Then she dropped her gaze from his, but he’d already seen enough. The true wish of her heart could not be hidden in her eyes. She didn’t want to be alone. “Tessa.” Her troubled gaze lifted, more tears glistened. “Tessa, darling, stay with me. We’ll both sleep better.”

  Christian guessed she was debating with herself as her eyes skated from him, to the bed, to the door and back. With a look of resolve, she drifted back onto the mattress beside him and reclined.

  He tucked himself back in under the covers and rolled to his side so he was facing her.

  I’ll kill him. I’ll dig up his rotting corpse and break his bones, he wanted to say. “Are you all right?” he said instead.

  She didn’t look all right, tears continued to course down her pale face as she mumbled in the wispy voice of a spirit, “I’m fine.”

  As he watched her tongue slip along her trembling lips, his thoughts shifted back to the kiss he’d given her in her bedchamber. And he wanted to do it again, wanted to wipe away the tears and distress written upon her vexed little face.

  And so he did. Shifting up on one elbow, Christian moved close to her and brushed his mouth over the rivulets of moisture, removing them from her translucent skin. He came away with wet lips. Christian knew it would happen that way, still he marveled at how her tears were tangible while she was not.

  Contessa continued to weep, soaking his pillow. Catching one of those tears before it fell to the bed, he met her weary gaze as he rubbed the moisture into his skin. “I’ll find record of you now. I swear it. And I will exact justice.”

  She laughed, though there was no humor in it. “It was hundreds of years ago, Christian. I appreciate your aid, but it is too late, it is the past.” Her lashes fluttered down onto her dampened cheeks. “I-I cannot get my life back.”

  Blast it all! It was true; he did not know how to resurrect the dead. Nothing he could possibly do could help her now, nothing could reverse her death, and even avenging her would not help. He doubted the witch or even the faeries could do anything for her either. Christian dropped onto his back, swallowing as a torrent of hopelessness clawed over him.

  It wasn’t long before he noticed she was falling asleep, because only then did the weeping stop. Her breathing had slowed, and deepened, accentuating the rise and fall of her chest. The thick fringe of her lashes looked almost black in the shadows of night, but her pale complexion glowed, and somehow, her tresses of honey still managed to shimmer with what little light there was available from the moon. Never before had she looked more angelic, more innocent, more vulnerable than she did while slumbering. She even hovered above the bed as though lifted with wings. There was something celestial about her, not human….

  Christian had no idea how long he watched her before he too began to doze and consciousness slipped from his control.

  Not at all used to feeling warmth next to him in bed, it seemed Christian had gravitated toward it while he’d dreamed. But that puzzled him and a crease formed between his brows. Who was in his bed? Then it came back to him. The ghost…. No…Contessa. He must have rolled into her transparent form. His eyes popped open.

  Frowning again, he pushed up onto one elbow. He was not on top of her as he’d feared, just close enough to feel her heat. And she looked different to him. He peered closer and then cursed. He couldn’t see through her! Moving to brace a hand on either side of her, Christian studied her sleeping outline, unbelieving. Was she corporeal? His fingers lifted to her face, slid along her pale skin, and then any hope in his heart sank with the weight of reality. It must have been a trick of the light, because she felt just as transparent as before. Warm, yes, but still a ghost.

  He ran another gaze over her latent body. Her tresses of gold spilled out around her head like a halo. Again, his hand lifted and his fingers slid through the gilded hair. Drawing in a measured breath, and then slowly releasing it, Christian yearned to let those strands sift through his fingers, feeling the texture of silk.

  Groaning, he dropped onto his back next to her. The mattress bounced under his weight. With fingers raking through his hair, he remembered his plans for the day. Fisting his hands, he tugged. Unwanted plans. Today was the ball he’d promised to go to. Mentally, he cursed again and moved from the bed carefully trying not to wake her.

  Once upright, his gaze shifted to her another time. And then guilt slammed into him like a sucker punch to the gut. Leaving her like this, attending a ball without taking her felt like betrayal, and she’d already been betrayed. And he feared how upset she was going to be after having such a dream, and then finding him not here.

  But he’d given his word. And he needed the money.

  Another angry oath blew past his lips as he dressed and left the room.

  He’d arrived early enough to visit a number of secondhand bookstores and libraries before the soirée began. Again searching for anything that might tell him who Contessa was and where this prince was from.

  And as before, he’d found nothing in his hunt, and this time he’d even had names to look for. Surely there should have been record of this prince somewhere, Christian thought angrily, as he moped about the edges of the dance floor at the Wimple’s.

  Irritation simmered to a roiling heat inside his stomach—Muriel Spencer had her sights set on him. He could practically see the cogs of her brain twisting as she followed his movement with those pretty yet cold blue eyes of hers. Her lashes fluttered, and she offered that practiced smile which many men had fallen for. But not him. Never! Christian could see right through her lovely but false mask.

  In attendance, he felt he’d done his duty as a gentleman. He’d danced with a variety of ladies, including a couple of the known wallflowers. Yes, he had avoided Lady Spencer specifically, and it was obvious she was expecting a turn with him. He avoided her gaze, considering the other women available, and hoped to continue dodging her, but it seemed he’d dallied a moment too long…. A growl rumbled inside him, and he was grateful for the music that covered the sound. How dare she use his mother! He mused angrily as Muriel approached Lady Sparks now seated with Mrs. Wimple. Mother smiled at the little snot, completely taken in by her acting, and then her eyes shifted in his direction as she rose from her seat.

  With a sharp curse, he moved to escape the room, but it was too late, they’d managed to block his only exit. He wanted to bite out another profanity, but choked it down. Christian didn’t really want his mother to notice what a foulmouthed boy he was becoming as of late. He knew he should stop, but was unable to find enough motivation to do so when Muriel smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary.

  Her thin fingers smoothed the ruffles of the yellow, chiffon dress she wore, feigning innocence with her cheeky grin. How could his mother not see it?

  “Christian,” Mother said. “I’ve added your name to Lady Spencer’s dance card.”

  He gaped at the both of them. It was his place to do that, not theirs.

  Mother? he said with his glare.

  Glancing toward his father first, his mother then twisted back around and answered with a glare of her own, which he fully understood. Do it, Christian, or I will not speak with your father. The threat hung heavily between them, and it forced Christian to swallow.

  One more foul word slid thr
ough his thoughts. He felt like a caged beast, but didn’t want his peers to see the monster which paced within him so he bowed. “Shall we then?” He presented his arm and angled a crooked grin the debutante’s way.

  Yes, he could concede he’d lost the first round of this game of cat and mouse. It wasn’t something he could escape without causing a scene, so he decided to play along, careful not to let her trap him as that blasted prince had trapped Tessa. He was here to gain his allowance, not find a bride.

  Silently they—correction, he was silent as he led the babbling Lady Spencer onto the dance floor.

  After she went on and on about her dress, and her jewelry, and her last tea party, Christian decided it would probably be best if he muttered some acknowledgement when she said, “Lord Sparks?”

  “Mmm,” was all he offered in reply. Reflexively he leaned away. She was trying to dance too closely, and he knew that wouldn’t look good. The last thing he wanted was to be captured in wedlock with this girl. His ears would fall off.

  “Your dear mother said I should visit you to see your new castle,” Muriel purred into his ear as he turned her in the waltz.

  A smile stretched his lips, but not for the reason she would think. He was imagining Tessa scaring the snob senseless with her telekinetic tricks. Then he scowled—No, he didn’t want Muriel Spencer anywhere near his sweet-spirited ghost.

  “I’m not ready for visitors. It is in sore need of repair, I’m afraid,” he said, hoping to dissuade her.

  “Oh, Christian, you downplay its beauty, I am certain. I’ll bet it is lovely in the spring, is it not?”

  He hadn’t been there long enough to know, and how dare she call him by his first name! He much preferred the Lord address from her.