Chapter Ten
She squinted at the candlelight bathing the room and stood inside the doorway waiting for her eyes to adjust. The first thing she saw after they did was Lukas crouched in a corner of the room, adjusting blankets.
“Alexia,” he said, rising to his knees.
“What are you doing?”
“I would think it obvious. I am making a bed.”
“But…wouldn’t we…aren’t…” The words left her, whatever wedding night scenarios she had imagined, the floor had never been involved.
He spoke with unnecessary force. “You cannot think I mean to consummate this marriage?”
Her jaw dropped.
He moaned, sitting back on his heels in exasperation. “You did.”
The words tangled in her mouth. “Wanted to?” She finally asked, shaking her head. “Perhaps not. But would? Yes, I thought we…you would.” Tears filled her eyes. Was she that undesirable?
“No wonder I almost had to call for smelling salts.” He stood, walked to the bed, and sat down. “Come here,” he said, patting the spot beside him.
She trudged to the bed and sat down, careful not to touch him in the process.
“I am a selfish man, Alexia. But I think I am not so vile as to force myself on a woman who does not want me. I know you to be a woman of strong convictions and while I have no doubt you meant the vows you made today, I am not convinced you will keep them.”
She started to protest, but he cut her off. “What I meant was, there is a real possibility circumstances will force your return to the future. If that were to happen, you would, in all likelihood, meet someone you wished to marry. I would not want what we were forced to do today standing in your way. I feel it might if we…complete this marriage.”
He walked to the middle of the room and stood looking heavenward. She waited for him to continue, the silence of the room rang in her ears. When he made his way back to the bed, he dropped to his knees in front of her. Taking both her hands, he looked deep into her eyes. “Understand this, Alexia. I will not take what is rightfully his, this future husband of yours. Nor will I ask you to give me what you cannot. You are my wife in the eyes of the world, but we will be married in name only.”
“But I plan on staying here. I won’t be going back.”
“You say that now, but things may change.”
“If I were to return, what would happen to you? You would still be seen as married.”
He stood, releasing her hands. “I am but a second son with no claim to my father’s estate. There is no reason for me to marry again.”
“You still think your material value is the reason someone would marry you? You’re a prince now. That has to count for something.”
“If you have to go back, my new title will be worthless.”
“Will everyone know of our arrangement?”
“I hardly think the particulars of our marriage to be anyone’s concern but our own.”
“Are you doing this to get back at your father?”
“It was not my main reason, but the thought did occur to me.”
So he admitted part of his motivation was to rebel against his father. Yet, he was also offering a way out of the situation she spent all day worrying about. She’d be a fool to turn him down. “Okay, but there must be other bedrooms in this house. Wouldn’t one of those be more comfortable?”
“I fear I must sleep on your floor for now. We would be found out if we occupied separate chambers so soon after the wedding. Perhaps when we return to Hullington, other arrangements can be made.” He yawned. “It has been a most tiring day. There is a screen you can change behind if you wish. I shall retire to my pallet on the floor.”
She took her nightgown and glanced at the screen. One thing stood between her and the comfortable clothes.
“Can you?” she asked, turning her back to him. “It’s just that Margaret always helps. I can’t undo them by myself yet.”
He rustled behind her and the skin on the back of her neck prickled as he drew near. A sigh, exhaled in a shuddering breath, warmed her hair. She closed her eyes. Then his hands, unsure and tentative, undid her laces. Each tugged loose, inch-by-inch, one at a time, until he reached the small of her back. His fingers froze for a moment and then slid to either side of her waist. Her breath caught.
“You will have Mary assist you in the future,” he said, voice rough. He removed his hands.
Not wanting to think about the emotions he aroused, she rushed behind the dressing screen. By the time she made her way out, he was curled up on the floor. She blew the candles out on her way to bed and crawled beneath the cool sheets to find exhaustion had claimed her as well.
She drifted off to sleep with one lingering question. If being married in name only was such a good idea, why did it feel so wrong?
****
Lukas moved about the room the next morning. He, of course, had the foresight to bring an extra set of clothes to the bedroom. Where her trunk had ended up was anyone’s guess. She’d almost made it to the door when he called out.
“Leave the door closed.”
“Why?” she asked, turning around to find him sitting on the bed, dagger in hand. She watched horrified as he brought it to the base of his left hand. “Stop that!”
He dropped the dagger.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Ensuring the servants have naught to gossip about.” He scooped the knife up.
“Do you have to do that?”
He cocked up his left eyebrow as if her question made no sense. “Yes. Otherwise our arrangement will be brought to light or your virtue questioned.”
She stared at the dagger poised above his hand, unable to imagine how he could injure himself on purpose.
He dropped his voice. “There is but one other alternative.”
Her face grew hot. He didn’t have to tell her what the other alternative was.
Reluctantly, she nodded. He brought the blade to the base of his thumb and a few drops of blood fell to the bed sheets, the bright red a striking contrast to the crisp white linen. She closed her eyes at the sight. First rebellion and now deceit. Could God be glorified by any of her actions during the last eight hours?
****
Lexy stole a peek across the table to where Lukas shuffled eggs from one end of his plate to the other. He’d yet to eat a bite. Maybe his palm hurt. Stubborn man refused her offer to wrap it, stating he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
She tilted her head. No, that couldn’t be it. He was right-handed and he’d cut his left. What was his problem?
Outside of the obvious, of course.
She knew what hers was. Four days to go of eternally quiet meals and endless hours in the sparsely furnished house. Her mind threatened to expire with boredom at the mere thought. Without the typical honeymoon activities to enjoy, what did one do on a honeymoon?
As if reading her mind, Lukas glanced up and met her gaze. He dropped his spoon and then knocked it to the ground in a rush to grab it. She stifled a giggle. He looked like a nervous bridegroom, except he’d been a bridegroom yesterday and had acted his usual unruffled self.
Spoon retrieved and forcefully placed beside the plate, he pushed his chair back and brought a cloth-wrapped package from under the table. He silently passed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A wedding present. I had no time to give it to you yesterday.”
A wedding present? She pushed her plate aside and set the gift in front of her. “I feel bad—I don’t have anything for you.”
He waved a hand in dismissal.
He’d given her a wedding present. One he’d picked out and wrapped himself. It didn’t fit the image she had of him. Most annoying of him to act out of character like that. But still. Her heart pounded in her throat. A wedding present.
She untied the brown leather cord and removed the soft woolen fabric.
“Lukas!” She looked up. “It’s a Bible. Ho
w wonderful. How did you…” She ran a finger over the imprinted title.
He squirmed in his chair. “I overheard you and Bixby on the way to Hullington. I can do naught about Cara or indoor plumbing, but I knew I could obtain a Bible.”
“It’s perfect!” Unable to contain herself, she ran to where he sat and threw her arms around him. “Thank you.”
He stiffened at her touch. Much too late, she wondered if she’d done something wrong and decided to pull back, but then he relaxed and he slid his arms leisurely around her.
“You are most welcome,” he murmured.
****
Her hair smelled like wildflowers.
Whether a result of the flowers she wore the day before or merely the scented water she rinsed with earlier, Lukas could not say. He only knew the nearness of her to be intoxicating. It tested the declaration he made the night before.
Her unrestrained joy stirred a longing to give her something else in order to elicit a similar response. But to be in her arms was dangerous, and he shut those thoughts off.
I cannot, Alexia. I cannot have these feelings for you.
****
On Sunday, Lexy persuaded a reluctant Lukas to accompany her to the local church for services. She had missed gathering with other believers since her arrival in 1580 and looked forward to seeing the differences between twenty-first-century worship and how things would be from then on.
The stern minister from their wedding greeted them warmly. Everyone nodded or smiled at their entrance and as she followed Lukas to the front row.
There was no music played or hymns sung, but she found the singing of the psalms a delightful way to study scripture. The church sang out Psalm 3 and she translated the encouraging words in her head.
But you are a shield around me, O Lord; you bestow glory on me and lift up my head. To the Lord I cry aloud, and he answers me from his holy hill.
Upon finishing, the minister spoke from Luke 6, always one of her favorite parts of the Bible. She listened with interest to the commentary given.
She left hours later with a smile on her face, refreshed and renewed by the morning’s experience. After several failed attempts to draw Lukas from his silence, she decided to ask a question she’d pondered for some time.
“How old are you, Lukas?”
“Pardon?”
“It’s occurred to me I’m married to a man, and I have no idea how old he is.”
“Married in name only.”
“Would you have been more forthcoming about your age if we’d…completed the marriage?”
He frowned at her. “I am the same as you. Five and twenty.”
“Then how come at twenty-five I’m considered an old maid, but everyone refers to you as ‘Young Lukas?’ Where I come from, that’s called a double standard.”
“And now you are here.”
Of course he was right. He knew the current thought processes and attitudes better than she did. As much as she might disagree with the inequalities and expectations, she had chosen to remain in her current time. Lukas would be invaluable in helping her to adjust, if he would.
The problem, she decided, as silence once again descended upon the carriage, was his behavior since the wedding. He was polite, but distant. Cordial but withdrawn. It was more unsettling than she would have thought.
Would they ever be able to progress beyond the cold civility that had defined their marriage so far? What a mystery her new husband was. Outside of the vulnerability she’d glimpsed a few times, he kept his true self hidden. Would he ever trust her enough to reveal the real Lukas?
****
Late Monday night, their skeleton staff already in bed, Lexy and Lukas sat in the large room on the first floor of the cottage. Too informal to be called a drawing room, Lexy had nicknamed it the front room. Settled into a corner, Lukas passed his evening writing. She thought it more of an attempt to avoid the uncomfortable floor of their room than an occupation of consequence. But since she was the one sleeping in the bed, she thought it rude to call him on it.
She was reading when a scream pierced through the silence. “What was that?” she asked.
He didn’t look up from his work.“ Probably the wind.”
“It’s not windy.” She strained to listen but didn’t hear the sound again.
The room fell quiet once more, with just the scratching of Lukas’s quill interrupting the stillness. Lexy continued her reading. It hadn’t been more than fifteen minutes when a loud thump sounded at the door.
He continued writing. He either didn’t hear the sound or simply ignored it. Unable to concentrate any longer, she made her way to the front door. The wood was smooth against her ear, but too thick to offer any insight as to what might be happening on the other side.
She opened it just a bit, not expecting what she found.
“Lukas!” she called.
He walked to the door, irritation lacing his voice. “I was in the middle of something. Could you not have called a servant?”
She pointed to the landing, and he gasped. It was the young blonde from their wedding feast. That she’d been beaten was obvious. Whether she was alive was another question altogether.
“Help me get her into the front room,” she said over her shoulder. “We can put her on the couch.”
He shook his head. “Let me call for Mary.”
She knelt on the floor and checked for a pulse. Thank you, Lord, she prayed, feeling the steady beat at the girl’s neck. “Mary’s been up since dawn and is already in bed. You can help me.” The girl refused to open her eyes at Lexy’s repeated pleadings.
“I shall call my valet.”
Lexy shot her head up. Was he serious? “Peterson’s so decrepit, I’m surprised he makes it up and down the stairs on his own. If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.”
She reached over, meaning to pick up the young girl on her own, when Lukas took matters into his own hands and carried the limp form to the couch.
“Thank you,” Lexy said, following him into the room. “Now if you’ll get me some soap and water, I’ll start to clean these cuts.”
“You must have lost your senses.”
“What’s your problem? Get me the soap and water.”
His aristocratic nose wrinkled. “You mean to cleanse her yourself?”
Understanding dawned. “You snob! You think this is beneath you, don’t you?”
“You are the daughter of a king! This is beneath you!”
“I’m the daughter of a King, but not just King Torsten. As such, I’m commanded to do this. Now get me the soap and water, or I’ll get it myself.” If he thought she was going to let an unconscious girl lay on the floor just because it might dirty her hands, he was the one who’d lost his senses.
He must have picked up on her determination because he left and returned with the items she requested. She worked in silence for a few minutes, taking stock of the girl’s injuries as she did. No broken bones, for that alone she was grateful. The girl had a nasty knot on her head, and she’d be sore for a few days. As long as there were no internal injuries, she should be back to her old self soon. Lexy noted the swollen eye, closed in unconsciousness.
Almost back to her old self.
“What’s her name?” she asked, cleaning the worst of the cuts.
“Gwyneth.” He had done nothing to help her so far, outside of gathering the materials she’d asked for.
“You danced with her at our wedding. Do you know who could have done this?”
“No,” he said, gaze shifting from her face to the wall behind her.
She had a strong suspicion he was lying. She’d deal with it later. There were more important matters at the moment.
After cleaning Gwyneth as best she could and making sure she was as comfortable as possible, Lexy stood and faced Lukas. “Why don’t you go on upstairs? I’ll stay here and make sure she’s all right.”
“The entire night?”
Fatigue threatened to drown her, but
she couldn’t give in. She would talk with Lukas the next morning. Right then, she was ready for him to leave. “I’ve done it before, it’s no big deal. Think of the positives. You get the bed.”
He stood as if trying to decide if she was serious but eventually nodded and went to the stairs.
She watched as Lukas left the room, and then moved to the unconscious form on the couch. “Who are you?” she whispered.
****
Lexy had been up most of the night. She was tired. She was hungry. And she had questions she wanted answered. After leaving Gwyneth in Mary’s capable hands, she was on her way to take a nap when she met Lukas on his way out of their room. “Who is she, Lukas?”
“Gwyneth. I told you as much last night.” He followed her back inside and closed the door.
“Don’t get smart with me, I’m too tired.” She undid her hair, placing the hairpins on a dresser. “Who beat her up and why did they leave her here?”
He walked to the bed and sat down with a thump. “Her name is Gwyneth Dumont, the daughter of Sir Thomas Dumont.”
She gazed longingly at the bed. If it turned out to be a long story, she might have to sit down. For the time being, she shifted her weight and waited.
“My father and Sir Thomas served together in Denmark. They became close friends in spite of the differences of their social standing. Our families were close, and the Dumonts visited us one summer when my father was at the Hastings’ estate.”
She knew where the conversation was headed but stood frozen, unable to interrupt.
“There was never a formal declaration or contract finalized, but our fathers assumed Gwyneth and I would marry. That is, until…”
Until I showed up. She completed the sentence he would not. A picture of the pretty girl approaching him days ago etched in her mind. Had Gwyneth imagined herself sitting beside him? Had Lukas imagined Gwyneth at his side? Of course. They both had. It all made sense.
The Peculiar Princess Page 12